Even on the way to the cross, Jesus remains a vessel for God’s love and healing. Paul speaks of the mind of Christ–the ability to continue in humble service, even in the hardest moments, and says we can have this same mind. No matter how we suffer in this life, God can still work through us to heal.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Sunday of the Passion
Texts: Luke 19:28-40; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 22:14-23:56

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

This is an awful week for Jesus. Our readings bear witness to Jesus’ last week, from the triumphal entry to the deep despair in the garden, where Jesus is filled with so much anxiety that he sweats blood, and then onto his gruesome death, abandoned, denied, and betrayed by his closest friends and mocked by basically everyone else, save for a few faithful women.

And even though we might not know Jesus’ exact pain, our own lives give us some perspective. Many of us have been betrayed or abandoned by friends. We know what it feels like to be absolutely alone. We know the crushing weight of overwhelming anxiety and know what it feels like to be grieved to the depths of our soul by the heartache we might witness. And, when those times come, it’s easy to want to close ourselves off to the world, wallow in our worst moments, or become bitter–we might even believe our pain makes us as useless as broken pots, like the Psalmist says, but Jesus offers another way.

In Jesus’ deepest depression and anxiety, on the path to the cross, and even on the cross, Jesus remains a vessel for God’s love and mercy. Jesus puts aside any self-preservation, and walks in the way of love. He remains humble and doesn’t elevate his pain over the hurting going on around him, and even in the midst of his most painful hour, he remains committed to love until his last breath.

And this way of love healed. Like when Jesus heals the ear of an enslaved man in the party trying to arrest him, rather than letting the way of violence and force do him any favors. Even though Jesus was grieved to his very soul, he couldn’t stand by and watch someone else suffer when he knew he could do something about it. Or when Jesus assures the thief hanging next to him that he will come into paradise with him that very day, Jesus heals this man’s heart by promising hope even from the cross, the place thought to have no hope. Jesus’ pain and despair was real, and gutting. But it didn’t blind him to the ways people around him were hurting and needing healing.

And that’s the mind of Christ Paul tells us about. The humble mind that allowed Jesus to relinquish the impulse toward lifting himself over anyone else and ignoring the anguish other people were experiencing around him. The mind of Christ led Jesus to the cross to heal the whole world, but before that, on the way to the cross and on the cross, this mind of Christ moved him to heal whatever he could around him.

And, this same mind of Christ is here for you, right now. You don’t have to wait to be ready or good enough to receive it. Paul says “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ.” Present tense, a promise of possibility for today, that through the loving guidance of the Holy Spirit who dwells within you, your heart and mind can be transformed to be like Christ. And that you can have an extra measure of love, an expanded capacity for mercy, an eye to see what needs healing, and the resolve to go do something about it.

It helps us stay humble enough to see the pain of our siblings, even while we are hurting. It’s how in the middle of a hard moment, you still have the will to show up in kindness or mercy to someone else who needs healing. It’s how you can care for the wellbeing of someone else or help someone realize their belovedness when your world feels like it’s falling apart. Of course we mourn, of course we cry out in pain to God when we feel devastated. But this mind of Christ keeps you open to the pain of others even when your hour of pain comes, and helps you extend your hand when you don’t think you can lift another finger.

And this mind of Christ is something we do together, not just by ourselves. Just one verse earlier, Paul says “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” With the mind of Christ within us and among us, we weep together, mourn together, bear each other’s burdens together, and we find a way forward on Christ’s path of love and healing together. And our community grows our capacities to love and serve because we know we’re not doing it alone. And when each of us are empowered by the Holy Spirit to live in humble service to each other and all people, this path of love and this way of healing readies us as a community to be Christ, even when our hour comes.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus mourns over the corruption and power-grabbing in Jerusalem. We join him in the same kind of mourning over our country, but we don’t have language or resources to move forward with this kind of grief. Jesus’ actions during Holy Week and Paul’s reminder that we are citizens in heaven help us navigate a way forward.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Second Sunday in Lent, year C
Texts: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17—4:1; Luke 13:31-35

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

Jesus is deeply grieved. Our gospel text meets Jesus near Jerusalem and the Pharisees tell Jesus that Herod desires to kill him. And these words send him into a moment of deep mourning as he looks over the city called “the promised land” and “the land of milk and honey.” He sees Jerusalem for what it is meant to be–a beacon of hope and a city of peace, and yet, Jesus laments how far Jerusalem is from being a light of God’s love in the ancient near-east.

