God’s new way is one that will ultimately change you from within, into a new person. But you start with your perception of it, and take that first step.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday in Lent, year C
Texts: Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

God asks a hard question. It almost seems unfair.

Forget everything I’ve ever done, God says in Isaiah. In fact, forget that I brought you through the sea, stopped armies, and gave you an exodus, a path to new life. Forget your greatest story of salvation because I’m about to do a new thing. Don’t you perceive it?

As Christians, we say God’s new thing is fulfilled in Jesus, who called us to a path of life in God. But what if you aren’t sure you can see that, perceive what that means for your life?

Once again we’re looking at the path of Christ.

We’ve often talked of how hard Christ’s path is, the sacrificial, vulnerable love we’re asked to share for the sake of the world. But we also heard a couple weeks ago that the path is like rich food, rewarding, a way of life like nothing else.

Today we meet people who do perceive God’s new thing, God’s new path. People who find insight, truth, that changes them from inside out. They’re never the same after it. They don’t have to think about walking Christ’s way, it’s the only way they know. They don’t have to wonder if it’ll be hard or life-giving. The life they know in Christ is in their bones, and they can’t imagine going their old way.

We’re talking about Mary and Paul.

Paul tells the Philippians he is embedded in Christ’s new way. He once lived a life of joy and hope in following Torah, living as a faithful Jewish person. His life in Judaism was exemplary and fulfilling to him. But now, he says, none of that matters to me compared to knowing Christ. Paul found life in Christ and threw everything into following. All that matters to him now is knowing Christ ever more deeply, sharing Christ’s suffering and resurrection, and living as Christ.

Mary found God’s new way in Jesus, too. And today, at this dinner party, Mary can feel something from Jesus, the one she loves, who just brought her brother to life again. She senses his grief and anxiety. Maybe even his coming death. And she takes perfume that costs a year’s wages and pours it on Jesus’ feet, wiping them with her hair in love.

Mary and Paul perceive God’s new thing. It changes them completely, so now they act with new instincts, as if they’re already in the new way. Because they are.

But is this helpful to you? Can either of them explain how this helps? Not so much.

In these verses Paul tries to explain what it means for him to be so in Christ that his old ways don’t matter anymore, but he fails. Twice he tries, and twice he corrects himself, as if to say, “no, those aren’t the right words, either.”

And no one understands what Mary did except Mary and Jesus. The other disciples are dismayed. All they see is math. That much perfume costs this much, and this is a huge waste. They don’t get Mary at all.

So it’s not surprising we’re not sure how Mary and Paul help us, either.

They do because neither knew much more than you when they first perceived God’s new thing.

Paul was changed on the road to Damascus, but he didn’t have his theology yet, his proclamation. He couldn’t describe the way of Christ if you drew him a map. He just took a first step, then another. He listened to other Christians. And he met Christ. Not just on the road, at every step. Until he passed a point where he was no longer the person he was before. He sacrifices everything of his past life because step by step Christ drew him to this realization, this letting go, this life.

Mary didn’t give her perfume away on day one. However she first met Jesus, she didn’t know the new way fully. But step by step she followed until she was changed. She sacrifices financial security, faces the scorn of her friends. Because step by step Christ drew her to this realization, this letting go, this life.

So there’s your invitation: if you sense anything in Christ that pulls you with hope or gives you light or heals your heart, focus on that.

And take a step toward it. And another step. And if something you value pulls you back, ask for God’s help to let it go.

Mary and Paul had a lot to learn. But for both, it started with a moment of perception. That sense in you that says “these are words of life.” Maybe you’ve had that, too. So if Mary and Paul have anything to say it’s, “try that first step and see. Let go a little and see.”

This is God’s way in Christ. God’s new thing. Do you perceive it?

If you do, even in the smallest way, rejoice. And pray that the Spirit gives you courage to take those steps, one at a time, toward the light. Toward the hope. Toward the love. And courage to start dropping your old ways, no matter how precious, along the road. Until they’re not even in sight anymore.

That may sound like sacrifice at the start. But Mary and Paul say you’ll get to the point where it’s just the natural thing to do. Where God’s way so infuses you that it’s your new instinct, your only way to be and think and love and do.

