Daily Reflections based on Daily Lectionary of the Episcopal Church written by the clergy of Saint Stephen’s.

John Burruss 9/3/26 John Burruss 9/3/26

Remembering Wendell Berry - September 3

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 37:1-18; PM Psalm 37:19-42; Job 16:16-22,17:1,13-16; Acts 13:1-12; John 9:1-17

A dear friend of mine gave Anne and me one of the most interesting wedding gifts we received: two books.

The first was Follow Me Down, a rather gruesome story of crime, faith, passion, and redemption by the beloved Memphis writer Shelby Foote. Foote, of course, is far better known for his monumental history of the American Civil War.

The other was Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry’s novel about a young man who leaves seminary and eventually becomes the barber in a small Kentucky town. Since I was preparing to leave for seminary myself only a few months later, I wondered whether Jonathan was offering me a little career advice.

That novel was my introduction to Berry, who would become arguably the most influential writer on my faith. His novels, poetry, and essays have profoundly shaped the way I see God at work in the world. More particularly, they have shaped my understanding of what God calls us to be: people rooted in creation, attentive to the places we inhabit, and responsible for the ways we care for the earth and for one another.

Berry was born in rural Kentucky in 1934. After landing one of the most prestigious jobs in the country at NYU, he resigned much to the dismay of the literary world and returned to his home state in the 1960s. Berry settled on a farm near Port Royal, where he spent the rest of his life. He was at once a poet, novelist, essayist, farmer, conservationist, and social critic. Across all those vocations, he returned to a common conviction: that the health of the land, the health of our communities, and the health of our souls cannot finally be separated.

Wendell Berry died this week at the age of ninety-two, and I grieve a world without his voice. His words have often challenged and reoriented my life. He once wrote that we have made the mistake of assuming that whatever is good for us must also be good for the world. Instead, he argued, we must learn to trust that what is good for the world will ultimately be good for us as well.

Berry’s poem “Original Sin” is especially beautiful. It approaches sin from a different angle than today’s reading from the Gospel of John, yet it also helps illuminate that reading.

In John 9, the disciples encounter a man who has been blind from birth. They ask Jesus whose sin caused his blindness: his own or that of his parents. Jesus rejects the premise of their question. The man’s suffering is not a punishment that can be neatly traced to someone’s wrongdoing. It will instead become an occasion for the works of God to be revealed.

That does not mean, however, that sin is unreal. As Christians, we recognize something within humanity that resists God—something ancient and deeply rooted that damages our relationships with God, with one another, and with creation. Berry gives voice to that mystery:

Original Sin

Well, anyhow, it preserves us from the pride

of thinking we invented sin ourselves

by our originality, that famous modern power.

In fact, we have it from the beginning

of the world by the errors of being born,

being young, being old, causing pain

to ourselves, to others, to the world, to God

by ignorance, by knowledge, by intention,

by accident. Something is bad the matter

here, informing us of itself, handing down

its old instruction. We know it

when we see it, don’t we? Innocence

would never recognize it. We need it

too, for without it we would not know

forgiveness, goodness, gratitude,

that fund of grace by which alone we live.

—Wendell Berry, Given: Poems (2005)

Sin is not a simple explanation for suffering, and suffering is not proof of someone’s guilt. But our blindness, our inability to see God, one another, and creation as clearly as we should, is real. The good news of John’s Gospel is that our blindness need not have the final word. Like the man beside the road, we can be encountered by Christ. Our eyes can be opened, our lives can be changed, and the works of God can be revealed in us.

And even our recognition of sin can become, as Berry suggests, a doorway into forgiveness, goodness, gratitude, and “that fund of grace by which alone we live.”

Thanks be to God.

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where does sin invite you into a deeper relationship with God?

Sally Herring 9/1/26 Sally Herring 9/1/26

The Dream of Freedom - September 1

Today’s Readings - Psalm 26, 28; Job 12:1,13:3-17,21-27; A cts 12:1-17; J ohn 8:33-47

I’ll admit I listen to a lot of books, possibly more than I actually read, which feels a bit like cheating. I read so much for study that when it comes to reading for pleasure, I’m out of time. So, a few years ago I began listening to books. The selection is wonderful and there are even great resources from the public library that cost absolutely nothing. I know for a fact it has saved me from expressing my impatience in traffic, in not so nice a manner, more than a few times.

Right now, I’m listening to Whistler, by Ann Patchett. One of the reoccurring themes has been the different ways that retirement tends to impact people. Some look forward to the freedom that retirement brings only to find that the so-called freedom of leaving a 9 to 5 job leaves some feeling adrift and no longer sure of their purpose. Others love working and work long past the age of retirement and seem to find more freedom in their ability to continue doing what they love. The perceived freedom of retirement for some is more like the wizard behind the curtain, once the curtain is pulled back it’s not what they had imagined it would be.

Jesus begins today’s gospel by addressing a group of Jews. In the face of their denial of ever having been slaves, he reminds them of their ancestors who were once enslaved. They seem to have forgotten the verses from Deuteronomy that remind them that once they had been slaves in Egypt. A reminder that the freedom that their ancestors enjoyed and that they have inherited was a gift from God.

It’s interesting how we view freedom. The idea of freedom can be encapsulated into vacation ads or promotions for a certain type of car. Or it’s seen as financial security, something that can be procured by years of hard work or through investment strategies. Vacations that eventually end and investment strategies that unfortunately can go south leaving us in worse financial shape than before.

The type of freedom Jesus is speaking of goes right over the heads of his listeners. They’re likely thinking of the heavy-handed way the Roman’s levy taxes or restrict wages; the idea that the slavery they are shackled with isn’t military rather that it’s sin isn’t in their lexicon.