He laments that the faith of his people has been co-opted by the power-hungry few, which serves only to make the rich richer and more powerful, and leaves the vulnerable falling into deeper oppression and marginalization. Jesus is not speaking here about all the Jewish people who live in Jerusalem, rather, the way the religious elites have colluded with the power of empire since Rome conquered the Holy City about 100 years prior. 

More and more people are bowing to Rome as the empire intimidates people into compliance. And Jesus sorrowfully recalls that throughout Jerusalem’s history, prophets have been killed by the ruling class for preaching the way of God and calling out the structures of oppression. He wishes he could gather up all the people of Jerusalem as a mother hen does to her flock and protect them from all the impending violence and injustice. Jesus mourns. He cries out. Because it’s all too much.

And for many of us who were raised on American exceptionalism, we’re experiencing a similar moment of deep grief. Many of us were raised believing that this country would serve us if we served it, that the American dream was a reality for all people who worked hard. We’re grieving the country we thought we lived in and the idea of a land that represents liberty and justice for all. We lament that the Christian faith has been perverted to empower evil. We mourn the historical injustices we were never taught about and at the same time we mourn the brighter future we believed was just on the horizon. We fear for our rights and civil liberties and for the safety of our friends, families, and neighbors. And like Jesus, we wish we could gather up all our beloved ones and all those who are experiencing oppression under wings of protection. We wish we could be sheltered from the storm. And yet, each day brings new heartache. And we live with this unspoken, intense grief.  And it’s all too much.

When you grieve the loss of a person, it’s painful, but there are so many resources that can help you get through it, like grief-specific therapists and support groups. But where’s the support when you’re grieving the nation you grew up in? Where’s the support when the country you’ve loved and served causes harm? Where do you turn for help navigating through the deep grief over our country? There’s no grief support groups for when your country is turning into something you don’t recognize. We don’t have the language to name this grief, so we don’t talk about it. And we feel isolated in our pain, and we suffer in silence. We need a way forward. We need a light in this long tunnel.

And Jesus lays a path for us. Jesus mourned over Jerusalem but it didn’t stop him. He responds to the Pharisees, basically saying “Herod means nothing to me. I’m busy doing what God wants me to do.” He moved on from Jerusalem that day, but he came back on Palm Sunday. He spent a week teaching–giving whatever wisdom he could to his followers and his closest friends. He entered the temple and called out those who co-opted religion for their own gain. He praised the widow’s gift and called on the women and men following him to recognize the humanity and value of the poor and marginalized. Jesus dwelt with his community, broke bread with them, and called them to carry on his ministry of love and justice after he left them. Jesus’ love for Jerusalem and grief over its sad state was a part of a path that led to a Roman cross where he willingly poured out love over all people. And then he rose from the dead, declaring that the powers of death and empire would not win in the long run.

But for today, empire seems to be winning. And while we do have the promise of God’s reign to come, today, we grieve, because it’s all too much. 

But Paul’s voice is a light in the darkness, reminding us that our citizenship is not on earth, but in heaven. No matter where we are and who rules in our nation, we belong to God and to each other before we belong to any country. We are bound up to one another and to all people not because of our allegiance to any nation or ideology, but because we are beloved children of God and coworkers with Christ, first and foremost. Our citizenship in heaven is an invitation to see the world through God’s eyes, to let our hearts be broken by what breaks God’s heart, to be in the world as Jesus would be in the world, and to venture toward a society that values and loves all people. It’s an invitation to be gathered up into Christ’s mothering body by the holy spirit, and to be a family of people who hold each other up, lament with one another to God, listen to each other, and seek God’s face together even on the hardest days. 