God’s doing a new thing, to heal the world. You already know this. God now give you the heart to follow until you are changed, and you can’t even remember that you’d gone a different way before.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Midweek Lent, 2025 + Love Does No Wrong to a Neighbor +
Week 4: Faith without loving action is dead

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Texts: James 2:1-17; Psalm 113:2-8; Luke 16:19-31

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Nothing says “partiality” quite like a school lunchroom.
The cool kids at one table, nerds at another, various cliques siloed off, and the sidelined many anxiously trying to find their place. Maybe you, like me, felt hopelessly alone sometimes because you didn’t fit in, and had bullies reminding you of it. Maybe you spent your school years frantically figuring out which group would finally accept you. Or maybe you’ve been part of a friend group and you’ve felt suffocated by the expectations of who you should be, and worried that if you go against the grain, you could end up on the outside–perhaps again. Maybe you’ve felt partialities creep up in your professional life or even in your family. And whatever your experience with partialities, it’s easy to see why James condemns them so passionately. 

Partialities hurt.
They dictate who we should and shouldn’t care about and love. And it’s because of partialities that kids bully each other, that discrimination thrives, that oppression keeps people stranded on the margins, that wars erupt between nations, that hatred exists between people who don’t look the same or speak the same language or worship the same god, that the rich man either doesn’t notice Lazarus or decides Lazarus is not worth his time. This way of life alienates us from God’s beloved children, our siblings, and keeps us sitting in our prescribed places.

But Psalm 113 gives us another way.
The Psalmist tells us that in God’s reign the poor sit next to rulers, making space for each other, valuing each other. Sharing meals and sharing life. God knocks down the divisions between us and welcomes us to see each other as God sees us. In God’s reign, all people can sit together at a crowded table that has enough room for every person, where everyone is served, everyone is loved. Where we pull out chairs for each other and extend the table so everyone has a good seat. It’s a community where you and I are radically, unconditionally welcomed, where we can experience true belonging. 

I’ve seen it, like in the youth group Jake and I led, where the homecoming queen and the president of the anime club became friends. In the world of school lunch tables, these students would basically be on different planets. But because God was present, they laid down the ways they’d been divided and made space for each other and built a home where everyone belonged. We see God breaking down barriers when people of all different races, genders, sexualities, and life experiences stand together advocating for a kinder world that values all people, even with the threat of backlash. And God is doing it here and in so many communities like this one, where all people who walk through our doors are treated with dignity, respect, and love.

And because we belong to God, and have a seat at this wide and crowded table, we also belong to each other and all people and they belong to us–and that’s the hard part, isn’t it? It’s the pulling out chairs and expanding for all people that gets in our way. God calls us to extend this unconditional, radical welcome to all people, and we don’t always want to do this because there are people out there that need a welcome to the table that are perpetuating evil. There are people out there that are inconvenient for us to invite. And there are people that we worry would affect our reputation if we extend a welcome to them. But we’re on the hook. If we trust in the Triune God to make space for us and all people, we have no option but to live this reality out. We cannot stay on the sidelines. 

“Faith without works is dead” says James. Us Lutherans might cringe at this verse. But this isn’t a works-based theology of salvation that goes against our understanding of grace. But it is a call to us to let God’s love flow from us to all people because of our faith in the God that widens tables. Our faith cannot be stagnant, James says. It should move us toward seeing the work that needs to be done, and then doing it–like sitting with the person who’s alone, or having difficult conversations that lovingly confront our siblings who do evil, or doing the hard work of forgiving, or welcoming a stranger, actively loving the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the outcasts, or advocating for the basic human rights of the marginalized even in the face of major resistance. God’s love doesn’t just stay with us, it’s desperate to be shared with the whole world. 

And it’s hard work.

Because as we start to widen God’s welcome, we see all these prejudices have become great chasms that are too wide to cross by ourselves, as Abraham tells the rich man. They’ve been formed and reinforced by years of neglect, like in the case of the rich man’s relationship with Lazarus. They’re influenced by fear and hatred that festers between people and strengthens the partialities that keep us apart. We can’t bridge these gaps by ourselves. Because when we do, we can become overwhelmed by the depths of division or get caught up in our own biases or fear backlash and resistance. And we grow tired and weary by ourselves, and we can lose hope in this chasm-crossing mission.

