Each of us bears God into the world, like Mary, in ways only we can do, and we witness this to each other so together all can see the Magnificat promise coming to birth among us and in the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Fourth Sunday of Advent, year C
   texts:  Luke 1:39-45, plus Luke 1:46-55 (the Magnificat, appointed as the psalm for today)

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

I have no idea what it feels like to have a child leap inside me.

I have laid my hands on Mary’s stomach and felt it. But unlike her, I had to wait nine months to hold my child for the first time.

Some of us – men and women – just aren’t able to be pregnant. We can’t know what it’s like. Some of us choose not to be pregnant. Some have to wait far more than nine months to hold their child, and some who want to never get the opportunity.

So there is much some of us don’t know. We don’t know what it’s like to have another person growing and moving inside us. We don’t know what the signs feel like that things are changing, becoming. And I, for one, sometimes feel I’ve missed something important.

That’s a good thing to remember this Advent. Not sensing the signs, unable to feel the changes, unaware of growth and becoming, this mostly seems to be where we live today in a world waiting for God’s healing.

This beautiful song of Mary is full of promise. But is it happening?

Now, if the lowly are lifted up and the mighty cast down, the rich sent away empty while the hungry are fed, that means we’re likely going to lose some position, we know. Overturning everything about how this world works means we who are close to the top of the world’s order are going to lose ground.

But I believe, deep down we’re actually fine with that. We might think we’d fear it, but who among us wouldn’t be glad of a lesser lifestyle for the sake of peace and harmony in the world, and no poverty or hunger anymore? We’d get used to a simpler way pretty easily, and be able to see the joy of God’s grace filling everyone.

The problem is we don’t see signs this beautiful song is more than Mary’s dream. The proud are still full of conceit, the rich are getting richer, and the lowly are falling further behind. The hungry, well, let’s just say they’re not sitting back satisfied after being filled with good things.

What are we to make of this? Are we just repeating centuries of wishful thinking by singing with Mary?

Our answer might be in one simple truth about these women today: they’re pregnant. As we’ve said, pregnancy for many of us is waiting without direct experience of what’s going on. Only the pregnant ones can sense what’s happening.

So do you remember that Jesus and Paul both used the image of pregnancy and birth to describe God’s activity in the world?

Two men, who, like me, were never pregnant, saw pregnancy as a perfect model for how God is healing the world. They speak of longing for the birth of God’s kingdom, and the pain of the birth pangs as it arrives. Thinking about the Magnificat as pregnancy reveals something important about God: the Triune God’s going to take time to heal this world.

Pregnancy is necessary in animals because it takes time, in every species, for an infant to grow to the point where it can live on its own. God apparently feels the same thing about the kingdom. It can’t simply be dropped into the world. It needs to grow and develop and become what it needs to be.

Look at where we are right now in this story of the Incarnation. God begins this salvation by living in a womb for nine months. That’s patience. The Son of God takes years to grow to adulthood before beginning ministry. That’s patience. God continues this ministry by calling and inspiring and transforming people one at a time to bear Christ in the world. That’s patience.

The Magnificat will be fulfilled by God’s plan, as more and more bear God into the world. It just needs time.

So: if we’re a part of this pregnant grace of God, what can each of us bear and know that others can’t?

What movement of God can any of us feel that we can invite others to feel in us?

The remarkable thing about how God is bringing life and healing is not only that it takes time. It takes a lot of people, each gifted differently. These two women, Mary and Elizabeth, give birth to two astonishing sons, John and Jesus, who transform the world. That’s impressive. But not unique. Because we are all called to bear God’s life into the world.

So, what are you able to carry of God to full birth that other’s can’t? Do you bear God’s mercy? God’s patience? Can you carry God’s wisdom? God’s joy? Are you one who can help others see it’s OK to let go of things, to be a part of this Magnificat overturning?

God continues to be born in this world in us, and each of us will see signs others don’t, and bear God in ways others can’t.

Mary and Joseph, Zechariah and Elizabeth, remind us to do this.

These four are unremarkable people, ordinary people. But when they were asked to be a part of God’s birth into the world, they agreed.