Christ is our protecting mother hen through the embrace of our community. In this body we nurture one another and are nurtured by each other, and God gives us what we need and to continue on the path Jesus laid for us. And so, as citizens of heaven we go out into the world and work toward justice, even in the face of resistance. And it starts with our grief.

When it’s all too much, we start with naming the pains that grieve our hearts. Our grief isn’t stagnant. And what starts as a lament, God transforms into courage. God takes our grief and molds it into a fire within our hearts that will not be quenched until all people are brought under shelter of God’s love. And together we take steps toward justice. And when we name our grief aloud in community, we resist suffering in silence. We realize we are not alone and we support each other through our grief transformed into collective action. We become Christ’s light of hope amidst the shadows. And, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we go forward doing the same things Jesus did–coming close to those who are vulnerable and suffering, calling out systems of oppression, advocating for a brighter and kinder future in this and every place.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

“Today is the day” is a reminder that we have no day to love and serve God and our neighbors but today, no matter what other people might think of us. And for moments we let people’s words get to us, we can turn to God today and pray that we be molded by God alone.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Ash Wednesday
Texts: Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 51:1-17; Psalm 103:8-14; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 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.

“Today is the day.” It’s a phrase I first heard in my high school improv group. A guideline for creating emotionally heightened scenes. It means life is happening today, a wild adventure is starting today, someone’s world is changing today. This simple phrase spices up any scene, it raises the urgency of all the actors, and, in the end, everyone is much more invested because today IS the day. And Paul seems to be getting at a similar idea here in Second Corinthians, as he urges the early church to be reconciled to God and to each other and to work together with God, because today is the day of salvation, of healing, Paul says, and we’ve got no time to waste. 

Today is Ash Wednesday. And “today is the day” seems especially poignant. In a few moments, we will dawn ashes on our forehead. The symbol of our mortality, and the promise that one day, our lives on this earth will be over. Yes, on that day, we will be welcomed to the feast that has no end, but we only have one chance on this earth. One life to live. Every second is one closer to our deaths. We are here on this earth so temporarily, and that’s frightening. Anxiety rises as we ask ourselves, how do I spend what little time I have? How do I know I’m doing it right? How do I know I’m not wasting my life?

Well, Isaiah has a pretty good idea of how to live life well.
To loose the bonds of injustice, Isaiah says,
And to undo the straps of the yoke
To let the oppressed go free
To share bread with the hungry 
and to house the homeless poor, 
To cover the naked

Isaiah says life is best spent in service of God and of our neighbor. We all know this, but when we live as if today is the day to walk this path, we expect that God will work through us for the healing of the world today. We see people who are bound by injustice, today, people who are hungry and homeless today, people who need love today, and we hear God calls us to go into the broken places to stand in solidarity with hurting people today. When we live like this we become hope, relationships are mended, communities are reconciled, and our hurting world experiences healing. This reminder of our death is a call to live everyday as vessels of God’s love and justice. This is the way God calls us to live. The way the spirit is guiding us. And the way our souls yearn to live.

But it’s the way this world just doesn’t understand.

And maybe that’s why Jesus warns us against practicing righteousness in front of other people. Because this cross-shaped path of Christ makes no sense to this world–why spend our lives serving the outcasts and the oppressed, why be on the path toward forgiving and loving those who hurt us and our neighbors, the world says. And some might even hate us or treat us like imposters for the way we embody God’s love. These messages of disapproval and of hate are anxiety-provoking for us. We might doubt if we’re doing this life right. And when we look for the approval of others, we forget who we are and who we are made to be. We open ourselves to be molded by the judgement of others. And then we’re using our precious time trying to gain others’ approval, instead of walking the path God has set for us.

It’s hard to tune out all this noise. It’s hard to stand strong against criticism and hate. And it’s exhausting to realize how much of our lives have been formed by seeking the approval of others and to see the ways that we still stumble into these patterns. Jesus says, our relationship with God is far more important than what other people think about us. But learning that is a lifelong journey.