The ways we may think of freedom are no less meaningless than the freedom these Jews believe they possess. There is not one of us who is not a sinner and thus not one of us who is not enslaved to sin. No matter how hard we try we are sinners and yet, we are also children of a God who sees us not as slaves but as beloved children. In our baptism we are washed with the blood of the Lamb, made free by the Son of Man, a freedom that can never collapse when the stock prices take a nosedive or when whatever dream we have of freedom fails us.

“36So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” As someone who is as guilty as the rest - I’m currently in withdrawal from a few wonderful days away - I’m reminded as I hope you are that whatever our dream of freedom may be, be it retirement or a dream vacation, true freedom only comes from Christ. So, as you face your day, give thanks for the gifts we have, no matter how temporary in nature. Give thanks to a God who loves us, who forgives us, who sustains us and gives us the one true eternal freedom.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What are some strategies for enjoying the temporary nature of our passing freedoms, without losing sight of their impermanence and where our true freedom lies?

John Burruss 8/27/26 John Burruss 8/27/26

“Lord, to whom can we go?” - August 25

Today’s Readings - Psalm 5, 6; Job 6:1-4,8-15,21; Acts 9:32-43; John 6:60-71

When my first three children were small one of the dreaded situations of my life was taking my three to a playground or one of those indoor play gyms. After what seemed like forever when they should have been ready to leave it was inevitable that one of them would refuse to leave. I knew that if I threatened to leave them, they’d probably jump at the chance. I think they knew it was an empty threat. In many of these cases I would leave the playground pulling one or more kicking and screaming protesting how mean I was and how unfair it all was.

When I was a social worker, I would take foster children to playgrounds and the same situation would arise, but I learned never to make idle promises – because sure enough, they’d call my bluff, then what was I supposed to do? I think the foster children knew they had nowhere else to go but they’d been left so many times in various scenarios that they didn’t care or possibly trust anyone anymore.

In today’s gospel after several of the disciples have turned their back on Jesus and left him, Jesus asks Simon Peter, “Do you want to leave too?” Simon Peter answers from his heart, and says, “Lord, to whom can we go?” His response seems to ring with a hollowed out sense that they have nowhere else to turn and they’re not sure what they have in store for them. Simon Peter knows there is nowhere else that they can go, that Jesus has more than everything they need, they have come to believe that he is the Son of God, “The Holy One of God.”

Growing up we’ve, all probably found ourselves wanting to belong, wanting someone to claim us, to say, “You are special, you are important, you matter.” I remember when I was in the second grade, I packed a little suitcase and pretended to be running away. I only got a couple of houses away before my big brother swooped me up and carried me home crying. As I recall I was hungry for the attention. Behaviors can almost always be traced back to needs.

Simon Peter knew however there was no reason to leave because he recognized that Jesus was the only source for all things necessary for life. Jesus never turns away – if anyone moves it’s always us.

We don’t need to test Jesus or to pretend to walk away in hopes he’ll call after us. Jesus has already claimed us. He has an open-door policy that is constantly ready to open up, wrapping us up in the love and the care for which we hunger. All we need do is swallow our pride and admit we have no other source of light or life.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge When was the last time you were homesick and hungered for someone to claim you, to cherish you and give you that sense of belonging that we all hunger for. What do we fabricate in our lives that can create an obstacle to Jesus’ presence? Is it pride, independence, stubbornness?

John Burruss 8/20/26 John Burruss 8/20/26

Hangry - August 20

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 131, 132, [133]; PM Psalm 134, 135; Job 1:1-22; Acts 8:26-40; John 6:16-27

“Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

Several people commented that my sermon last week was helpful, specifically in the context of Saint Stephen’s and why our invitation to communion is so important. If you are curious about that prayer, our practice, and we do something that is a little outside of the norm, you can listen here. And, it connects to today’s Gospel in an important way.

We have a saying in my house. It’s called “hangry” = hungry + angry. It is most often experienced in one of my children. They bypass lunch, distracted by screens or friends or something else, and eventually the attitude changes. I’m learning not to take it personally. I’ve said many times, “Oh, you’re just hangry” to which the most generous response is usually a dramatic eye roll.

The funny thing about hunger is that sometimes we don’t realize how hungry we are.

I wonder if the same thing happens in our spiritual lives. We move through our days distracted by work and schedules and screens and all the things demanding our attention. We look for something to satisfy us (fill in any number of things), and yet somehow we remain hungry.

Jesus knows something about that hunger.

“Do not work for the food that perishes,” he says, “but for the food that endures for eternal life.”

There are plenty of good things in this world that can sustain us for a while. But there is a hunger within us that none of them can ultimately satisfy. We need something we cannot provide for ourselves. Maybe that is part of why we keep coming back to the Eucharist, or our lives feel out of sorts when we have missed.

Last week I reflected on the beauty of the invitation to the table: Come, you who have much faith and you who have little. Perhaps today Jesus reminds us why the invitation matters so much.

Because we are hungry. We may just not even know it.

Faithfully,

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: What are you asking to satisfy a hunger that only God can feed?

Sally Herring 8/18/26 Sally Herring 8/18/26

I Can Do Nothing on My Own - August 18

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [120], 121, 122, 123; Judges 18:1-15; Acts 8:1-13; John 5:30-47

My mother liked to say that I was born pushing her out of the way. That I was fiercely independent and that I wouldn’t even allow her to rock me when I was upset. I’ve known for years now that I wasn’t great about asking for help even though there have been more times than I can count when I desperately needed and wanted help. I’m sure that says something about me that a therapist would have a grand time unpacking! As I’ve matured and my faith has grown, I’ve come to accept help more easily, but I still struggle with asking. Which frankly is quite egotistical.

During my 20+ years of working as a social worker I’ve seen individuals who go to great lengths to avoid what’s best for them and try every other option first. Often addicts will try everything refusing to admit that they are powerless against their disease. They will make multiple excuses rather than admit what everyone else sees – that first they need to admit that they need help and then second, get the kind of help real help that comes from a higher power.