But God can do it.
God already crossed the chasm between Godself and us through life, death, and resurrection of Christ and broke down any barriers between us so much so that God’s Spirit dwells within us, and commissions us to continue building a world where chasms and prejudice turn into bridges and beloved communities. It’s hard and heavy work, but we can rely on the Holy Spirit, to expand our ability to love those we’d rather not, to give us patience, grace and mercy that sustains us when we feel like giving up. The Holy Spirit leads us to communities like this one, full of people committed to crossing chasms and breaking down barriers, where we become the Spirit’s nourishing to each other. We hear each other out on days it feels too difficult, on days when we lose hope that the barriers will ever be broken. And we encourage each other to keep going. We embrace each other with unconditional and radical belonging. We share stories of how our lives change after we were told we genuinely belong and are beloved. We help each other recognize we’re in this together. We remind each other why we do what we do. And, together, you and I are sent out, by the power of the Holy full of faith, to break down partialities and cross chasms, to invite all God’s children to the crowded table.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

God’s dream is to reconcile all people, all things, into God’s life and toward each other in love: you are now an ambassador of that dream.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday in Lent, year C
Texts: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 (ref. to 4-11 as well); 2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

This is not a moral story of a kid who messed up, repents, and is forgiven.

Jesus doesn’t tell that story.

The two preceding parables we didn’t read, the ones Luke adds a moralistic repentance tagline to, have nothing to do with repentance. The lost sheep doesn’t repent, the shepherd finds it. The lost coin can’t repent (it’s an inanimate object), the woman finds it.

But this third parable broadens the problem of lost ones. Jesus tells of two lost sons who also show no repentance. If the younger son had repented, he’d have said, “I really messed up. I need to see if my father will forgive me.” But he calculates how to get three square meals and a roof. And nothing the elder brother does in this story reveals repentance.

So this is also a story of lost and found. And Jesus tells these three parables to two groups at once: people that others called “sinners,” including tax collectors, and righteous religious leaders who actually care about doing God’s will. Both are there, and there’s a message for both: God loves you all extravagantly. Will you love each other?

This is reconciliation. And these two sons need it.

The younger son won’t stay another minute in the family house. He wants now what he’d inherit when his father dies. Then he’s out of there.

And all the servant tells the elder is that his brother returned and his father’s throwing a party. For all the elder knows, his brother came back wealthy. He assumes the worst: his brother wasted all his wealth, and on prostitutes. Prostitutes were never mentioned in the story until the elder brother started imagining.

Jesus’ audience has the same problem.

The group stereotypically called “sinners” is outcast and hated by “good” people. Jesus’ welcome might have been the first sign of God’s love they’d heard. The religious folks likely have anxiety about doing what God wants. But they’re certain how bad the others are.

But Jesus is declaring the reign of God. All are welcome, loved, blessed. As long as these beloved children of God listening to Jesus don’t love each other, aren’t reconciled, God’s not happy. So Jesus tells a painful story of a father who loves his sons and wants them both at the party, loving each other. He wants reconciliation.

Paul powerfully trusts this is God’s heart.

God’s ministry in Christ is reconciliation, Paul says, reconciling the world to God’s own self. And therefore, Jesus says here, reconciling the world, God’s children, to each other. Reconciliation of the creatures and the creation has been God’s dream, our Jewish siblings have told us, since creation. Ever since a brother killed a brother, starting a world of violence that thrives today, God has longed for this.

In Christ, God’s reconciliation is embodied. Jesus doesn’t slap the religious leaders. He loves them. He wants them to remember what they already know from their Scriptures, they are loved forever by God. And that all God’s children – even these they call sinners – are part of that love and welcome. Jesus needs them to find this reconciliation with their siblings.

He needs that other group to find it, too. They certainly have no reason to love the “good” people who judge them and marginalize them. Jesus wants them to know it’s not enough to know the love of God. God needs them to love even those who despise them.