So maybe today is the day. Today is the day to ask God to help you let go of caring what the crowds think. Today is the day to pray as David did: That God would create in you a clean heart–one that isn’t shaken by what others say. To pray for a steadfast spirit that is focused on God’s love for you and for all people. And then, today is the day to trust that God will change your heart so that your identity and your worth are based solely on God’s love for you and God’s call on your life to do justice by loving your neighbor.

Jesus says “store your treasures in heaven” where your joy can’t be stolen and where words won’t eat away at your confidence in who you are in God. And when you spend your time on earth founded in God’s love for you, God creates resilience in you, so that not even afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, or sleepless nights can shake you. When you store up your treasures and your heart in heaven, and let God’s love define you, when you focus on the good work you’re called to do, you are being molded by God, who already loves you and sets you on the right path. And when you and I and millions of faithful people become molded by the Triune God so that we become coworkers with Christ, that’s when our light breaks forth like the dawn, and we become a watered garden, a fountain, Isaiah says, overflowing with healing for our hearts, for our communities, and for our world.

Today is the day. God will change our hearts today and give us the tools we need to be the healing of the world today, because we have no day to love God, each other, and our neighbors but today.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

God calls us to be healing for this world. But often, we count ourselves out because we don’t believe we have what it takes. But if we trust God and do the next right thing, God transforms our hearts to prepare us for each moment that we’re in.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, Lect. 5 C
Texts: Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

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

The invitation has been sent. God has called you, and me, and this community to be essential pieces in the healing in this world. To walk in justice, and mercy. To be uplifters of marginalized voices and be Christ to a world that cries out for hope. To bear the Gospel that we have received, as Paul says. To enter into the pain and despair of the other and find some semblance of hope. God wants us and invites us to get out of our boats and follow beyond what we ever thought we could do. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? God’s call to us very rarely lets us stay within the realm of what we think we can do. And we’re usually called to do hard things during volatile times and sometimes we worry we don’t have what it takes.

We see this huge gap between who we are in this moment and who we think we need to be to embrace God’s call. We get scared that we won’t be able to bridge that gap, and ashamed that we’re not where we’re “supposed to be.” We disqualify ourselves before we even have a chance to prove these doubts wrong. The fear of doing the wrong thing, or saying the wrong thing, or not having the right resume, and the shame of all the ways we’ve screwed up or missed the mark paralyzes us. And instead of acting in love, mercy, and justice, fear causes us to retreat into ourselves, to stay in the familiar and build walls around what we think can and can’t do. Questions and doubts start running through us–how could I bring any good to such a time as this? But I’m probably too messed up and broken for this, right? Why would God ever want to use me? Beloved, hear this, if that’s ever been you, then you’re in the company of people like Isaiah and Peter and most other people who God calls in the Bible.

Because even after these two witness these manifestations of God’s divine power and God makes it very clear that Isaiah and Peter are wanted and needed for God’s mission in the world, this is how they respond: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips” says Isaiah. “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man”, Peter cries. Peter and Isaiah’s hearts race, as they remember all the ways they’ve missed the mark, all the moments they didn’t do the right thing or say the right thing.

And what a gift their reactions are to us! This is Isaiah, one of the most prolific and influential prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures, and Simon Peter, the one who Jesus later called the rock that the church will be built on. And THIS is where their God-given call starts. Afraid, doubtful, overwhelmed, ashamed. Remembering all their past failures, and not believing they have what it takes. But God still calls them. If that’s true for them in their doubt and worry, why not us? Not even our doubts in ourselves can keep us from the mission God’s given each one of us. We are still called. We are still needed. 

And God continues to send out the invitation despite Peter and Isaiah’s knee-jerk self-deprecation. Isaiah needed forgiveness, so God gave him forgiveness. Peter was afraid, and Jesus took care of his fear. Almost as a way of saying, “yeah, what you’re worried about, that’s not really the main concern here. Now go, I’ve got work for you to do.” And the same can be said of you. Despite the problems, the inadequacies, and the sinfulness you might hyperfixate on, God sees you for what you are: a beloved child perfectly made for the moment you’re in. God sees you for all that you can do, all the people and places that need you to live as Christ, in a way only you can.