The opening lines from today’s gospel from John say it all: “I can do nothing on my own.” Jesus admits that he needs help, and not just any help but help from his father. He describes the Jewish religious leaders who try going to the scriptures, going everywhere but to their father who is in heaven. They are only concerned with individual prestige and status over the kind of truth that only comes from God.

Why do we insist on going it alone? Why do we insist on problem solving everything without first sitting in the presence of God and sharing, honestly admitting what our needs are. God already knows what we need, but admitting our dependence on God is where we tend to fall short. It doesn’t need to be a roadblock. God is always waiting.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - How often do our daily thoughts and actions intersect with thoughts of God? What are some ways we unintentionally turn away from God, seeking admiration, approval or praise from others? What would it be like to seek approval and validation from God rather than from those who surround us?

John Burruss 8/6/26 John Burruss 8/6/26

Magic Eyes and the Transfiguration - August 6

Today’s Readings: The Transfiguration; AM Psalm 2, 24; Exodus 24:12-18; 2 Corinthians 4:1-6; PM Psalm 72; Daniel 7:9-10,13-14; John 12:27-36a

Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration. When I was in elementary school, one of the popular books were those “Magic Eye” books filled with colorful dots. If you looked at the page just right, a three-dimensional image would suddenly appear. I remember being so frustrated because everyone around me seemed to see something that I couldn't. Then, almost without warning, my eyes adjusted, and what had looked like random patterns suddenly revealed something that had been there all along.

The Feast of the Transfiguration reminds me of those books. On the mountain, Jesus doesn't just become someone different. Maybe for a brief moment, Peter, James, and John are given eyes to see who he has always been. The veil is pulled back, and the glory that has been present all along shines through in a way that they hadn’t seen before.

Several months ago, a parishioner was seeking council about an employee who had done something quite dishonest and certainly illegal. I was trying to be pastoral and wasn’t quite as generous about forgiveness as the conclusion this person arrived at. I’m glad they didn’t take my advice. And actually, they taught me something about forgiveness and how our faith can change the way we see other people, and how we see the situation we are in.

In today's Gospel, Jesus says, "Walk while you have the light." Light does more than brighten our path; it teaches us to see what was hidden in the darkness. Faith is not merely about acquiring new information. It is about allowing God to transform our vision so that we recognize the holy that has been with us all along. This helps us to see dignity or possibility where others miss the picture. Thanks be to God.

John+

Questions for Self-Reflection: Where might God be inviting you to look again today? What ordinary person, place, or moment might reveal God's glory if you slow down long enough to truly see?

Sally Herring 8/4/26 Sally Herring 8/4/26

God Believes in Us - August 4

Today’s Readings - Psalm 78:1-39; Judges 7:1-18; A cts 3:1-11; J ohn 1:19-28

Every so often, I’ll witness our youngest son do something that seems completely out of character. For example, after not making his bed for two years I walk in one morning and his bedroom is neat as a pin. As his parents, one or both of us has said, “Who are you and what have you done with my son?” We say it tongue in cheek of course, but it’s remarkable how someone can morph into a new version of themselves, to appear to have drastically changed. Sometimes it’s not so much that we’ve changed but that we’ve grown into who we were all along. For as long as I can remember I’ve thought I was shy – I've been told I was shy until as an adult I realized it’s not so much that I’m shy as I’m more of an introvert than extrovert. I can be as social as the next but it’s not always how I prefer spending time.

In today’s gospel reading from John we’re hearing about the very beginning of John the Baptist’s ministry. Unfortunately, after his birth, John kind of falls off the map. His parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, were given a foretaste of who he would become but then the next time we hear about John he’s a grown man who’s been living in the wilderness, eating locust and honey, and now he reappears, seemingly out of nowhere, proclaiming the coming of the Messiah, the Lamb of God.

Jewish priests and Levites from Jerusalem seek him out to ask, “Who are you?” They’re understandably skeptical. Anyone who knew John as a child might wonder, “Who are you and what have you done with John?” It would take a lot of confidence in your beliefs to take this bold of a step.

I recently read about a woman who has written a memoir that demonstrates how one person holds intense grief alongside a deep faith. In her moments of doubt and despair she is reminded as she says her traditional Jewish morning prayers that “God has great faith in me.” Rachel Goldberg-Polin explains that she’s always liked the idea that God believes in us. I was struck by this thought and immediately knew this is what I, we, need to adopt as our mantra. That we are children of God. That God believes in us, has great faith in us and with that thought, believe that no matter how daring or risky a step in faith may feel, God believes in us, God has faith in us. With God in our corner, so much more seems possible, less risky. It can be incredibly freeing to realize this and to be able to live into what we are called to do as God’s children, as disciples of Christ.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for reflection and challenge - What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? Or if you did, no matter the results God was with you, believing in you, Cheering you on? Who would you be? Would you have chosen a different life’s path? What can you do, beginning today that yesterday you may have been hesitant to try?

John Burruss 7/30/26 John Burruss 7/30/26

Joseph of Arimathea - July 30

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm [70], 71; PM Psalm 74; Judges 4:4-23; Acts 1:15-26; Matt. 27:55-66

There is a lot of outrage in the world right now and probably much of it for very good reasons. And sometimes it feels totally overwhelming with how to respond. We can’t fix everything, and yet we can do something, and we often are kind of stuck in a place in between trying to figure out what it means to respond to each other, to our loved ones, to people in need, and to a world hurting.

In today’s Gospel passage, I am drawn to Joseph of Arimathea. Matthew makes the important distinction that he was a disciple of Jesus, whereas Mark’s Gospel only points to him being a respected member of the council. Matthew avoids this, likely trying to claim that Joseph wasn’t responsible for Jesus’s condemnation and was a member of the Sanhedrin.