This is the reign of God Christ reveals.

Christ rules through love and reconciliation, and here’s Paul’s surprise: you and I are ambassadors for this realm, for God’s reign. We are ambassadors of God’s reconciliation.

Take that word seriously. Paul uses the same word used for legates of the emperor, envoys of rulers. And an ambassador is not a free agent. The ambassador acts on behalf of the one who sends them. They only convey the message they are given to convey. They can’t abandon it, or change it, or apply it only to some. Their only job is to perform their diplomatic mission faithfully, as it is given.

So Paul has jumped us way past the end of this parable. He’s given us the answer – God’s dream of reconciliation – and said, “you’re on the job now. You’re reconciled with God, now go out and be an ambassador of reconciliation.” But it’s God’s way, not ours. So as ambassadors, we have to do it God’s way, not ours.

And that creates a particular challenge for our ambassadorship in these times.

It’s not about either of Jesus’ groups. It’s about American Christians who are now saying empathy and compassion are toxic and not of Christ, and need to be rejected. Christians who’ve acted against Christ for years and now have power to harm, cause great suffering, even to kill. We don’t have the authority to kick anyone out of Christ’s body. In fact, as ambassadors of God’s reconciliation it’s our job to love these siblings, pray for them, seek reconciliation with them. It’s God’s way.

But as baptized ambassadors of the God who died and rose to bring reconciliation to all people in Christ, whose love is comprehensive, extravagant, even foolish, for all, we also have to find the courage to name this evil and wickedness. To say “what you are proclaiming is not of Christ” whenever we can. When friends ask us how we can still be Christian when Christians act that way, we have to boldly tell our friends that these people are acting against Christ, against Scripture. When we have a chance to speak with someone who believes these things we have to have the courage to be an ambassador of God’s reconciliation and declare with love that hatred and bigotry and exclusion and rejection of any of God’s children is not of Christ.

We definitely need the Spirit’s help, strength, and wisdom with this. But if we don’t find the courage to love these siblings and to challenge them, then who in this country will be ambassadors of God’s reconciliation?

Jesus doesn’t end this story, or say what the brothers do.

He leaves it open, with longing. Jesus hopes that both will come to the party, love each other, know their father’s love. So, if you’re in any doubt of your place in this story or in God’s love, ponder that hope, and pray that the Spirit will draw you into the party of love God wants you to join with all God’s children.

And then it’s time to take on the role of ambassador of God’s reconciliation, proclaiming God’s love in your words and actions and your very life. This is your job. This is my job. Let’s get out there and let the world know of this reconciliation in Christ that will bring the whole planet into life and hope and healing.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Midweek Lent, 2025 + Love Does No Wrong to a Neighbor +
Week 3: Your neighbor is more important than your convictions

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Texts: Romans 14:7-19; Luke 10:25-37

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

The priest and the Levite might have had theological or ritual excuses for not stopping.

If the man was dead, for example, they’d be unclean for service if they touched him. Maybe they objected to getting involved in messy things. Or they had things they needed to do. They had convictions, reasons, for not stopping.

And today Paul says, “who cares? Who cares? Don’t ever let anything get in the way of your love,” he says, “not your theology or convictions or practices.” And Jesus simply asks, “who acted as a neighbor?”

Imagine what the history of Christianity would look like if our passion as Church had been loving our neighbor, loving our siblings inside and outside the faith, even enemies, rather than fighting over doctrine or claiming individual salvation.

Maybe it matters what’s right and wrong in religious teachings or behaviors. But the last 2,000 years suggest we should have listened to what Jesus and Paul say is most important.

Paul understands our problem. It’s the same that faces his Roman friends.

Paul is exhorting against people in the community judging one another. Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians have profound disagreements with each other. There are arguments over Torah, over feast days, over kosher food, over drinking wine or abstaining. And it’s breaking up the congregations in Rome. People are losing their faith.

To this Paul says, “We do not live to ourselves and we do not die to ourselves. Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.” It’s not about your convictions or mine, Paul says. Our life of faith is about living in Christ as Christ in love.