And so Isaiah and Peter take their next steps in their journeys, with an enthusiastic “Here am I, send me” from Isaiah, and Peter dropping all he’s ever known to follow a divine stranger. Their trust in God grows greater than their fear of inadequacies, and they follow. And with God as their strength and sustainer, they begin to do immeasurably more than either believed they were capable of. Isaiah preaches judgment and deliverance to the Israelites as the threat of exile comes closer, and Peter is a key leader in the earliest movements of the church. And their transformation is a promise to us. Because God molds our hearts and grows our capacity with each faithful next step. And step by step, the things you believed you were out of reach yesterday become the possibilities of today. You can trust that even if you stumble, God’s grace will pick you up and transform your insecurities into  trust that God will give you what you need to be healing agents. 

And it all starts with a call from God and a “yes” from us. And continues with us trusting God and doing the next right thing. To trust that God is with you and is a sure foundation. Trust that God is leading you to where you’re supposed to be. Trust that you are the work of God’s hands, that you are equipped for the moment you’re called to. Trust that you are not a mistake, and you are needed in this very moment.

And especially in those moments that make us feel small or powerless, or not good enough, like the world’s problems are too big and too hard for us to handle, we can call out to God, who strengthens our soul as the Psalmist says. We can trust that God will meet us where we are to give us the courage to take the next step forward, even if it is scary. We can trust that God will fill us with the love and compassion, the thirst for justice that we need to be agents of healing in the world and to be living manifestations of Christ. We can trust that God will give us a community to support and encourage us along the way, as food for the journey. And even though we don’t know where our journeys will lead, our faith and support for each other will give us the boldness to do the next right thing.

To take the next step. Do the next loving thing, the next compassionate thing. Love the next neighbor in front of you. Take the next step toward justice and mercy in whatever way you can. Do the next thing that creates joy that drives out fear. Breathe love into the next moment you’re in. The next thing the Holy Spirit leads you to.

And to trust that though we have been called to ventures that we’re not even sure if we’re good enough to walk, God will give us the faith and foundation to go out with good courage, to do the next right thing. And that along the way, it’s the God who created us and loves us dearly that is sustaining and supporting us, calling us beyond what we believe we can do and into deeper trust in our God and in ourselves.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

We are the water turned into wine; the abundance of God poured out for the world. God transforms our hearts and minds and equips us with gifts to be essential pieces of the healing of the world.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Second Sunday after Epiphany, Lect. 2 C
Texts: Isaiah 62:1-5; Psalm 36:5-10; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11; John 2:1-11

We have a problem, the wine has run out. The vats have run dry and there is nothing left. And today is only the third of seven days of partying, joy, and hosting guests. We’re less than half way through and are in a bind that is sure to be the talk of town. The bridegroom’s and his family’s reputations are on the line, with the threat of being remembered as “that family that hosted the wedding where the wine ran out.” And how would the party go on without the wine? What would people say? Would they leave the celebrations and go elsewhere? This family and their entire staff of servants must have felt the impending looks and comments about their now-dry wedding. Left empty and embarrassed. This family’s situation hits home for me today and as a bride in about 5 months, myself, I cannot begin to explain the anxiety spiral I’d be in if the wine at my wedding gave out.

But right when the wine runs dry, Jesus steps in. Albeit with a little encouragement from his mother, who knows what he’s capable of. And so he tells servants to fill jars to overflowing. And that they did, and Jesus changed the water into wine. These jars held about 175 gallons of water each, so a little napkin math tells you that these 6 jugs would have produced close to 1000 bottles of wine, far more than was needed. And this wine was the good stuff. The best stuff, the kind of stuff you would only pour for very special occasions, not at the end of a wedding when guests have had their fill. It’s the wrong time for the best stuff.