If we’re waiting for someone else to do this, the world will have an even longer wait for God’s reign of peace. So each of us can follow these four and listen for where we are needed, for what we can do that others can’t, and then say yes.

What’s also lovely is that they support each other.

Mary goes to see Elizabeth, and these two women who’ve never done this before rejoice with each other. Help each other.

This we can do. We can help each other in our God-bearing in the world.

Because it’s not just helping others. It’s also how we get to see, feel, know from another person. Both these women are helper and helped. Elizabeth’s Spirit-given insight helps Mary know that her child is in fact what she was told. And Mary gives Elizabeth hope that her God is coming into the world.

This birthing of God’s grace and love into the world isn’t going to be easy to see. Sometimes we might not even know what we’re called to do. Sometimes we’re not going to feel strong enough to do what we’re pretty sure we’re called to do.

So we support each other, rejoice with each other, help each other. And we see things we could never have seen on our own.

In a way, the whole healing reign of God is a pregnancy.

That puts us all, and the whole universe, inside the womb of God. When Paul says in Athens that God is the One “in whom we live and move and have our being,” that’s a deeply feminine image of God. We live and move and have our being in God because we are in God’s womb, along with the whole creation, waiting for the birth of what God is doing.

But at the same time, each of us is bearing God in our own ways, pregnant with God’s life for the world, witnessing to what we’re experiencing, listening for signs of what we’re waiting for.

So let’s wait together, and tell what we see. Let’s let others feel God leap within us. Because then we’ll all know that we’re waiting for the real thing, for life, for God. And that God’s reign is being born even now among us.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Luke invites us to name the good news we see in the world for one another. In so doing, we shape God’s coming to us. We come to meet God as God meets us.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   Third Sunday of Advent, year C
   texts: Zephaniah 3:14-20; Isaiah 12:2-6; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

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

Have you ever been geocaching? I haven’t yet, but I have plans to start because it sounds super fun. Geocaching is an outdoor recreational activity where you plug in a set of coordinates into your GPS device (like a smartphone), and then you go to those coordinates to find a geocache, or what most people call, a cache. Each cache contains a logbook where you can write down your name and sometimes they contain other trinkets and toys that previous geocachers have left behind. It’s like going on a treasure hunt, but for all ages, and you can do it just about anywhere. Chances are there is a geocache hiding somewhere in this neighborhood, maybe even several!

My friend tells a lovely story of her first experience with geocaching. She was sitting on a bench near Lake Harriet, overlooking the rose garden when all of a sudden two dads and their sons approached and said, “We think there might be a geocache where you’re sitting. Can we look under this bench?” She moved, of course, and then witnessed the joy and celebration of these young boys finding the cache, recording their names inside, and then returning it to its place under the bench for the next geocacher to find. What a delightful moment of rejoicing to witness.

On this third Sunday in Advent, Paul invites us to “rejoice in the Lord always.” Lately I’ve found that it is hard to rejoice though because we’re confronted daily by the harsh realities of this world. There is so much to worry about. So many lives to grieve. So many broken systems. So much heartache and sadness. So much fear. How I’d love to feel like those young geocachers, finding joy in something so simple: following GPS coordinates, finding a box of treasures, and signing my name in a book.

Instead, I feel burdened. Burdened by what I hear on the news about violence, terrorism, and xenophobia. Burdened by this world, where it feels like everything is going wrong. Burdened because I don’t always know what to do in the midst of such conflicts and crises. Burdened because I can’t escape. We can’t escape. We are a part of this world, too.

I know there is hope in Advent, as we wait for Jesus to come to us in this world, in a human body. Because it reminds me that God gets it. That God knows what it feels like to have a sliver or to ache for those who are hungry even though our own bellies might be full. The realities of this world are embraced and understood by God. And God, too, feels burdened by the burdens that we carry.

We live in a time when rejoicing feels hard, and yet our scripture readings today invite us to rejoice, shout aloud, and sing for joy! God, too, is the subject of these verbs which is a fun thing to consider:  our God is one who sings and shouts and rejoices!