As I reflect today, I'm not so sure it's a bad thing to remember that Joseph was part of the council. Human beings are complicated, tied up in institutions, relationships, and decisions that are often bigger than ourselves. We are rarely entirely innocent or entirely guilty. Most of us live in the tension of trying to be faithful while navigating flawed families, workplaces, communities, and systems. Joseph reminds us that anyone can become an instrument of grace.

I find this very hopeful. If you are feeling paralyzed in responding to the needs of the world, maybe the simple answer is just do the next faithful thing. Joseph cannot save the world. That belongs to God alone. But he can care for one broken body. He can bear witness to love when violence seems to have won. Maybe discipleship is less about being responsible for changing everything and more about refusing to let compassion disappear.

Perhaps that is the invitation for us as well. We cannot heal every wound or solve every crisis that confronts us. The needs of the world are simply too great for each person to bear that weight. But we can honor Christ by caring for the person before us, speaking the truth we have been given to speak, and offering the love we are able to offer. We entrust the rest to God, who has always been in the business of bringing resurrection out of places that look like endings.

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where is God inviting you to do the next faithful thing, even if you cannot fix the whole problem?

Sally Herring 7/28/26 Sally Herring 7/28/26

King of the Hill - July 28

Today’s Readings - AM Psalm 61, 62; Judges 2:1-5,11-23; Rom. 16:17-27; Matt. 27:32-44

It can be one of life’s greatest temptations to use our influence, to flex our muscles, or to try to prove our worth even when we know we don’t need to. It usually happens when our back is up against a wall and we feel trapped, defensive, with no way out. It’s not pretty when it happens and I honestly can’t remember a time when I’ve witnessed someone resort to this when I’ve been impressed or when the situation wasn’t made worse.

As I try to understand why we fall into this trap I’ve come to believe that the root of behavior meant to intimidate someone by impressing them with our worth may be insecurity. When we resort to these types of tactics it’s usually because we feel threatened. I’ve seen children do this while playing especially if one is getting the best of another. Bullies quite often resort to this type of behavior, puffing themselves up to appear more powerful, more threatening, when underneath their intimidating persona is a frightened child who just needs and wants to be accepted and loved.

It can be exhausting to be “King of the Hill.” Just getting there isn’t enough. Once you’re there you need to defend your title, your right to the real estate or reputation you’ve acquired.

Those who persecuted Jesus and the men who carried out the execution were for the most part bullies, cowards hiding behind false accusations and taunts, behind the demands of others and fear of retaliation. Jesus knew he had nothing to gain by responding to their threats. What he had come to do he had accomplished in how he lived and how he was choosing to die. He regarded his devotion to God as a higher calling than any earthly title or crown. Ultimately through his death he knew he would be granting the children of God a kind of freedom that no one had ever experienced.

It may not feel like it, but we answer to that same calling. Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice so we too could die to sin, with him, in our baptism. As a result, we live with a covenant we made to God at our baptism and are bound by our baptismal vows. We live with the security of knowing that our lives don’t depend on proving our worth. Our worth in the eyes of God is all that matters.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection or Challenge - How often have you become subject to someone else’s taunts or provocations? How did you respond? What might you have done differently? How often do we consider our lives in relation to our baptismal vows me made or were made for us?

Sally Herring 7/21/26 Sally Herring 7/21/26

And They Deserted Him - July 21

Today’s Readings - Psalm 45; Jo shua 8:1-22; R om. 14:1-12; M att. 26:47-5 6

“Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.” There aren’t too many words in the New Testament that bother me more than this last verse from today’s gospel reading from Matthew. I’ve read them more times than I can remember and each time I read these lines and the narrative leading up to them I have mixed reactions. How could they have done that to their best friend, their teacher their companion, their lord? And then I consider what was at stake, how frightened they must have been, how confused and then how easy it would have been to panic and without considering their actions, run. I know because I’ve been there and done that.

We’ve all from time to time been faced with choosing between protecting ourselves, our reputation, our livelihood, and our loyalty for someone else, something else. Sometimes regretfully we’ve chosen the more selfish, safer option. Unfortunately, it can sometimes feel as though that’s the only option we have. And worse of all it can be way too easy to justify actions that we are less than proud of having committed.

Thankfully, this hasn’t happened to me very often. There are times when I’ve chosen to be safe, trying not to get involved, or not speaking our when I knew I should, but my heart has never let me off easy. Several years ago, I decided to honestly respond to a situation when I could have chosen to avoid it. I could have looked the other way and allowed it to continue. It would have been so much easier. Instead, I spoke up and I lost a friendship that I’ve missed but that was toxic and best cut loose. I know she’ll never understand that I was doing what I honestly knew was right, but I eventually came to peace with it knowing I did the right thing.

Jesus is more aware than we will ever be of how many ways we are challenged each day. We will never know how many times we’ve deserted him, the times we haven’t spoken up for those who have no voice, the times we haven’t taken just a few minutes to check on someone or to tell someone they matter. It’s a generous grace-filled love on Christ’s part that prevents us from knowing, because the weight of it all would probably be more than we could bear.

The last line in this narrative will always haunt me, but it’s the reminder I know I need on a daily basis; to try harder, to be more intentional, to be more aware, more present to the needs that we are surrounded by each and every day. It’s also the reminder I need to remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us so that we might know the freeing grace of forgiveness. The disciples like us out of fear and confusion ran for their lives, but at what cost? What is life without our relationship with Christ?

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - When you run from seeing the face of Jesus, when you turn to look the other way, who do you see? Do you see the reflection of someone you respect? Or, do you see the face of someone you wish had made better choices? What can we do to be more intentional, to remain more loyal to Jesus?