In fact, Paul never rules on which point of view on feast days or alcohol or Torah is right. Their differing theologies and practices are valid, Paul says. But like the priest and the Levite, those convictions are keeping them from loving each other in Christ. And nothing can excuse that.

That’s the heart of it all. We live and die to Christ, not ourselves. We can’t have a relationship with God in Christ without having a relationship with everyone else Christ loves.

But relationships are hard. And not just when our convictions differ.

We talk about this here at Mount Olive when our neighbors who are in need come for help. The easy answer is to give them enough to make them go away. But if we’re really Christ, we’ll have to have a relationship with them. And some days the flow of need is pretty strong. Whether it’s challenging guests on Sunday morning or the crowds filling our west lounge on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it can seem overwhelming.

Because it means developing relationships. We can’t shut off our care once we know someone. Having relationships with people as people costs much more than just giving something to anonymous faces. We’re obligated, invested.

That’s likely another reason the first two walked by. It’s not just that they didn’t want to help the man in the ditch. They could see it wouldn’t be a quick fix. It would mean doing what the Samaritan did. It would cost time to stabilize him, it would take time to get him somewhere, and they’d have to pay for his care. They’d have to get to know him. It would start a relationship.

It’s easier to walk by on the other side. Once you’re in a relationship, you can’t do that anymore. For any reason.

That’s what the lawyer needs to learn.

“What do I have to do to inherit eternal life?” he asks Jesus. But faith in Christ has never been an individual thing. Jesus always called individuals into community. Christian faith is only lived in community with others, caring for others as Christ, receiving care from others as Christ. That’s eternal life here.

The lawyer knew the answer to his question was to love God and love neighbor. But he asked “who is my neighbor?” maybe hoping to limit the damage, limit the list of those he needed to care for.

But Jesus reversed the question, like Paul. He said the thing that matters is, who acted as a neighbor. We do not live to ourselves. Jesus says “Stop asking how to get right with God and get into that ditch and start a relationship. Be a neighbor.”

And that’s what God wants you and me to learn, so we can change.

Every time we hear Jesus say, “if you did it to the least of these, you did it to me,” we have a chance for the Spirit to change us. Every time Jesus asks, “who acted as a neighbor,” we have a chance to let the Spirit make us a neighbor, give us a relationship. Every time Paul says, “quit fighting about your convictions because you’re hurting your sister’s faith, your brother’s hope,” we have a chance to be open to the Spirit’s wisdom and change our priorities.

Everything else, Paul says, is nonsense. Worthless. Like a clanging gong, as he told the Corinthians. Even worse, it’s destructive and damaging, as we see so strongly in much of American Christianity today.

Nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus. It’s time we lived the other truth, that nothing must stop us from loving God’s children in Christ Jesus. Nothing.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

We are called together as a congregation, a community that eventually we see is global in scope, to help each other walk God’s path of love and so bring life to the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday in Lent, year C
Texts: Luke 13:1-9; Isaiah 55:1-9

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Be careful not to read the Bible all by yourself.

Obviously, you can read it when you’re alone. We all do. Just don’t read it all by yourself, as if it’s only speaking to you. That can confuse you about God’s desires. Even leave you in despair.

Take Jesus’ ominous words today: “unless you repent, you will perish like they did.” What are you supposed to do with that? What repentance do I need to do to avoid perishing? Are we talking about actual death, Jesus? It’s frightening.

Or take Isaiah’s question. Isaiah invites you to walk God’s way and be fed by God’s words. They are rich food to you, Isaiah and the psalmist agree. So why do you seek things that can’t satisfy you? Isaiah asks. Why are you going astray? Less frightening than Jesus, but still, how do you walk God’s way if you’ve only struggled to do it so far?

But what if you don’t read the Bible all by yourself? You hear Jesus’ words and Isaiah’s invitation and remember you have this this family of God here on your side, walking with you. Jesus actually uses a plural pronoun here: “Unless you all repent, together, you will perish.” We still need to sort out the perish part. But at least you’re not alone in fear. We are called together to repent, to turn to God. We find God’s path Isaiah promises together. We find wisdom and courage together. We sense God’s Spirit together.