So let’s ask ourselves this same question as the crowds ask John the Baptist: what are we to do? How can we rejoice like those young geocachers? How can we sing praises in a time when the burden is so heavy we don’t feel like lifting our voices to sing? How can we shout aloud when all we can muster is a small quiet whisper? How can we join God’s voice in rejoicing at the goodness of God’s coming kingdom into our world?

John invites those gathered to share with one another, to be fair, and to be kind. These are simple behaviors, behaviors we learned as children, but ones that we all can practice in our daily lives. I love how John has a specific piece of wisdom for each group, like he knows exactly what they need to hear. We’re invited to practice this ordinary kingdom work, too–to share with our neighbors, to act with justice, and to be kind to one another. When we do so, our lives become places of holiness, thin places, where God’s presence is made known more clearly.

But we’re also called, like Luke the Evangelist, to claim this as good news. To name the promise of Advent…that God is near…that God is coming to us. When we name it, we are more likely to notice these encounters with the sacred, and then our hearts will be moved to rejoice–to sing with joy and celebrate the coming of God!

God’s incarnation is a strange reality, though. Because it is here, and yet it’s not. It is coming. It’s on the way. It is a work in progress. Our invitation from Luke is to inhabit this holy space, this already and not yet space, these moments pregnant with hope, joy, love, and peace. Those experiences of the ordinary that somehow transcend what seems possible given the world we live in. It’s about noticing the times when everyday people like you and me bring kindness and love to others. In so doing, we shape God’s coming to us. We name it for ourselves and for others. We come to meet God as God meets us.

This is why we pray “your kingdom come” Sunday after Sunday…so that our hearts and lives might be shaped by God and that we might better embody God’s justice and mercy in the world.

This is why we sing hymns, the young and the old, singing with one voice…so that the words we sing might join together and become true in our own lives and in the life of the community.

This is why we live as John invites us to live with kindness and love toward our neighbors…so that all might become participants in God’s reign of peace.

This is why we are able to shout with joy as we name this as good news. God’s incarnation is breaking in even when the powers of this world try to restrain it. There is reason to rejoice! Both for us, and for God!

When we act like God is actually coming into this world, then we somehow come to believe it. God shows up. God’s kingdom breaks in. We see it! And suddenly we become a witness, not just to God who is coming, but to God who is here, in our midst.

Perhaps for these next few weeks of Advent we might become something like geocachers for God. We can study the world with our Advent senses…living with an awareness of how God might be coming near to us through what we see, hear, taste, touch, and smell. You won’t need a GPS or a map; just yourself and your ordinary life. The goal of this Advent geocaching adventure: to seek the treasures of God’s coming into the world and name them as good news!

And, in case you need a little help along the way, a friend of mine who has logged many hours geocaching gives these words of wisdom: “Don’t just give up if you don’t find the cache right away. Sometimes it’s right there and you just have to keep looking for it. It might look different than what you thought. Sometimes it’s a really small container or it’s hidden in a funny spot.”

Whatever you do, don’t just give up. God is here. So keep looking. Keep sharing insights with one another. Keep spreading the joy and light of God’s coming into this world. And don’t forget that God often shows up in the most unexpected places!

Amen.

We have always known what God is doing to bring peace to this world. Here, once more, we remember. And we also remember that our lives are Advent, so it will take time. So we pray for God to direct us on the path to peace, and one day, all people.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Second Sunday of Advent, year C
   texts:  Luke 1:68-79 (the Benedictus, appointed as the psalm for today); Luke 3:1-6

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

“In the tender compassion of our God, the Dawn from on high shall break upon us:
To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
And to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

You see, don’t you? We already know what we need to know to live in these times. We’ve sung it with Zechariah for 2,000 years.

Sometimes we forget we know this. So we come here to remember, to be reminded by each other.

Sometimes we remember we know this, but fear it’s not enough to stand in these times. So we come here to stand with each other in this community of Christ, and be encouraged – given hearts.

As distressing as these days are, the Good News is, we already know what God is doing in us and in the world to make all things new. The Good News is, because we are Advent people we already know this will take time. The Good News is, because once more we meet the Triune God here, and are healed by God’s Word and grace, we can remember again what we already knew. And once more find God’s peace.

The Dawn from on high is even now shining on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death. We know this.

Because the Dawn, the Light of God’s coming into our own bodies and living with us, comes from “the tender compassion of our God,” we sing. Compassion, like our words “patience,” and “empathy,” is rooted in the ancient word for suffering. In the grief of our world today we come here to remember this deepest truth we know about the Triune God: this God enters our suffering.

Yes, on the cross, but not only there. No, God’s con-passio – God’s “suffering with” us, begins in this birth we will celebrate. Dawn from on high is in our world because whatever we know about those who suffer, we know the Triune God who made all things, galaxies, microorganisms, light, joy, life, this God is with them. With us.

We live in darkness, under the shadow of death. Our whole world does.

But God is with us in this darkness, and has destroyed death’s permanent power. So we are not alone. And death cannot survive.

The Dawn from on high is even now revealing the path of peace. We know this.

The evangelists saw in John’s preaching the voice of Isaiah’s promise, preparing for God’s coming by announcing a highway in the wilderness, a safe, level, smooth path for all. In our day we leave wilderness pristine. For most of human history, walking through the wilderness was life or death. A winding forest path meant threat of bandits or wild animals. A long desert journey meant if water ran out, people died.

So a highway in the wilderness, safe, level, smooth, for all people to find safety and life in God, this is Good News. And Zechariah says it’s the path of peace God’s Dawn reveals to us.

We already knew this. We’ve prayed a prayer for it for 1,600 years.

In Vespers, Lutherans have prayed it for over 200 years, Anglicans for more than 500.

“O God, from whom come all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works: Give to us, your servants, that peace which the world cannot give, that our hearts may be set to obey your commandments; and also that we, being defended from the fear of our enemies, may live in peace and quietness.”

We will pray this again on Wednesday; come, pray it with your sisters and brothers. We have prayed this for 1,600 years because it is what we need God to do to give us life in such times of grief and pain. This world needs the peace this world cannot give. We need help to walk that path.

This peace of God comes when our hearts are set to obey God’s commandments.

Listen to that wisdom: there is agency here, God is setting our hearts. That’s in our song, too. “Guide our feet” isn’t strong enough for what Luke writes. There is an agency in this word, we are being moved, straightened into God’s path of peace.

We know what needs to be done, we always have. We know our lives are shaped by love of God and love of neighbor. We know this is the path of peace, that we do this love, act this love in all our moments.

But we need God to set our hearts to do this, or we will fail.

We will fail in fear of this path. While a highway is being built, it’s not fully safe. Builders, and the first walkers, can be harmed in the wilderness. Walking the path of peace means we might be hurt. So we ask God to set our hearts. So we’re not afraid.

We will fail because we are overwhelmed by the size of the task. All we can see is wilderness ahead, the pain, the brokenness, the fear of this world. It’s too much. But we’re not asked to build the whole highway ourselves. Neither can we walk away from it. So we ask God to set our hearts that we take the steps we need to take today, to do what we can do. Tomorrow is another day, another prayer.

And this peace of God comes when our hearts are defended from the fear of our enemies.

Listen to that wisdom. Zechariah sang of being saved from our enemies. This wise prayer names our true need: to be saved from fear of our enemies.

We’ve known this, too. Eight decades ago, President Roosevelt told us the only thing we had to fear was fear itself. We have forgotten this in our culture’s fear mongering. When those who tell the news pander to our fears without challenging our leaders, our society, or even us, to change our ways, when there is no limit to the amount of fear politicians will manipulate to achieve power, when the sheer volume of news that we now receive from all over the world overwhelms us with terrifying pain and suffering, we need not to be saved from our enemies. We need to be defended from our fear of them.

So we pray that God would take away our fear. So we see no enemies on this path at all, only sisters and brothers.

We have always known what God is doing to bring peace to this world. Here, once more, we remember. And we remember that our lives are Advent.

This path of peace God is making will take time. God is willing to take the time, even to the point of being in a womb for nine months and growing into adulthood with us. The Son of God sees the only way to God’s peace is by the joining of all God’s children into this path of peace, one person at a time, one community at a time. There is no quick path, no short-cut, that avoids the healing need of all people walking God’s highway together.

But the Dawn from on high is shining, even if the Day of the Lord has not yet fully arrived. Muslims greet one another with “Salaam,” Jews with “Shalom,” we with “Peace,” and we name for each other this path, this hope, that all will walk together.

We remind each other so we don’t forget. We walk with each other so we don’t stumble. And we pray, we pray for God to set our hearts and take away our fear so each of us is able to walk in this path of peace.

Because we know, though it will take time, one day all flesh truly will see the salvation of God.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God’s Incarnation in our reality, as one of us, whom we meet in Jesus, helps us face reality as it is, and gives us the grace and love and strength to live in it and make a difference.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   First Sunday of Advent, year C
   texts:  Luke 21:25-36; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

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

It’s enough to make us crawl under the pews and hide.

Are you tired of this yet? We’ve heard intense words of Jesus from Holy Week for a month, and it’s getting heavy. Especially the apocalyptic. Two weeks ago it was “wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes.” Last week Jesus faced execution. Now it’s signs in the sun, moon, stars, and on the earth. Confusing things will happen, Jesus says, causing people to “faint from fear and foreboding.”

The Gospels are supposed to be Good News. How much more of this can we stand?

But we might have already been under the pews before this. On Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law was in the kitchen and said, “Did you hear the news?” Without thinking, I said, “No, and I don’t want to. I’d like this to be a news-free day.” I don’t know what she meant to share. I just knew I didn’t want to hear it.

Because it just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it? Jesus’ words, heavy and fearsome as they are, barely cover the dread we get by checking the news. Since last Sunday we’ve got at least two more shootings: white supremacists in North Minneapolis shooting into a peaceful protest, someone in Colorado shooting up a Planned Parenthood clinic. By next Sunday surely something else horrible will have happened.

Maybe you could scoot over and make room for me under the pew. We could make a snug little place and hide from this world that intrudes even into the words of our Savior, so that even in here we can’t pretend to be safe, quiet, at peace.

Well, it may be hard to believe, but Jesus’ honesty is actually good news.

In Advent we prepare to celebrate once more the Incarnation of the Triune God into the world. Into our reality.

This is where our salvation begins: God enters our reality, as it is, names it for what it is, and joins our lives, our flesh. It is the death and resurrection of the Son of God that reveals the end of the powers of evil and death that bind us and this world. But it is this coming among us in the flesh that makes that possible. The true God, whom we meet in this Jesus, claims our reality and owns it.

Too often we want religion to insulate us from what’s going on in the world. We want to hide our head in the sand and pretend all is well, and we want God to support that.

The Son of God always does the opposite, from his birth on. Jesus speaks the truth about the world as it is, not as we wish it, and he honestly warns us that things will be hard.

We might not want to hear it. But if we’re going to follow a Lord who can actually save us, I’d rather follow the one who knows the score, who is aware of the suffering and evil of this world, who lives in it with us, than one who paints a rosy picture that I want to see but that isn’t true.

Facing the truth about this world makes our hearts heavy. So Jesus warns us to be on guard for that, and shows us a different way to live.

First, he challenges us not to be so weighed down at heart about the evil and suffering of this world that we live in dissipation.

That is, that we avoid facing reality by wasting our lives, frittering away our time, spending our resources on things that don’t last.

Jesus tells us to guard against avoiding the pain of reality by letting life and opportunity sift through our fingers like sand, pursuing a materialistic culture’s dreams instead of God’s dreams.

Second, Jesus warns us not to be so weighed down at heart that we fall into drunkenness.

To be on guard against seeking things that numb us to the pain of our reality and the reality of the world. Jesus could have said “addiction,” because there are so many things we humans can be addicted to as we self-treat our pain: alcohol, drugs, money, sex, gambling, work, and more. Treating our weighty hearts with false cures that only get us into worse difficulty.

 A. E. Housman wrote, “Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink / For fellows whom it hurts to think: / Look into the pewter pot / To see the world as the world’s not.” [1] That’s what Jesus warns us against, preferring that we face the hurt it takes to think and see the world as it is.

Third, Jesus tells us to be on guard against being weighed down in heart with worry over this life.

Jesus warns us not to wallow in fear, freeze in our anxiety. This third way is probably most honest, since it sees the truth of the world. But when we worry and are afraid, we get so heavy in heart we are no better off than on the other paths. Jesus would rather we faced reality, not be stuck in it.

But these three warnings are only part of the gift. Only by truly seeing reality as it is can we also deal with it, even overcome it. So Jesus’ last word is the heart of our hope: “Pray,” he says. Pray for the strength to deal with these things.

And Paul tells us what Jesus means.

Paul believes we have all we need from God to endure and thrive in a frightening reality.

Jesus said, don’t let your hearts get heavy. Paul says that the Lord will make us increase and abound in love for one another and for all. Jesus said, pray for strength so you can stand in those days. Paul says that God will so strengthen our hearts in holiness that we will be blameless before God when Jesus, the Son, comes.

So this is our hope: the Spirit fills our hearts with love for each other and for all. When we live in love in a world filled with pain and suffering we are a sign of hope to come. A heart filled to abounding is a light heart, and it’s how we can both find light and be light in a darkening world.

And this is our hope: the Spirit strengthens our hearts in holiness. We think of what we can and can’t do in this world, and we fear. We follow those three paths Jesus warned us against. Being Christ, being holy, is to be set apart as God’s light in the world. Even in community that can feel pretty isolated in an evil world. So our hearts are strengthened for this path of holiness.

It’s good, though, that we begin Advent today. Advent teaches us much about waiting and anticipating. About leaving our hiding places.

Watching the pregnancy of Mary as we once again anticipate celebrating her Son’s birth reminds us that we are in a time of pregnancy. Grace and life in Christ will be born into the world, are being born. But we’re still in the time where we can’t always see how it will be. So sometimes we want to hide in fear.

Like pregnancy, there is much pain associated with the birth of these things, too. So we try to avoid that reality rather than face it.

But the One whom we follow on this path sees all that pain and evil and knows how to deal with it. Has dealt with it. Which means we and all God’s children will not be overcome. The healing of Christ is coming into this world.

So for now, we do as we are told. We pray – for love, for strength. And we wait.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

[1] A. E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad (1896), LXII: “Terence, this is stupid stuff,” lines 23-26.

Jesus teaches us that there is a creational rhythm that undergirds our life together. We have all we need within ourselves because God created us this way. With God’s help, we can embody this rhythm and live as the creatures God created us to be.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   Day of Thanksgiving, year B
   texts: Matthew 6:25-34

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

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” These words have always meant a lot to me, even before I knew it. Back in 9th grade, I picked this verse as my confirmation verse. I don’t remember what my confirmation class did with these verses, other than including them in the stoles we made out of felt and puff paint, but I know that this verse was meaningful to me. It comforted me as a teenager, and even more so now.

I’ve always been a worrier. In 5th grade I was a part of a synchronized swimming community group. As I held my breath under water and flailed my legs in the air, I’d sob with worry that my mom would forget to pick me up. A few years later, I’d worry about leaving my family for my first week away at summer camp. Now I worry about lots of things. I worry about the weather when I’m on a canoe trip, constantly assessing the clouds in the sky to see if any look ominous. I worry about my family–about their health and their happiness. And I worry about my life, too. That I can find balance and peace. That I can maintain connections with friends as they move to new places. That everything will work out.

Worry gets in the way. It lingers in our brains and tricks us into focusing on something that does not demand the attention we eventually give it. We worry about real problems, but also potential problems, creating worst-case scenarios so that we’re prepared for whatever might come our way. Ultimately, though, worry separates us from others. It hinders our relationships with God and with each other so that all we are left with is ourselves and our worry. If you’ve been there before, you know it is not a good place to be.

In our gospel reading today, Jesus tells those gathered around him not to worry about anything–not life, not food, not drink, not clothing. While these may not be our specific concerns and worries, I think we can still learn a lot from our friend Jesus.

“Look at the birds of the air,” Jesus says, “Consider the lilies of the field.” Jesus invites us to see nature, to really see these creatures as they live in the world. The birds don’t stockpile their food; they receive what God gives them. Likewise the lilies don’t obsess about what they’ll look like in the future; instead they grow and bloom into beautiful creations. Jesus points us to creation because creatures like birds and lilies live without worry. They live as God created them to be!

When I worked as a canoe guide at Wilderness Canoe Base near the Boundary Waters, I learned to worry about the weather. I say learn because I didn’t know going into this job that the weather would be one of my daily concerns. I didn’t know how much space it would take up in my brain or how it would keep me from enjoying the experience of the wilderness. I came to be known as the guide who always went on trail when it was raining. And with the rain came wind, thunder, lightning, and, you got it: worry. Before I’d leave for five days in the wilderness, my friend Emma, another guide at camp, would reassure me, “Anna. You can do this. You are a canoe guide.”

Well, there I was. On another trip. Six youth, one high school volunteer from camp named Rachel, whom I used to babysit, an adult advisor, and me: Canoe Guide Anna. We arrived at a very large lake, Lake Gabimichigami. It was over a mile across and we needed to paddle to the other side to get to our next portage. Per usual, it was raining. And windy. And there were huge waves. Huge. Our canoes were already beginning to fill with water. My worry took over. I couldn’t think. I felt sick. My brain went to those worst case scenarios… My campers will surely capsize and end up in the water. Our sleeping bags and tents will be soaked. We’ll never get warm. I won’t be able to start a fire. And so on.

With the help of Rachel, the one I used to babysit, I was pulled from my anxiety and soon figured out how to deal with the task at hand. She reminded me that I was a canoe guide, that I had been trained for this, and that I had the resources within myself to get through this situation. I realized I didn’t need to worry; I could instead act and carry out my responsibilities as Canoe Guide Anna. We got our four canoes together along the water’s edge, hopped out of our boats, and walked them along the shoreline to our next portage. It took forever and I’m sure we covered way more than a mile in distance, but it worked, and no one swamped their canoe. We survived.

I still return to the Boundary Waters. And I still worry. But little by little, I have come to see the weather as simply a part of God’s creation, living the only way it knows how, releasing energy into the atmosphere as it was designed to do. And it certainly helps to go with some trusted companions on the journey, those friends who can bring you back to reality and remind you that you’ve done this before.

As Jesus invites us to look to creation to manage our worry, we are led back to our Creator, to God who provides all that we need so that we can live the way God wants for us to live and as the creatures God created us to be. I find comfort that there is a Creator behind all this–a Creator who brought all into being and guides us in our efforts to be who God made us to be. A God who cares about relationship. Not only does this comfort me in times of creational chaos, but also in my daily life.

Sometimes we might need a friend to bring us out of our own anxiety and worry and to remind us of our gifts. Sometimes it happens through prayer and other practices that lead us back into relationship with God. When worry is out of the picture, we’re able to tend to our relationships with others and especially with God. Jesus teaches us today that there is a creational rhythm that undergirds our life together. We have all we need within ourselves because God created us this way, and with God’s help, we can embody this rhythm and live as the creatures God created us to be. God made us for this life.

This leads us to rejoice. Without worry, we can celebrate each day, live completely in each moment, embrace who we are fully, and give thanks to our Creator. By rejoicing we give thanks to God: for relationship, for life, for creation, for all that is good.

Today is a good day to rejoice. It’s Thanksgiving! It’s a day to be thankful and to live in gratitude for the gifts God gives us. I am especially thankful for a warm bed, a loving family, friends who remind us of our gifts, and creatures that teach us how to live fully as God intends for us to live.

So look at the birds of the air today. Or consider the lilies of the field. And then, be glad and rejoice! For God has done great things!

Amen.