John Burruss 7/16/26 John Burruss 7/16/26

The Grace of Unresolved Questions - July 16

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 37:1-18; PM Psalm 37:19-42; Joshua 3:14-4:7; Rom. 12:1-8; Matt. 26:1-16

One of the more interesting conversations this summer was a discussion with clergy classmates about sermons by St. Basil the Great on the social vision of the church. I mentioned one of his sermons earlier in a reflection, but that was before our class discussion. Basil was an early bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia (modern-day Turkey) who lived in the middle of the 4th century.

It was a theology class, but we spent a few days on social vision, particularly wealth. You can imagine how that landed with a room of Episcopal clergy, a tradition that has historically been one of the most affluent, and many of us with livelihoods tied to the generosity of those who came before us and built the endowments that have helped our churches grow and endure in ways that would otherwise have been difficult.

In a sermon on Matthew 19:16-22, Basil proclaims,

"Why then are you sad? Why do you mourn in your soul, hearing 'Sell your possessions'? Even if your belongings could follow you to the future life, they would not be particularly desirable there, since they would be overshadowed by truly precious things. If on the other hand, they must remain here, why not sell them now and obtain profit? You are not disappointed when you must spend gold in order to purchase a horse. But when you have the opportunity to exchange corruptible things for the Kingdom of Heaven, you shed tears, spurning the one who asked of you and refusing to give anything, while contriving a million excuses for your own expenditures?"

Basil is responding to the rich man who is told to sell everything and walks away in tears. Later in the sermon, Basil offers a metaphor I find helpful:

"Great rivers begin from tiny streams, but eventually acquire irresistible magnitude by means of small additions, so that they violently sweep away whatever lies in their paths: thus it is with those who advance to positions of great power."

He's talking about how wealth and power have the capacity to corrupt, which is why an active spiritual discipline and thoughtful reflection on what shapes us is so important. He continues later in the sermon:

"Because of wealth, kinsfolk disregard the bond of nature, and siblings contemplate murder against sibling. Because of wealth the desert teems with murderers, the sea with pirates, and the cities with extortionists. Who is the father of lies? Who is the author of forgery? Who gave birth to perjury? Is it not wealth? Is it not the pursuit of wealth? What ails you people!"

(I added the exclamation point, but I imagine his sermon had crescendoed by this point.)

Closer to the end:

"Yet you say, 'I will enjoy all these things during my life, but after my death I will leave my goods to the poor, making them beneficiaries of my will and granting them all my possessions.' When you are no longer among your fellow human beings, then you will become a philanthropist!"

(I didn't add that exclamation point.)

I imagine you can picture a room of Episcopal clergy squirming in our seats — and many of us know our institutions are better off because of exactly this kind of generosity. Last year, we funded and built a house for someone because of an estate bequest, and I give tremendous thanks for the generosity of that precious soul!

I'm guessing Basil wasn't holding today's Gospel reading, from later in Matthew, where the woman pours a jar of costly ointment on Jesus and Judas criticizes her for not selling it and giving the profit to the poor, in the limelight either. Not everything is easily resolved. Today's reading suggests that sometimes we have really nice things.

I can't quite remember who said it, but I once heard that the preacher's challenge is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. These tensions in Kingdom living aren't easily resolved, and today I'm grateful for a Gospel that gives us all a little grace, and reminds us to share it too. And if this reflection leaves you with more questions than answers about how you're called to live, maybe that's a good thing.

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where in my life has comfort made me less attentive to the needs of others?

Sally Herring 7/14/26 Sally Herring 7/14/26

Look Busy, Jesus is Coming - July 14

Today’s Readings - Psalm 26, 28; Joshua 2:15-24; R om. 11:13-24; M att. 25:14-30

Years ago, there was a popular bumper sticker that read, “Look busy, Jesus is coming..The implied meaning was that we as Jesus’ followers are supposed to have been productive, busy doing the work Christ left for us to do while he was gone. The popular message however is, “look busy” not “get busy.” Implying that if you haven’t been productive then at least look as though you have. As if Jesus wouldn’t know the difference.

Occasionally when I was little my mother would leave my big brother and I at home by ourselves. She would usually leave us a list of chores to do, like clean up our rooms, or vacuum. She’d tell us that if we got these things done then we finished we could watch tv or go over to a friend’s house.

Of course, she wouldn’t be out of the driveway good before we’d try to figure out how long we had until she returned and then we’d wait until the very last minute and scurry around getting as much done as we could, so that it at least “looked” as though we’d been busy. The problem was that if she looked very closely, she could tell we hadn’t spent much time on the chores she’d given us to do. Rather than hanging neatly in my closet my clothes would be shoved under my bed. I came to realize that she didn’t care as much about the chores getting finished as whether or not she could trust us. If she couldn’t trust us with small insignificant things then how would she ever be able to trust us with larger more important things.

In today’s gospel, Jesus is trying to explain to the disciples, to us, that there are “chores” that will need to be done once he’s gone, and that it will matter how seriously we take these tasks; that we will have resources, gifts to use and that it’s up to us to use those gifts wisely. Of course, my mother cared that instead of hanging neatly in my closet my clothes were going to need to be ironed – again. But what I didn’t understand was that she cared more about trying to teach me how to be responsible, accountable for my actions. I not only was attempting to deceive my mother, but I was hurting myself. I was learning how to be lazy, to be one of those people who try to skirt around responsibility, just doing the bare minimum.

In addition to those talents and gifts we consider as resources, we also have faith, also a gift from God. We can choose to exercise our faith, to share so that as we share it, it multiplies each time. If we hide our faith or deny it when life gets hard or uncomfortable we cut ourselves off at the knees, denying ourselves the one thing that can heal the wounds, make hope possible, straighten crooked paths. It matters how we live out our role as disciples, as children of God. Take the time to be earnest in all things, those seemingly insignificant “chores” and the ones that can make all the difference. In the end what we accomplish during this short life, the relationships we forge, the love we share is all that matters.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - If you were going to write a slogan for a bumper sticker about your life as a disciple of Christ, what would it say? How has the way you’ve lived your life been accountable to Christ’s wishes for us? What could we all do to be a better disciple of Christ?