And in this community you’ll grow to understand just how many are with you.

As we listen to God together, we realize we aren’t hearing these words by ourselves as a congregation, either. We learn we belong to all God’s children, all who are created in God’s image, friend or enemy, family or stranger, near or far.

That’s different from Jesus’ questioners. They seem to want separation. They want to know if the Galilean pilgrims Pilate murdered in the Temple did something wrong, deserved it. Jesus decisively says no, they were no worse than any other Galileans. Same with those killed in a building collapse. Tragedy happens and people are hurt. Sometimes evil is done and people are hurt. It’s not a question of deserving.

So, together, now we understand: judgment isn’t needed in pain and suffering. Since we all belong to each other, to all God’s children across the globe, empathy and love and care are all that’s needed. The only pertinent question, ever, is: can we help? Can we love?

This is the way of God, the way of life, that Isaiah says is rich, filling food for you.

Jesus agrees. But it’s hard to tell that today. Truth is, Jesus should have workshopped his saying a little better, because it sounds like a mixed message. Those who suffer aren’t to blame but without repentance you’ll perish the same way?

But just separate the two. The first is true: no blame lands on those who suffer. But the second can also be true: if you – that is, all of us – don’t repent, turn to God, we’re on a path to death not a path to life.

Exactly what Isaiah says. We talk a lot about Christ’s path being difficult. Sacrificial living, self-giving love, being vulnerable and peacemaking in a violent world. It’s definitely hard. Challenging.

But what if you saw that path with Isaiah’s eyes? That walking as Christ is a way that gives you life and hope? That satisfies your deepest longing for wholeness, for love, for acceptance? If you’ve ever felt unsatisified with your life, with what your choices have led to, with anything in your experience, what if God’s way can satisfy you at your deepest places?

That’s the vision of God’s way we need to find together.

By ourselves – by yourself – it’s more challenging. But together with all God’s children, and with those of the past, witness after witness testifies to the life they found in God’s way. They declare with the psalmist that knowing God’s steadfast love is better than life itself. They find God’s way to be water in a dry and searing desert.

Because God’s way – the way of love of God and love of neighbor – is filled with joy and hope. When we love others, our hearts expand. We are blessed. We’re acting on the love of God we already know, but in that acting we are filled again by it.

Even the vulnerability and self-giving part is satisfying and filling. If we put up walls and strengthen our defenses against others we end up in a windowless tower where no light can reach us. But when we reach out and hold another we are held ourselves, and find hope and light and healing. We find God.

And God’s dream is that being filled, we will carry that same food into the world.

Like John the Baptist, Jesus connects our turning toward God with bearing fruit. Whatever’s going on with this poor fig tree, God will dig around it, fertilize it, encourage fruit that will bless the world. God’s Spirit is doing that gardening in you, nurturing, digging, encouraging. Bringing you to abundant fruit.

And since you’re not doing this all by yourself, the Spirit has help. We garden each other. Others help you root deeper in God’s love, help you face struggles, dry times. Why else do we come here week after week, longing to see each other, hoping for connection? Because in these connections we not only have a sign of God’s love, but God’s concrete action in each other to heal us and help us bear the rich food of God’s love into a world that’s starving to death.

My spiritual director, Lois, just told our group she did some remodeling.

She had grab bars installed in her bathrooms. You know, those smooth steel bars firmly anchored in the bathroom wall so you can hold on when you need support and help. (If you don’t need them, just wait a few years and you’ll understand.)

But our group realized together that grab bars are important for all of us. Not necessarily the physical ones. But that if I’m going to fall I can reach out and hold on to you and you will keep me up. You are my grab bars. We are grab bars for each other, for support and help when anyone needs it. We aren’t listening to God all by ourselves, struggling with Christ’s path all by ourselves, fearing the future and our role in it all by ourselves. And we hope to become grab bars for our neighbors and all who are suffering and in pain.

So hold on. Hold on. There’s a lot to be done, but you’re not all by yourself. Together the Spirit of God will bless us all to walk in this way of life and bear fruit not only for our community, but for the life of the world.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen