Daily Reflections based on Daily Lectionary of the Episcopal Church written by the clergy of Saint Stephen’s.
Giving Our Hearts to Christ - April 27
Today’s Readings - Psalm 84 Exodus 3:1-6 Revelation 21:1-4 Matthew 6:19-23
Every once in a while the Church recognizes a person who is not considered a saint or a person of biblical regard. Today Christina Georgiana Rossetti is remembered by the Church of England for her writing and pious lifestyle. At first glance she may not seem especially remarkable, even though she was considered by many to be one of the more important poets of the nineteenth century. But perhaps that is what does make her so beautifully remarkable.
She began writing at the age of twelve years and continued throughout her lifetime. In addition to several beloved poems, and hymnody, which included "In the Bleak Midwinter," she also wrote over 500 devotional poems. Born in London to Italian parents she lived from 1830-1894. At one time she was said to have had a depressive episode but despite that Rossetti, a devout Anglo-Catholic Anglican, regularly went to confession, took communion twice a week, faithfully attended church services, and observed morning and evening prayer. Throughout her life she suffered from health issues, causing her to live a more cloistered life. She spent much of her later life volunteering with various charities. In many ways Rossetti’s quiet pious lifestyle and creative genius could describe any number of people I know – people who are passionate about their craft and their Lord. People who use their talents to widen the eyes and gladden the hearts of others. People who give their most valuable asset - their time – away freely to others in need.
The gospel reading for her day today is from Matthew and speaks to those treasures of our lives that we cannot store in a box under the bed or in a display cabinet to collect dust. Rather her treasure was the kind that at the end of a hard day of work warmed her heart, knowing her time had been spent serving her Lord. Never marrying even though asked three times, Rossetti gave her heart to Christ and gave her life to glorifying Christ and helping others.
Maybe it’s her creative side that attracts me or possibly it’s because she never seemed to lose focus on what was most important to her. Despite ongoing health issues, she continued to serve. She saw life as an endless opportunity to create, to praise, to serve and in return her life was filled with a light that could never be extinguished.
We sing a song on All Saint’s Day that reminds us that “the saints of God are just folk like me.” The collect for today ends with this: “Help us to follow her (Christina’s) example in giving our hearts to Christ, who is love. . .” Perhaps at first glance her amazing gifts to the world are not all that apparent. However, as the hymn says, saints are just folks like us. Rosseti was incredibly talented and she shared that talent with the world. She lived a life of dedication and humility, freely offering self-sacrifice to her Lord. The value of these gifts will never be diminished or lost. If we really took that to heart how might our lives be different? Would we help ease the drive for perfection that our youth we are told are burdened by and instead, encourage them to find joy in what they do? Using their gifts to the glory of God without need to be perfect? Would we try harder to find joy ourselves, using our time and talents to glorify God?
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - How might we give our hearts to Christ in love? What are a few simple ways you could focus your talents or time on shining the light of Christ into the world?
The Book of the Covenant
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 105:1-22; PM Psalm 105:23-45; Exod. 24:1-18; Col 2:8-23; Matt. 4:12-17
When reading the Bible by sections prescribed by the lectionary following the Daily Office, we sometimes get to read sequential passages, like this week’s readings through Exodus, Colossians, and Matthew. I noted a jump, however, in today’s selection from the Hebrew scriptures. We skipped Exodus 21, 22, and 23 entirely! And what did we miss? The answer: a whole lot of rules.
Called the Book of the Covenant, these three chapters give specific examples that flow from the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20). The exposition includes civil, moral, and legal guidelines by which the Hebrew people are to live. There are copious details given for the treatment of slaves, the punishment for injury of people and livestock, and means for upholding justice with truth and fairness, to name a few.
I was surprised as I pressed on through Exodus rules, for I found encouragement! The Lord advises in Exodus 23, “I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared. Be attentive to him and listen to his voice...” (v. 20-21a) We are not left to our own meager devices on this wild experience of life. We are intrinsically connected to one another in hardship and joy. These directions in Exodus give the Hebrew people specifics about what is and is not okay when living in community – because God wants good for all of creation. And there is help for us. Jesus was the embodiment of this when he came to the earth to live, heal, and give his life for the world to live more fully. Jesus, too, came to offer guidance, protection, and healing.
How do we embrace Exodus today? We strive to abide by the Ten Commandments, as they offer a faithful framework for being in relationship. While Moses doused the Israelites with ox blood as they promised to be obedient, our Christian context of commitment looks different. Ours is an initiation in baptism, as we are baptized in the trinitarian formula and sealed by the Holy Spirit with oil upon our heads, forever marked as God’s. We receive new life in this gift, and when we slip into sin, we repent and return to the Lord. Let’s celebrate resurrection hope and the gift of being made anew in Christ! Alleluia!
Blessings in Eastertide,
Katherine+
Connections in Your Life
Dr. Josh Reeves from Samford University spoke on Sunday morning about how theology informs our understanding of chance encounters. I commend his talk to you (available here). He offered that perhaps God gives us nudges through our existence, working within the systems already in motion. Take a listen and ponder where you find God’s movement in your life.
Life Worth Living - April 22
I’ve found myself in two different conversations about baptismal identity centered on what it really means to be a Christian and the identity that you and I have as people of faith. Those conversations were still echoing in my mind when I read from the Epistle to the Colossians in today’s lectionary reading, specifically the reminder that we are called to pray for each other.
In this reading, Paul names what he sees in the community: faith, love, and hope. And then he tells them that he is praying for them. He prays that they would grow in wisdom, bear fruit, be strengthened, and live lives worthy of the life they’ve been given. Maybe that is the heart of what it means to live out our faith—to live lives worthy of the life we have been given. What a noble, and honestly, challenging idea.
One of the most thoughtful books I’ve read in the past few years is Life Worth Living: A Guide to What Matters Most, written by three theologians who teach one of the most sought-after courses at Yale. Students describe the class as life-changing. A few summers ago, I had the chance to sit in on a lecture by Miroslav Volf, who helps lead that work.
At the core of their teaching is a simple but profound claim: much of Western culture is facing a kind of crisis—not necessarily of resources or opportunity, but of meaning. We have more ways to live than ever before, but less clarity about what makes a life good, true, or worth living.
And that’s where I find a connection to baptismal identity. In baptism, we are not just given a belief system; we are given a way of life. We are claimed by God, joined to Christ, and sent into the world not just to get through life, but to help reveal what a life rooted in love, grace, and purpose actually looks like.
Part of our calling, then, is not only to seek a life worth living for ourselves, but to help others discover it too. This is why our baptismal identity is so important. It is the work of gathering weekly to be nourished by Word and Sacrament, the work of striving for justice and peace for all people, and the work of respecting the dignity of every human being. This is life-changing work, life worth living.
I am more than grateful to be a part of this life-giving community. The Western world is hungry for meaning and purpose, and many are likely finding it in the wrong places. May we help people live lives worth living, rooted in the Body of Christ.
John+
Questions for Self-Reflection: How do you live a life worth living? What questions do you need to be asking? Where is there an opportunity for reflection and growth in your own life?
God Has Our Back - April 20
Today’s Readings - AM Psalm 25; PM Psalm 9, 15 Exod. 18:13-27; 1 Pet. 5:1-14; Matt. (1:1-17),3:1-6
Yesterday, marked the third Sunday of the great Fifty Days of Easter. In the Gospel we saw the hospitality of two travelers extended to a stranger, someone they met along the road. Something that could have been dangerous, risky at best. Today’s reading from I Peter, admonishes the church to tend God’s flock, to care for one another without pride or arrogance, but with humility and compassion. Much like the two followers of Jesus on the road to Emmaus, who extended hospitality to the stranger, offering kindness, shelter and food.
It occurred to me in yesterday’s gospel that there are times in our lives when we are not ready to hear or see what’s staring us in the face. It may be the face of a stranger or someone we see every day. However, when we are ready to see with eyes that can embrace the truth the Holy Spirit is always present to lead us.
Each of us lives with circumstances that we may not be ready to fully see. It may be a relationship that needs attention, an illness, a family member’s addiction, or a mental health issue. It may be concern for the world, for our environment, for those caught in war torn areas or the thousands of other concerns that surround us daily. Whatever it is it may be that we cannot acknowledge the reality of whatever it is because we aren’t capable of picking up that cross and carrying it. The burden of it may seem too heavy, overwhelming.
The disciples who encountered the risen Christ on the road to Emmaus were not ready to see who was standing in front of them. It took a while, but eventually their hearts were opened and their spirits primed so that they could fully embrace the reality of who it was that accompanied them along the road.
Today’s letter from I Peter reminds us that “after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.”
The essence of our faith is that we have a God who will never leave us, never abandon us regardless of what we haven’t done or what we have done. In other words, our God will always have our back.
I don’t know how to rip off the blindfolds that prevent me from seeing all that I worry about but cannot fix, or all of the things that I might attempt but I’m paralyzed with fear or simply a feeling of incompetence. I do know however as Peter admonishes his church he might as well be speaking to me, to you, to all of us. We each have the capacity to do something, to do more. We each have the resources to make a difference, either in our lives or the lives of others. It just doesn’t always look possible.
Have faith in the knowledge that God will “restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.” That God will have your back.
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What is it that you might be unwilling to acknowledge? Where are your blind spots? Ask God for the strength to open your eyes to the possibilities that lie before you.
The catharsis of Good Friday
Today’s Readings: Psalm 22; Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Hebrews 10:16-25; John 18:1-19:1-42
I do not like saying goodbye. I have preached about it and written about it before. And at its heart, Good Friday is a day of saying “goodbye”. It is not that Jesus dies over and over each year. Rather, on Good Friday, we remember the tragedy of Jesus’ crucifixion and death. We remember the heartache that is connected to sacrifice. Good Friday is a process of releasing the vestiges of what we have known so that we move forward into what is next.
Diana Butler Bass has a Substack that I receive and sometimes read. She assembled an assortment of poems for Good Friday this year, inspired by the final seven sayings of Jesus:
· "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34)
· "Today you will be with me in paradise" (Luke 23:43)
· "Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother" (John 19:26-27)
· "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)
· "I thirst" (John 19:28)
· "It is finished!" (John 19:30).
· "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Luke 23:46).
Perhaps you have seen or experienced other reflections on these phrases on Good Friday. It was a meaningful bit of time for me to sit and reflect through a different lens of spirituality and creativity this morning. If you have time today, I invite you to reflect upon these works shared by Bass and the last seven phrases of Jesus as he lived among us.
Here’s what hit me hardest – saying goodbye means looking back at the regrets (as I pondered the poem “Phase One” on forgiveness by Dilruba Ahmed) and it also means cherishing the love (as I sat with the reflection called “Mother and Son” by Rosemery Wahtola Trommer). As I reached the end of the last work, “Love Letter from the Afterlife” written by Andrea Gibson (who died of cancer late last year), I wept. I wept for the death of Jesus. I wept for losses of life within my own circle. I wept for those I love who are still here. I just wept.
I pray that you have the grace and ability to stay tender today. For it is in our vulnerability that we grow strong. It is in the tears that we can feel love most deeply. Let us remain centered on that this Holy Week – so that we may live fully into the neverending love that God has for us - and invite others to share in it, too.
With God's love,
Katherine+
Reflection and Challenge
Sit with the last seven phrases of Jesus mentioned above. Listen for how the Holy Spirit is stirring you on this Good Friday. Take note of the feelings you have. Give yourself the space to feel and be, and give thanks to God.
…but you cannot bear them now
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 16, 17; PM Psalm 134, 135; Exod. 16:23-36; 1 Pet. 3:13-4:6; John 16:1-15
In the gospel according to John, we learn of Jesus’ characteristics – including that he is “full of grace and truth.” He demonstrates divine grace in his healing and restorative miracles. He calls people into deeper truth – with God, themselves and in community.
In John 16, Jesus speaks to his friends, telling them, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth…”
You cannot bear them now…this phrase resonates with me today. Jesus does not specifically say that the disciples are overwhelmed, yet he knows them. He watches how they respond to the immense experience of being formed as his students.
“Overwhelming” is the word that bubbles up as I ponder this scripture. To accept that Jesus will be forsaken, tried, and executed? That he will be raised up on the third day? To hear the full scale of what Jesus needs his disciples to be equipped to be and do as apostles in the world? All of that is overwhelming. It is hard to receive a whole lot of truth at once.
Not too long ago there was an issue I needed to acknowledge, yet I was resistant and proud. Someone I respect pulled me aside to help me face some hard and real truths about myself. It was painful to bear the honest feedback. In truth, it left me feeling a bit lost as I processed and prayed through the next days. I felt overwhelmed and upended, and yet, I was never lost to God. And with God’s help, I continue to grow and learn.
Perhaps there are things in front of you that feel too big and too much. It may feel like you cannot bear them now. Know that the grace and truth of Jesus and the tender compassion of our God will not disappoint you. I pray that there are those around you who speak honestly and lovingly to you, supporting you as you, too, grow and learn. As fellow travelers upon the road, we need one another.
Blessings in Eastertide,
Katherine+
Challenge
Can you feel when you are growing overwhelmed? How do you respond? How can you be more grace-filled in accepting yourself when you feel this way?
Today, ponder the prayers can you offer to God for your own care. Practice opening your eyes to care for others when they carry too heavy a load.
Self-Examination - April 15
Do you feel the ongoing need to respond to every ridiculous thing that we see online, or posted by podcasters, politicians, and people claiming to have some sort of spiritual, religious, or moral authority? If you think that is you, this reflection is for you and just to be clear, I’m writing to and for myself.
I’m not sure what we call the age we are living in—perhaps a “post-truth” age—where, with the rapid rise of artificial intelligence and the speed of information, it’s increasingly difficult to tell what is real. At times, it feels like we are watching Christianity evolve, or at least certain expressions of it, shaped less by deep formation and spiritual practice and more by a desire for power or control.
I won’t claim to be an expert on Christianity. I’ve been to seminary, I read Scripture daily, I teach and reflect on it as an Episcopal priest, and I still have so much to learn. What I do know is that this passage from Peter points to a significant focus of Christian formation, that is to turn the focus inward. It reminds us that following Jesus is to take a serious inventory of our own lives, so that we can be a reflection of God’s love in this world.
Today’s reading from 1 Peter comes out of the gate strong: “Rid yourselves, therefore, of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander.”
Peter names something essential about the human condition: we are all capable of malice, guile, insincerity, envy, and slander. The call to “rid ourselves” of these things is not a one-time act, but an ongoing, lifelong practice. It is part of what it means to be God’s people—so that “you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9).
The self-examination required of faithful living should lead us to humility, not shame, but an honest clarity about who we are and who God is calling us to become. As much as I may feel the pull to respond to every outrageous or frustrating thing I see online, and this week was a banner week for sure!
Peter’s call is not about moral perfection. It is about growth. “Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk.” There is deep hope in that image. It reminds us that transformation is possible, that it is ongoing, and that we are not stuck as we are.
Lives shaped by prayer, repentance, and a willingness to be changed. This is the path of discipleship. To follow Jesus is not to win the argument. It is to become a people whose lives tell the truth.
Questions for Self- Reflection Question:
Where in your life is God inviting you to let go of something—an attitude, a habit, or a reaction—so that you might grow more fully into the light of Christ?
What We Leave Behind - April 13
Today’s Readings - AM Psalm 1, 2, 3; Exod. 14:21-31; 1 Pet. 1:1-12; John 14:(1-7)8-17
Today’s gospel is likely one of the most comforting of all the passages in the Bible. It is often read at the burial office and many who are nearing death find comfort in its words. I’ve always found the idea of Jesus asking for an advocate to be with us after he’s gone to be one of my favorite parts. That’s incredibly thoughtful and reassuring of him, don’t you think? After all he’s been our Lord and Messiah, teacher, and friend – our everything. How wonderful would it be if our best friends sent someone to be here for us after they die?
There is a professional role that has developed more recently that at first, I thought was a bit odd. The person helps people plan for their death. Not so much a Life coach as a “How to carry on after I die” coach. It’s not so much about how the funeral will go or where their body will be placed but rather how to assist their family handle their absence once they’re gone. At first when I heard about this, I thought, “Oh wow, that’s the perfect thing for a control freak.” But the more I thought about it the more I realized how useful this could be.
The presentation I heard about highlighted one main tool – a three-ring binder - one of my favorite inventions of all time. In the binder there are tabs for everything the person takes care of. For example, which bills the person pays and when, the passwords to all the important things like the Amazon Prime movie channel, or the gym membership or more importantly, the bank accounts. Other areas might include, in which order the Christmas decorations come out of the basement and how to put them back up, or how to operate the washing machine and dryer. Which clothes definitely do not go into the wash and which ones go to the drycleaners. You get the picture. You have to admit, this could be pretty useful.
So, when Jesus is preparing his disciples for his inevitable departure, there were no three-ring binders so instead he tells them he will send another advocate, another because he has always been their advocate and now, they will need another. This advocate is who we know as part of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. If the Holy Spirit knew all my passwords that might be a huge help but in truth what’s even better is that the Holy Spirit knows who we are and sees us for who we can be. The Holy Spirit knows our fears and misgivings, our potential for good and not so good and believes in us as beloved children of God. It’s the Holy Spirit that will be with us as we rejoice and as we die, our “all faithful” companion sent by God.
There’s a prayer to the Holy Spirit we use in Cursillo that goes like this:
Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful
and kindle in them the fire of your love.
Send forth your Spirit and they shall be created,
and you shall renew the face of the earth.
O God, who has taught the hearts of the faithful
by the light of the Holy Spirit,
grant that in the same Spirit we may be truly wise
and ever rejoice in his consolation.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
I think it’s possible that Jesus had something like this in mind. That in His absence the Holy Spirit will fill our hearts with divine love, she will send forth His Spirit over the face of the earth, bringing renewal and a new creation within us, with wisdom and a joy that is boundless, celebrating Jesus’ infinite capacity for consolation.
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What is it that you would like to leave for those you love? What do you want them to know? How might the Holy Spirit lead you to wise choices?
Keep Moving, You Can do This.
Today’s Readngs - AM Psalm 93, 98; Exod. 12:14-27; 1 Cor. 15:1-11; Mark 16:1-8
The very first sermon I preached was on Easter Monday, a day much like today. It was while I was in seminary. I had preached in our homiletics class but not for the community Eucharist. This was for the entire seminary, all the students and all the professors. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared or intimidated. The room that we used as our chapel was an old lecture auditorium that was lower in the front and the rows of seats were like a sports auditorium. It was affectionately nicknamed the “Pit”, and it did feel like you were in a pit, with all the most learned people I knew staring down at you scrutinizing your every word. Of course, now I realize the expectations for new preachers was very low so if we didn’t completely blow the entire thing we were congratulated, and we could walk out of the “Pit” with a huge sigh of relief, grateful to know we had survived our first trial by fire. But that fear, that sense of dread was palatable.
Everyone would tell you “Don’t be afraid, we’ve all been there” or “You’ll do great,” but no matter how much encouragement was offered it was incredibly hard not to be afraid. We’ve all been in that place where no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we know that worrying doesn’t help, we just can’t put it out of our mind, we’re scared, and it doesn’t feel like anyone, or anything can change that. Whatever it may be, a diagnosis, a potential job loss or death, even a loss of status or reputation. Whatever it is it’s a real fear and can’t be pushed aside.
Some say that the phrase “Do not be afraid” or a similar phrase appears 365 times in the bible. Spoiler alert - it actually doesn’t. It’s closer to 103 times. Regardless, it may be the most repeated phrase in the Bible, and we certainly are reassured throughout the scriptures that we are God’s and that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God. In today’s gospel, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome have gone to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body. When they arrive, the stone has been rolled away and a young man is sitting where their Lord’s body should be. He greets them and says, “Do not be afraid, . . . Jesus of Nazareth has been raised, he is not here.” Their initial reaction is not relief or joy but fear, they are seized by terror. We know as the morning progresses into days and weeks, their fear is transformed into relief and joy. But that initial shock and fear was paralyzing.
You’ve been there, haven’t you? I know I have. So, what helps us take that first step? What gets us out of bed in the morning? What helps us get on with our lives? Our belief in the risen Christ, in the Holy Trinity tells us that we are never alone. That we are beloved children of God. It may not always feel like it, but we are never going to be separated from the love of God. Once we can catch our breath, walking out of the tomb looking towards the day ahead, the Holy Spirit, takes us by the hand and walks with us. Our faith in the love of God and Jesus Christ gets us out of bed. God is love, and perfect love drives out fear. Allow yourself to be fully embraced by that love, remind yourself that whatever is ahead or behind, whatever is frightening is only one part of your world, we are so much more, there is so much more in our lives for which to be grateful. So listen, listen to that small quiet voice from God that tells us, “Keep moving, you can do this.”
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What is it that you are most afraid of? How do you deal with the uncertainty? Have you taken it to God?
Our Culture of Violence - April 1
One of my favorite new ministries emerging at Saint Stephen’s is the supper that follows the Celtic service. Most Sundays, we share a meal and sit around the table talking about the sermon, theology, and life. It’s a simple but meaningful way to build community and offer formation for our 5:00 p.m. community.
Last Sunday, we had a fascinating conversation about atonement theology. Someone shared that they didn’t think Jesus had to die—as if it were something God required. That question has stayed with me. Lately, I’ve come to see Jesus’s death not as something demanded by God, but as the natural and tragic consequence of the escalation of human violence.
We can’t seem to help ourselves. We go to war in order to bring about peace. We justify harm in the name of order. Is it any surprise, then, that an innocent son of a carpenter—one who disrupted systems, challenged power, and reoriented people toward love—would be crucified in an effort to keep things “peaceful”?
I think Holy Week invites us to wrestle honestly with this part of our human nature and our deep and persistent tendency to use violence to solve our problems. Not much has changed in 2,000 years.
Mark’s Gospel for today, the parable of the vineyard, speaks directly into this reality. The landowner keeps sending servants, and they are beaten, rejected, and killed. And then finally, the beloved son is sent and he too is killed. If we pause long enough, we might ask: Where is the outrage? Why aren’t we more shocked?
Perhaps it’s because, deep down, we recognize the pattern. We expect it. We understand, even if we don’t want to admit it, the primal, violent impulses that live within humanity and within ourselves.
And yet, this is not the end of the story. Because it is into this very world that Jesus enters. It is in the midst of our violence, our fear, our need to control, that Christ takes on death itself and transforms it.
And so Holy Week is not just something we remember. It is something we enter that changes how we are to live and be in this world. Whom do we follow and whom do we emulate? May it be the one who has shown us the way of the Lord.
John+
Question for Self-Reflection: Where does your own life intersect with our culture of violence?
Why Do We Pray?
Readings for Today - Psalm 51:1-18(19-20); Lam. 1:1-2,6-12; 2 Cor. 1:1-7; Mark 11:12-25
Have you ever wondered why we pray? One of the most meaningful reasons I’ve ever heard is that prayer is a personal response to God’s presence. Sure, sometimes I know we pray because we need something from God. It may be that we need healing for ourselves or someone else, or we desire safe passage or guidance in decision making. The list is endless. But why do we really pray? If God is all knowing then God already knows what we need, what our utmost heart’s desire is. If the desire to pray, is in fact placed within us by God as many believe it is, then God is already reaching out and in prayer we are responding. We are responding to God’s call, to God’s presence that is already in our hearts.
Prayer has always been a way for me to feel closer and more connected to God. It also helps remind me that I’m utterly and completely dependent on God. In the same way I begin missing a close friend after we’ve gone a while without talking, I miss God if I haven’t taken time to stop and be quiet, to allow myself the time to be present to God. If God is always present, then we must be the one who drifts away.
In today’s gospel, Jesus tells his disciples, “. . . whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received*it, and it will be yours.” Here’s where the waters get muddy for me: in James’s letter, 4:2, the author writes, “You do not have because you do not ask.” So, is our “having” partly dependent on our asking? The message here is not that we will be given our hearts desire every time we ask, the message rather is that we should ask with utter and complete faith and trust in God’s ability to provide. Not provide just anything. That may be where the trust on our part comes into play.
That may be a taller order than we’re prepared to follow. What does it require of us to have total faith and trust in God? Are we willing to give up control? Are we willing to allow that we don’t always know what is best and that asking for God’s will to be done is what in fact is best?
Let’s go back to my original question, “Why do we pray?” There have been many times when what I prayed for did not come to pass, at least not as I envisioned it. However, even if I didn’t see it or realize it, I was changed. Prayer can be a bit like spiritual exercise. It strengthens our connection to God, it guides our understanding of God’s presence in our lives, and it deepens our relationship and trust in God. Prayer is more important than we realize, and it changes us more than we may recognize. So, maybe that’s the reason why we pray. Even if we think our prayers aren’t answered, never doubt that they aren’t heard.
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge – Do you have a regular prayer time each day? It’s never too late to begin and it can be quite simple. Starting is the hard part.
Frequently Underrated Qualities
Today’s Readings - Psalm 31; Exod. 4:10-20(21-26)27-31; 1 Cor. 14:1-19; Mark 9:30-41
Gratitude, humility, empathy – these emotions all come out of the realization that we are not the master of our fate. True humility is a stance in life that knows we do not create out of nothingness, we create out of beautiful resources and imaginations that are God given and we do it with wisdom from brains that were created and gifted to us by God. We do not build community or family or establish amazing relationships or jobs by ourselves. None of us lives in a way that is not in some form dependent on the help of someone else. Most of us exist solely because we have been helped multitudes of times, even when we weren’t aware of it and definitely when we thought we didn’t need it.
Some of us have had experiences that grant us a lens which provides true empathy for others in similar or even worse circumstances. And then there’s gratitude. Some of the happiest, most content, most joyful people I know are those who are continuously aware of how fortunate they are, and they live in such a way that expresses their gratitude. Not constantly wishing for more, or better but content in a way that creates a smile when no one else can understand why.
It shouldn’t be surprising then that when we as humans forget who we are, forget we are connected in infinite ways to the universe, to other humans, to God, that humility, empathy and gratitude seem to be the first to fly out the window. Unfortunately, this happens more times than we’d like to admit. We see it in our friends, our communities, and in ourselves. And maybe if we can be objective and look at it realistically these traits are as human as anything else we can name.
In today’s gospel from Mark, Jesus sees in his disciples their most human side, that of pride, selfishness and arrogance. And what does he do? He sits down and with the gentleness of a loving parent, he teaches his children. He picks up a child and holding it in his arms makes the point that so many of us still seem to miss. Jesus doesn’t expect us to be perfect, to be knowledgeable in all things or to be super achievers. Jesus expects us to be open hearted, humble, and receive all we are given and all who come to us with love, tenderness and compassion.
Gratitude, humility and empathy are never signs of weakness or lack of agency but rather they are qualities that though quite frequently underrated are some of the most attractive, grace-filled, lovely qualities anyone can possess. Jesus loves us into being better humans and forgives us for simply being just that, human. And maybe when we realize it’s okay to be imperfect, embracing our imperfections, then we can learn to forgive ourselves, striving to be more Christ like. Perhaps then, we come closest to knowing God. Afterall, God was once human like us.
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - Where do you see humility, gratitude and empathy playing roles in your daily life? Which of the three is your strongest character trait? Which is your least strong character trait?
Never Far from God’s Heart
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95, 102; PM Psalm 107:1-32; Exod. 2:1-22; 1 Cor. 12:27-13:3; Mark 9:2-13
As I write this reflection, my daughter is preparing for an out-of-state trip with her high school choral group. They are starting Spring Break a little early, catching a flight, seeing sights, and having great experiences as teenagers. While there are teachers, school administrators, and parents going along as chaperones, neither Sam nor I are attending. I am feeling a touch of worry and sadness as she prepares for departure…and I understand this is one of many times she will be fledging in healthy ways. How hard it is to let our young ones go!
The Hebrew scripture appointed for Friday is Exodus 2, the telling of Moses’ birth. Yesterday’s reading (Exodus 1:6-22) reminds us of the intolerant mood toward the Hebrew people at that time in Egypt: “The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, ‘When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.’ But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live…And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, ‘Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.’” (v. 15-17, 21-22)
What a dangerous era, and what peril Moses’ parents faced in his birth. When his mother could no longer conceal her male baby, she reinforced a basket and placed him in it among the reeds at the river. His older sister, Miriam, hung back to keep an eye on him. Oddly enough, Pharaoh’s daughter came to that very river to bathe and she spied the basket. And inside was a crying baby boy. She was moved to compassion for him and surmised he was a Hebrew child. Miriam piped up, wisely offering to get a Hebrew woman to nurse him. They struck an arrangement: Pharaoh’s daughter would claim Moses as her son, but she compensated Jochebed – the biological mother of Moses who had given him up – to raise the child and bring him to her when he was older.
Parents find many ways to worry about their kids. The hardship upon Moses’ parents feels immense as I reflect on their family dynamic. And, Moses’ father, Amram, was a Levite – a servant of the Temple. He knew what it meant to serve God in faithfulness, even when it was hard. No matter how far Moses roamed from home, he was never far from God’s heart. I posit the same is for you and me, as children of God. We may travel and wander and stumble, and we are never far from our Lord, who is forever calling us to come home, reminding to make others feel at home, and challenging us to expand our hearts to love one another as God loves us.
Lenten blessings to you,
Katherine+
Sit with having a home with God, though that physical home may not be as concrete. Reflect on where you feel challenged and inspired in this concept. How is God building up your faith today in this tension? How will you respond?
Yeast of the Pharisees and Herod - March 18
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 101, 109:1-4(5-19)20-30; PM Psalm 119:121-144; Gen. 50:15-26; 1 Cor. 12:1-11; Mark 8:11-26
I’m not really that surprised by the exchange with the disciples. As I grow in my faith, I have plenty of moments where I experience the miraculous love of God through others and can rest with confidence in the hope of Christ. If you have been following my journey with the Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer, this would be the last section:
Q. What is Christian hope? A. The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and to await the coming of Christ in glory, and the completion of God's purpose for the world. – page 861
I’m telling you—the catechism is theological gold.
And then, I have moments where I pivot, read something, or just witness humanity at its absolute finest (I’m being sarcastic), and I forget that hope, or at least I don’t let it define what I’m seeing. Kind of like the disciples in this reading, who once again are worried that they don’t have bread, even though the passage just before this is Jesus feeding 4,000 people with seven loaves.
Why don’t they trust in God’s abundance?
And if I’m honest, the better question is: why don’t I?
Because I have seen it. I have experienced it. I write about it, preach about it, teach about it, and hope to embody it. And yet, it doesn’t take much for me to slip back into doubt—to start worrying about what I don’t have or what is beyond my control.
Those words hit hard today: “Do you still not perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes, and fail to see?”
Maybe the yeast of the Pharisees and Herod isn’t just something out there. Maybe it’s that slow, subtle way of seeing the world that forgets grace, or assumes scarcity, or makes us doubt that God is working to make all things whole, not just in our lives but all of it.
And the invitation of Jesus is not just to believe more, but to see differently. We are called to remember this truth. Certainly, our faith helps us to recognize that love is the most powerful force in this world, that the way to life is through the giving of ourselves, and that God is present in those very moments, inviting us into the radical way of Jesus Christ.
Christian hope is choosing, again and again, to trust that the God who fed the thousands is still at work. God is still providing, still multiplying, still bringing life out of what feels like it can’t possibly be hopeful. This is the miracle of Jesus Christ.
John+
Wielding a Plastic Sword
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95 [for the Invitatory] 88; PM Psalm 91, 92; Gen. 47:1-26; 1 Cor. 9:16-27; Mark 6:47-56
Yesterday there was a communication breakdown at carpool for our 4th grade son. He was supposed toride home with a friend but did not get the message. The friend’s mom called me to say she did not have Robinson and would head to my house, a mere 500 yards from the school. Two minutes after the phone call, she texted me: “He was at y’all’s house. We are getting him now.” The next message humorously reported he was “non-traumatized by his 5 solo minutes”. It was good for him to have a tiny adventure – that was not even an issue for him. He relished having a house to himself, not to mention the Oreos on top of the fridge!
The mom sent one more text that I did not see until later: “Also he answered the door with his plastic sword.” I laughed heartily at the mental image of my son wielding his shiny foil from a Halloween costume as a tool of self-defense when answering the door. When I picked him up, I asked what his afternoon coming home from school was like. Characteristically brief, he said it was fine and easy. He was happy to be home and independent. Then, I asked about the sword. He reported that he could not find his aluminum bat, so the sword was the next best thing as he responded to the knocking at the door. I asked if he was afraid and he assented. Hence the weapon. There was a blend of joy and trepidation in those few minutes for Robinson – and I did not appreciate the component of fear until I talked with him about the experience.
Joy and trepidation are a funny mix, aren’t they? We have a similar shift in Psalm 95, appointed in its entirety each Friday in Lent as the first psalm prayed in Morning Prayer. In the first seven verses of this festival psalm, there are words of praise, entreating the faithful “we” to sing and shout to God as the Rock and the great King above all gods. The Lord’s role in creation is lauded, and for that we bow down to give thanks. We are “the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand”.
In Lent, we include the last four verses – not printed within the Morning Prayer liturgy – that bring a very different tone. Moving from a “we” – with arms outstretched in inclusion – to a “you” – with a hand pointing in my direction or yours – the psalmist reminds us of our shortcomings. We quarrel (like the Israelites at Meribah) and test and doubt God’s presence (like the Israelites at Massah). We have wayward hearts and forget the ways God has called us to live. In that mindset, we are restless and apart from the rest the Lord offers. It is a sad, salty turn after the joyous praise that united us a few verses before. Rolf Jacobson from Luther Seminary in St. Paul, MN, offered context of this psalm, sharing that festival worship in ancient Israel during Passover, Pentecost (Festival of Weeks), and Sukkot (harvest time) embodied integrated spaces of celebration and penitence. In Christianity, we often break those pieces into distinct liturgical seasons. For example, Lenten repentance brings us into a low, humble posture so that we are lifted up in resurrection hope and joy at Easter.
Perhaps the whole of Psalm 95 can remind us this Lent that we are messy and complicated, equipped with joy and a plastic sword. God is big enough to welcome us when we are praiseworthy and when we are penitential. God loves us and longs for us to be rejoined with our siblings in faith. The Lord who made the seas and molded the dry land is calling you and me to be reconnected and recentered upon God. In spite of all the pain and chaos, shall we try again today?
With God’s help,
Katherine+
Reflection and Challenge
Sit with how celebration and regret can be co-mingled. Spend a few moments reflecting on where you feel challenged and inspired. How is God building up your faith today in this tension? How will you respond?
Herod and the Power to Say No - March 11
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:97-120; PM Psalm 81, 82; Gen. 45:16-28; 1 Cor. 8:1-13; Mark 6:13-29
One of the trends I am seeing in my own leadership style is that I get myself in trouble often trying to say “yes” to too many things. I’m probably a pleaser (I’m not sure if that is part of my Myers-Briggs score, Enneagram, or something else entirely). In some ways, it probably contributes to some of the excitement of our community. We have lots of programs and ministries and small groups. But it’s not always done in a systemic way that protects time, and it’s a real growing edge for me.
Saying yes to too many things is a pretty light thing that is easy enough to address. But it’s not hard to see how that same impulse, how wanting to please, wanting to keep everyone happy, wanting to avoid disappointing people, can lead to much heavier consequences.
In today’s Gospel, King Herod finds himself in that exact place.
At a birthday banquet, caught up in the moment and in front of a room full of powerful guests, he makes a sweeping promise: “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” It sounds generous, maybe even noble. But it is also careless. It is a promise made more out of pride and pressure than wisdom.
The request is for the head of John the Baptist. Herod knows it is wrong. Mark even tells us that Herod was “deeply grieved.” Yet because of his oath and the eyes of everyone watching, he goes through with it.
Herod’s story is a sobering reminder of how dangerous it can be when our desire to please people becomes stronger than our commitment to what is right. Sometimes faithfulness means disappointing the room or saying ‘no’ to a friend.
I think there is real wisdom in learning how to say no. And sometimes the most faithful leadership begins with the courage to pause before making promises we cannot faithfully keep.
John+
Question for Self-reflection:
Where in your life might the desire to please others be pulling you away from what you know is right or faithful?
Crowding in Our Lives - March 4
Today’s Readings:AM Psalm 72; PM Psalm 119:73-96; Gen. 42:18-28; 1 Cor. 5:9-6:8; Mark 4:1-20
One of the most life-giving projects at Saint Stephen’s began last fall in the Carpenter living room. Every Monday afternoon, I would stroll in with my New Oxford Annotated Bible and sit down with Doug Carpenter. We would open to the Gospel according to Mark, one of us would read a chapter aloud, press record on the phone, and then we would simply talk about it. (You can listen to those conversations here.)
The idea came from Doug, who had shared that he was currently reading the Bible chapter by chapter with one of his godchildren. What a beautiful way to be a godparent, even in one’s 90s!
Most weeks, we had each read ahead and jotted a few thoughts, but not much more than that. The practice itself was the point, that we are returning again and again to the soil of scripture. What I noticed was how often we could see ourselves in the story, or recognize our world reflected in Mark’s Gospel.
I write this because, as that weekly rhythm has paused—simply because of too many pressing commitments—I realize how much I miss the grounding of it. I still read scripture and pray with it, but there was something about those Mondays that fed my spiritual life in a way that was steady and sustaining.
I think that is at the heart of Jesus’ parable in Mark 4:1–20. The sower scatters seed everywhere. Sowed on the path, on rocky ground, among thorns, and on good soil. The seed is the same in every case. The difference is not the generosity of God, but the condition of the soil that receives it.
And Jesus is honest about the thorns. The seed that falls among them is choked by “the cares of the world, the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things.” That line always lands close to home. Not because any of those things are inherently evil, but because they quietly crowd out the spaciousness needed for God’s word to take root.
I can feel that tension in my own life right now. The commitments themselves are meaningful and good. Yet when they multiply, they can become the very thorns Jesus names. Those Monday conversations were, for me, a small act of tending the soil. They created space for the word to sink deeper, to nourish faith, to shape hope. And their absence reminds me that good soil does not happen by accident. It is cultivated through attention, relationship, and time given to God.
The invitation of this parable is not guilt but awareness: to notice what is growing in us, and what may be crowding out life. Because the sower is still scattering. How are you tending the soil of your very life?
Faithfully,
John+
Self-reflection question:
What “thorns” in my life, good commitments or necessary cares, might be crowding out the space where God’s word can take deeper root in me right now?
Ash Wednesday and Self-Awareness
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 95 [for the invitatory] & 32, 143; PM Psalm 102, 130; Amos 5:6-15; Heb. 12:1-14; Luke 18:9-14
Today is Ash Wednesday, and I hope many of you who are reading this reflection will be moved to attend worship somewhere today, wherever that may be. At some point during the liturgy, ashes will be placed on your forehead in the sign of the cross with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It is a powerful moment—one that reminds us both of our mortality and of the God who lovingly created us from the dust of the earth.
If you were to look in the Book of Common Prayer, the order of the Ash Wednesday liturgy is interesting. We gather for the Liturgy of the Word, hear the readings and sermon, and only then are people invited to receive ashes. The appointed Gospel is always from Matthew 6:1–6, 16–21, where Jesus says, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.”
Back in 2018, we invited the Rev. Dr. Jim Turrell—then a liturgy professor and now Dean of Sewanee’s School of Theology—to give a lecture on the Prayer Book. He pointed out that this order creates a kind of tension: we are marked publicly with ashes and then immediately hear Jesus warn against public displays of piety. Since then, we have made a pastoral shift at Saint Stephen’s. We impose ashes at the beginning of the service and then hear the Gospel, so that the scripture can interpret the action—reminding us of what this is truly about and guarding us from turning it into a performance.
Today’s Gospel for Morning Prayer carries a similar theme. In Luke 18:9–14, Jesus tells the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. The Pharisee stands apart, praying about himself, rehearsing his righteousness and thanking God he is not like other people. The tax collector, by contrast, stands at a distance, unable even to lift his eyes, beating his breast and praying simply, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jesus points to the tax collector as the model for who we are to be. We are freed from having to get it all right. Thanks be to God! But we are called to be self-aware.
This is Ash Wednesday. The ashes remind us of who we are: mortal, fragile, dependent, and in need of mercy. And in that truth, there is something profoundly unifying. Every human being is marked by the same dust. Every forehead bears the same cross. The whole Church is invited into the same season of repentance. All of us are complex and messy people in need of grace.
And what God is always seeking is not our performance but our hearts. The ashes do not change God’s love for us; they change us. At some level, they soften us and make us look inward, something that is always desperately needed.
So come, if you can. Receive the ashes. Hear again the ancient words. And let God do the quiet work of reshaping your heart in mercy and truth.
Faithfully,
John+
Questions for Self-Reflection: Where is God calling you to be more self-aware?
The Longest Distance - February 10
Today’s Readings - Psalm 80; Gen. 25:19-34; Heb. 13:1-16; John 7:37-52
A week ago, this past Sunday the gospel was the Sermon on the Mount or what we know as the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes are not a measuring stick Jesus is using to highlight our shortcomings but rather an introduction to the disciples and to us on how to be a disciple. They also reveal the character of God and who we can expect God to be in our lives. None of the Beatitudes are prescriptive but rather they describe opportunities, choices we can make as we live out our lives.
Doing the right thing, making the right choice, is not always the easiest thing to do. As a matter of fact, sometimes it’s the hardest, most painful thing to do. I officiated at a funeral last week for a man whose family described him as the kind of friend who told you the truth even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. That’s hard. I once told a friend the truth about something she had said that offended me and that one statement ended our friendship. It was a painful decision but a necessary one.
As a first century Jew, telling the truth or doing the right thing could cost you your standing in the Temple or worse. In the gospel for today, Nicodemus questions the Temple authorities concerning their desire to condemn Jesus without a trial, to arrest him without any concrete accusations. Bishop-elect The Very Rev. Richard Lawson, preached at the opening Eucharist for the 195th Diocesan Convention. He spoke of how Jesus was moved with compassion for those by whom he was surrounded. He also quoted Bp.Furman Charles "Bill" Stowe, the eighth bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama, as having once said that the longest distance you’ll ever travel is 18” – the distance from your head to your heart.
Doing the right thing, speaking up when it’s hard, speaking your truth to power – all of this is more than an intellectual endeavor. It takes knowing what the right thing is and then having a heart filled with compassion for justice, truth and respect for other human beings as children of God. However, most of all, it takes having faith in the transforming power of the Holy Spirit and in Christ. Trusting Jesus is what empowered the disciples to choose to follow him and then to live their lives in such a way that they were constantly forced to make choices.
We face situations every day where we have choices. No one can tell someone else what is right for them however, choosing to trust Jesus seems to be a no brainer. Those 18” can feel like a mile if we let them, but if we allow the Holy Spirit to transform us, if we trust in the teachings of Jesus, they can feel like no distance at all.
Faithfully,
Sally+
Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What would you do if there were no repercussions to fear? If you could speak up for whatever it is that’s important to you, that you believe is right without fear of reprisal or losing someone’s respect or friendship? Is it possible to speak our truth so that it’s heard in a grace-filled non-offensive manner?
The Good News Disrupts and Upends - October 17, 2025
Reflection on the Daily Office Lectionary for October 17, 2025
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 16, 17; PM Psalm 22; Jer. 38:14-28; 1 Cor. 15:1-11; Matt. 11:1-6
In today’s gospel, Jesus is exchanging messages with John the Baptist. Incarcerated for speaking out against the wicked ruler Herod Antipas, John heard from his friends and followers who spoke of Jesus’ actions. This news got the prophet thinking, as he had time for that in jail.
The prophets of old – like Isaiah – had prophesied about the Messiah. John knew to watch the signs. As a prophet, he practiced listening to God and noted the movements and motifs of people. I imagine that he monitored and measured faithfulness. Attuned to the Spirit and God’s people, John sensed change coming. And so, he sent word to Jesus, asking “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”
Jesus responded to his jailed cousin. He told John’s disciples to testify to what they witnessed in his actions. He gave examples of what they could point to, for Jesus healed obvious brokenness in people –sight, gait, skin maladies, hearing, and those at the point of death. And the poor – the ignored and easily-manipulated – “have good news brought to them”.
Something new occurred to me: Jesus put the power back into the hands of the vulnerable, both through healing and through the way he named the healings. He did not give himself the credit, saying “I restored sight to the blind and I healed the lame.” Jesus said, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk”. Those healed were at the center; their personhood was restored. The downtrodden were empowered to stand upright.
As a prophet, the change and challenge Jesus brought was considerable. He offered new hope those whose voices were once squelched and disregarded. By doing so, he made things messier for those in positions of power, because God sent the Son to bring freedom in a divine way to all. The Good News of God’s faithfulness lifts us in new ways, and it calls us to let go of what holds us back.
How is the humble prophet and Son of God bringing truth, healing, and freedom into your life today?
With God’s help.
Katherine+
Reflection and Challenge
Sit with Matthew 11:1-6 today. Where is Jesus' message of healing and hope calling you to pay attention? What part of the Good News will you share with those around you?