John Burruss 7/9/26 John Burruss 7/9/26

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 18:1-20; PM Psalm 18:21-50; Deut. 3:18-28; Rom. 9:19-33; Matt. 24:1-14

’You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’

The readings jumps out pretty boldly. Not the kind of reading you want to start your day. As I write my reflection (the day before), there is a whole crew in my backyard. They are ripping it completely up in order to attach an aerator to my septic system, test and lengthen the field lines, and well, make the yard less smelly if catch my drift. Did I tell you all how last year Anne and I, and the kids, laid seven pallets of sod in the back yards ourselves. None of that hard and beautiful work remains.

That verse is so stark: the disciples are looking at something solid, sacred, impressive, and Jesus says it will not hold. “Not one stone” is a frightening phrase because we want our faith to mean stability, protection, things staying in place. I want to believe the hard work I do with my family will stand the test of time, or at least one calendar year! But sometimes the truth is that what has to be saved cannot be saved by preserving the surface. Sometimes repair begins with ripping it all up.

Maybe that is true in us, too. In families, churches, friendships, nations, hearts. God’s kingdom does not always arrive as a gentle improvement project. Sometimes love uncovers what we would rather keep buried. Forgiveness messes up the septic system (metaphorically of course). Care asks us to stop decorating what needs healing. Nurture means staying near while the repair looks unfinished.

So perhaps the question is not, “Can I believe everything will remain standing?” Jesus seems to say no to that. The question is, “Can I believe God is present not only in the temple, but in the rubble, the trench, the exposed roots, the waiting, the torn-up yard?” Do we trust in God's love, and God’s way or are we too focused on the temple? And do we believe that God’s kingdom is something far greater than we can dream or imagine?

And yes: caring, forgiving, and nurturing each other and those in need may be exactly how we practice that belief. We become small signs of the kingdom when we do not abandon one another in the mess. We trust that love is not fragile. We trust that what God is building can survive the tearing down of what no longer gives life.

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where is the temple being destroyed in my own life? And where do I see glimmers of God’s resurrection making something new?

Sally Herring 7/7/26 Sally Herring 7/7/26

All God’s Children - July 7

Today’s Readings - Psalm 5, 6; Num. 35:1-3,9-15,30-34; R om. 8:31-39; M att. 23:13-2 6

Several years ago, one of our children came home from school visibly upset. When I asked what was wrong, he told me a friend of his needed a place to live. He had argued with his mother, and she had asked him to leave. I never knew the whole story, but it was enough to know that he needed to feel welcome and safe and our home had plenty of room. After several months the young man was able to move back home. I never asked him what had caused the rift, but I’ll never forget the expression on his face as he walked in our front door, the pain from rejection was palatable.

Unfortunately, I’ve heard other similar stories. Every time one of my children told me about a friend who found themselves in a heartbreaking situation like this, I would assure them that could never happen in our home, that no matter what they would always be loved, and our home would always be their home. However, I think deep inside, every child harbors the fear of being alone, of doing something or being someone so unforgiveable they lose the one place where they have belonged, where they felt loved. In a way it makes sense. A child’s parents represent everything that brings security, emotionally and physically, even their ability to survive. Additionally, we are all born craving acceptance, coupled with the need to belong. Even as adults I believe we all harbor traces of these feelings, needs and insecurities.

In today’s epistle from Paul to the Romans, Paul is confronting the division that has grown between the Jewish people of the church in Rome and the Gentiles who now are in the majority. Paul addresses the Jewish member’s fears that God has abandoned them, his chosen people. Paul is assuring the Jews in much the same way that a parent might reassure his children, that God’s promises to them are just as certain now as they were when God first made them. God’s covenant remains intact. Like a parent who has more than one child it is possible that God can love all of God’s children. God’s history with the Hebrew people was one of a covenantal nature. With the birth of Jesus and his death and resurrection that covenant now includes all of God’s children, Jew, and Gentile, free or slave.

As Paul argues elsewhere in his epistle, our salvation is not based on good deeds, it’s not transactional. Our salvation just like God’s love through Jesus Christ is based on nothing we’ve done or not done, rather it is based on God’s grace, a grace that frees us from a “Naughty or Nice” tally sheet. Knowing God has never asked anything of us but our love almost feels too easy at times, as if we’d feel better about it if we were required to earn at least some of God’s grace. The beauty of grace is just that however, it can’t be earned and in turn it can’t be taken away for lack of brownie points.

Just as we are loved unconditionally so are our neighbors, so are those we’d rather not sit next to on the bus, along with those bullies we still avoid even though 6th grade was a lifetime ago. I’m not sure we ever completely outgrow the deep craving to feel secure and loved. But if we can acknowledge that in ourselves, can we recognize that everyone else holds that same need? And if we can recognize that then surely, we must recognize we are all undeserving yet loved, accepted despite our imperfections. Ultimately, we are all more similar than we may like to admit, the question is can we live together, sharing God’s grace and work together to build up the Kingdom of God?

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - How often have you wondered how God could possibly love you in spite of all those things you’re not proud of? Now stop and close your eyes, open your heart and your arms to the loving grace of God then try to imagine what this world would be like if everyone knew that same kind of acceptance and love.

Sally Herring 6/30/26 Sally Herring 6/30/26

Ditches - June 30

Today’s Readings - Psalm [120], 1 21, 122, 12 3; Num. 22:21-38; R om. 7:1-12; M att. 21:23-32

Not too long ago I was having a hard time deciding about something that was very important to me. Someone who had heard my deliberations said, “Let your yes be yes and your no be no.“ I didn’t quite know how to take that. I’ve never considered myself as someone who sits on the fence. I typically know what the right decision is, but I realized in that moment I was hesitant to act on it because of the possible ramifications. I was going to make some people mad, and I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

A few years ago, the national Episcopal Church made some decisions that some have labeled as divisive. That’s not new. The history of the church is full of decisions that needed to be made that weren’t popular. From as far back 325 AD at the Council of Nicaea and earlier the church has been deliberating about the will of God and how to interpret the scriptures as they apply to humanity. I believe that those who have been involved, prayerfully made a good faith effort to the best of their ability to make the right decisions. However, there are few decisions that come without cost, at least not the difficult ones. The cost may be minimal, or it can be devastating.

When I was growing up my mother had a saying that has always stuck with me, “Not all ditches are worth dying in.” She’d follow that with, “But when your justice gets stepped on you may find yourself getting muddy.” She had cleaned a lot of mud off her shoes in her lifetime and even if I didn’t always agree with her, I respected her for that.

In today’s gospel Jesus asks the chief priests and the elders a straightforward question which did not have a simple answer. The difficulty lay in the fact that regardless of which answer they gave there would be problems to face. They couldn’t risk either, so they decided to sit on the fence. We’ve all found ourselves in similar situations. Someone asks our opinion about something that has occurred, or someone says or does something offensive, and we remain silent, choosing not to confront or appear disagreeable.

There’s an art to surviving these situations while still leaving with our ethics and our conscience in tack. Over time I’ve become more adept at expressing my truth so that I don’t leave the other feeling as though I’ve kicked sand in their eyes. But at times I still hesitate, dreading what will come afterwards. Jesus was the master of this party trick. He’ll have left the room before the other person realizes that they’ve just been dealt a crushing blow.

The one thing I’m convinced of is that there is no right way to remain silent in the face of injustice. Each one of us is a vessel for God’s love. We are shaped by that love and with God’s guidance we can address these dilemmas with compassion, and grace. It may not be fun and there may be a price to pay – there often is – but at least when we walk away, we’ll know that we can live with ourselves and the decision we’ve made.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - Think back, can you remember an incident when you chose to remain silent even though feeling very strongly about it? You wanted to speak up but were afraid of the aftermath? How might you have handled the situation differently? What do you think the fallout might have been if you had spoken honestly.

John Burruss 6/25/26 John Burruss 6/25/26

Family Systems - June 25

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 105:1-22; PM Psalm 105:23-45; Num. 17:1-11; Rom. 5:1-11; Matt. 20:17-28

Today’s Gospel passage includes a detail that Matthew preserves which gives the story a very human feel. It is not James and John who approach Jesus asking for places of honor in his kingdom, like it is in Mark. It is their mother. She kneels before Jesus and asks that her sons be seated at his right hand and his left. The request does not go over well. Matthew tells us that when the other ten disciples heard about it, they became angry with the brothers.

I once heard a therapist describe a dysfunctional family as a redundant statement. Every family has its tensions, rivalries, misunderstandings, and old wounds. In this case a mother advocating for her children in a way that causes the children to be resented by their new community. It is both loving and natural, and it exposes how the experiences of our family can cause pain and resentment in our larger communities. The same is true of churches, workplaces, and communities. Wherever people gather, there will be moments when someone feels overlooked, someone wants recognition, and someone else resents it. The disciples are no exception! (I think this is really good news by the way).

What strikes me is that Jesus does not spend much time sorting out who is most at fault. Instead, he redirects the entire conversation. The disciples are arguing about greatness, but Jesus wants them to understand that greatness in the kingdom of God looks very different than greatness in the world. "Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant." While the world encourages us to seek the best seat at the table, Jesus invites us to consider how we might serve those around us. In the end, the measure of a faithful life is not the recognition we receive, but the love we give.

I haven’t sorted out yet what all this means for our families other than God’s got work for us to do and an acknowledgement that life is messy. Maybe it helps to know this so we can let go of their very human responses to life and family and trust in God’s favor to each of us.

Faithfully,

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where is God inviting you to let go of competition or resentment in your own life?

Sally Herring 6/23/26 Sally Herring 6/23/26

What if . . .? June 23

Today’s Readings - AM Psalm 97, 99, [100]; Num. 16:20-35; Rom. 4:1-12; Matt. 19:23-30

There were times when my children were small that I wish I had recorded some of our conversations. They were masters at “what-iffing” a situation. No matter what the request, if they didn’t like my first answer the come back was always, “But, what if . . .?” For example, if I told them they couldn’t have ice cream before bedtime they’d reply, “What if we promise never to ask for ice cream before bed ever again,” or “What if we clean our rooms better than we ever have?” Sometimes their proposed scenarios were so creative I would give in just to reward their creativity. I knew better than to believe their rooms would get cleaned!

I had an ethics professor in seminary who taught us that “what-iffing” was never helpful, one leads to another, and then another. It seems to be the quickest way to get lost chasing something that in most circumstances can’t be anticipated or expected. In a sense it’s a feeble comeback to an answer we’d rather not have received. The disciples were well practiced at “what-iffing.” But then again so are we. So often, Jesus’ answer is not the answer someone might want to hear. “What do you mean, a rich man can’t get into heaven? What if I have money but I’m generous with it,” or “What if I worked hard for my money and I’m just very careful with it?”

In today’s gospel, when the disciples hear Jesus say that it will be impossible for a rich man to enter heaven, they respond by saying, ”’Then who can be saved?’ More often than not the answer to these questions lies in the reality that nothing is possible without God: “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” The point is not that we need to die penniless. What we need to let go of and give to God are not so much those materiel items we care about as those things that in the end are the most valuable of all our possessions, the ones we hold closest to our heart: our love, our trust, our faith as well as our need for control along with our belief that we can do all things well by ourselves and for ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, God does intend for us to be generous with the gifts we’ve received but it’s not the possession of wealth that’s the issue, rather it’s our attitude surrounding our use of that wealth.

I know I stay on the verge of frustration most days because I haven’t accomplished what I set out to finish, or I finish a task only to wish that I had done something a bit better or said something more carefully or acted more thoughtfully. How many times do I begin by asking God to be present, asking God to help me listen and to guide me? I’m embarrassed to admit not often. Instead, I charge into a task, without pausing to say a silent prayer. That small pause can often be all I need. We live flying by our wits and a gasp, rushing through our day rarely remembering God is closer than our breath, willing and able to be present. What-iffing may be one solution but “what if” asking for God’s guidance is a better approach?

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge – What if we began each day with a silent prayer asking for God’s presence as we make our decisions, as we consider our interactions with co-workers or family? What difference do you think it would make?

John Burruss 6/18/26 John Burruss 6/18/26

Living Intentionally - June 18

Today’ Readings: AM Psalm [83] or 34; PM Psalm 85, 86; Num. 12:1-16; Rom. 2:12-24; Matt. 18:10-20

Today I crossed the halfway mark of my time in Sewanee. I've been reading a great deal of Augustine, Basil, Origen, and Chrysostom, along with a steady stream of journal articles exploring the Old Testament texts from the Revised Common Lectionary. If you've been reading these reflections for a while, you can probably see where this is headed. Whether in these daily reflections or in my preaching, you'll likely hear more voices from the early Church in the months ahead. In fact, Augustine even makes an appearance in my sermon this Sunday.

Toward the end of his life, Augustine gathered the clergy who lived with him in the monastery at Hippo (Sermon 355, for those who want to look it up). One of the expectations he placed on those joining the monastery was that they sell their possessions and either give the proceeds to the poor or entrust them to the church for the care of the poor. Augustine believed this was part of the vocation to the monastic life. His guiding principle came from St. Paul: "Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (1 Corinthians 11:1).

As it happened, one of the clerics, a man named Januarius, died, and his will was discovered. When he entered the monastery, Januarius had told Augustine that he had given part of his estate to his children, something Augustine considered both wise and appropriate. But the will revealed that he had later taken that inheritance away from his children, who were now fighting over it, and instead left everything to the church.

Augustine was furious.

"I don't want these gifts," he said. "I don't like the taste of such bitter fruit."

For Augustine, the issue was never the money. It was integrity. He wanted people's lives to reflect the commitments they claimed to have made.

Near the end of the sermon he writes, "I don't want to have any hypocrites. It is bad—who would deny it?—to fall away from one's commitment; but it is worse to pretend to have such a commitment."

If we're honest, all of us are hypocrites at some level. The work of the spiritual life is to allow our actions to become more closely aligned with what we profess to believe. Selling everything and entering a monastery is not the calling most of us have received, but each of us is called to greater integrity, allowing our lives to reflect more faithfully the love of Christ.

As I read today's Gospel from Matthew, I think this is one place we can begin. How often do we complain about friends, loved ones, church members, coworkers, or bosses instead of speaking directly and lovingly to them? Jesus' instruction is given specifically to the Church, but it offers an ethic that is worthy of all our relationships.

Perhaps we are all hypocrites. But perhaps, by God's grace and with one another's encouragement, we can become a little less so each day, until the Kingdom comes and our lives more fully reflect the love, mercy, and truth of Christ.

John+

Question for Self-Reflection: Where is there a gap between what I profess to believe and the way I am living today—and what small step might God be inviting me to take toward greater integrity?

Sally Herring 6/16/26 Sally Herring 6/16/26

They became Like Fools - June 16

Today’s Readings - Psalm 78:1-39; Num. 11:1-23; R om. 1:16-25; M att. 17:22-2 7

I once knew a goodhearted man who had been promoted to a position that seemed way over his head so far as his knowledge that the position required. Those who knew him however commented that he had surrounded himself with smart experienced people, people he knew he could trust and who would advise him well. They’d remark, “He’s smart enough to know that he doesn’t know everything.”

How many times have you come across someone who is so certain they’re right that they never entertain the idea that they might be wrong? Even when the facts are staring them in the face, they refuse to give up the ship, insisting that they’re not sinking even though the water is lapping at their ears.

One of the most effective teachers I had in seminary was wise enough to allow his students the opportunity to prove their case, knowing there was a possibility they might prove him wrong. Stumbling over their own arrogance some students would set out to humiliate our teacher all the while it was clear that it wasn’t the truth they cared to reveal as much as portraying themselves as right and our teacher wrong. They placed more value on their ego than the actual process of well-intentioned healthy debate. They exchanged the good-will intentions of our teacher for the possibility of claiming to be smarter than someone with lightyears more experience, knowledge and character.

In today’s reading from Romans, Paul describes such a person; someone who would trade the glory of God, even their relationship with God for something of no actual worth: “for though they knew God, they did not honour him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their senseless minds were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools.” It’s an easy trap to fall into, especially in leadership positions or even as parents. It may feel that respect from others relies on proving your point every time, dismissing other’s opinions, as if unimportant.

Our son is working in upper state New York this summer and from our conversations it seems one of the things he has valued most about his job so far is that his bosses treat him like an adult. His opinion is valued, his experience though limited is respected and he’s been given the opportunity to execute decisions with the knowledge he might be wrong.

Humility was something that Christ modeled in so many ways, and even though he probably was right 99.9% of the time he also was willing to admit when he was wrong. Humility is defined as a total absence of self-focus and a whole-hearted submission to God. Rather than thinking less of yourself, it puts the emphasis on valuing others. When we practice humility we recognize our spiritual dependence on God, and replace pride of self with service, acknowledging our dependence on God. All this with the knowledge that we can take no credit for our skills but rather that they are gifts from God.

Faithfully,

Sally+

Questions for Reflection and Challenge - What do you tend to take credit for without considering its source? Do you catch yourself in conversations getting caught up in the need to be right rather than stepping back and allowing the possibility that you could be wrong? How might your relationships with others improve if you were more generous and less ego-driven?