And at this time in history, the servants at these weddings, who were at a lower economic class, would not get to enjoy the party until the last few days, when all the good wine had run out and they were on to the cheap stuff. And now, Jesus included them in this best stuff at the wrong time. They were able to experience what abundance tastes like. Not only that, but they were the first people to bear witness to Jesus’ first sign. This is the grace upon grace that John tells us about.

And we love this text, this story. We’re assured that Jesus fills us to the brim when we feel empty. This wedding gives us a snapshot of what our life in Christ can be–abundant, joyful, and like a party you never want to stop. But how does this story sit with us on days like today? This beloved story of the good wine for all to drink… it feels far away from our reality. Because even though Jesus transforms this situation from lacking to abundance, he doesn’t take that feeling lacking and emptiness away forever. We still feel empty, we still feel like we’re running out. running out of time, out of money, out of patience, out of hope, out of energy to get through our days. And the running out causes us to worry. Or maybe, you do feel like the world is overflowing, but it’s overflowing with vinegar and bitterness instead of the good wine. Sometimes we overflow with pain, or anxiety or despair, and it makes it hard to see what God’s up to in us and in our communities, so much so, we feel like we’re drowning with no way out. We’re only able to see the bottom of the wine barrels or the overflow of bitterness, and we can’t see Jesus standing beside changing our despair into abundance. And in all of this we want so desperately for Jesus to change our water into wine, to change our weeping into dancing, to change our pain into laughter, and to change oppression into liberation. And when we don’t see the inbreaking of God like we thought, we become discouraged.

But Jesus is still in the business of changing water into wine. And it starts with us. We, the church, are the water turned into wine poured out for all the world. In our daily dying and rising into new life with Christ, God changes us. We are God’s best stuff, and we are essential pieces of God’s love shown to everyone, God’s delight, according to Isaiah. God walks with us through our fear of what lies ahead shows us hope that a way will be made. Day after day, God changes our hearts and our minds to reflect the love of God, focuses our mind on showing compassion to others, doing justice in this world, and, in all we do, working for the common good. And as beloved children of God, we are promised in John 14, we will do greater things than Jesus did here on earth. We have always been God’s plan for the renewing of the world. You are the abundance of God, a sign to everyone around you that God still cares and is invested in the healing of the world. God takes our ordinary lives and gives us a new calling, so that wherever we are, we pour out God’s love and healing, changing emptiness into overflowing abundance. 

Friends, there’s a lot of emptiness in this world. And there’s a lot of places that are overflowing with pain, hardship, and corruption. We’ve got a lot of work cut out for us. The gravity of all that is broken and hurting in the world can feel too heavy to bear. But you are equipped to pour out into the spaces that feel empty. You are able. And that task sounds daunting–being God’s good wine in a world where so much pain exists–but we are not alone. As a transformed child of God, the Holy Spirit abides inside you, guiding our steps as you live as the best wine for a thirsty world, giving us the courage we need. And Paul writes that we are each given unique gifts and individual roles to play in the healing of our world, in the water turning into wine. And we’re sent out into all different contexts with different talents and gifts to be the overflowing love of God made flesh. 

And as we spend tomorrow reflecting on Dr. Martin Luther King, jr. ‘s legacy, we see these different gifts and talents in action, because the Civil Rights Movement was far from just Martin Luther King. Women and men took up the mantle to become community organizers, musicians who wrote songs about justice. There were people who financially supported the movement, and lawyers who argued key cases in high courts. And there were families who provided comfort and encouragement to people who had their boots on the ground. People using their gifts and talents, their ordinary, everyday lives to pour out into the common good. Their lives and their legacy can be encouraging to us–that just as you are, right now, you are God’s best stuff in this world, especially to the places and people on the margins who are written off and forgotten about. You are the spilling-over love of God in a way that is unique to you. And this world needs it. This community needs it.

We are all a part of this abundance. No one is excluded. You are needed in all your particularities and quirks, all your insecurities and doubts. You have gifts, talents, and a story of God’s faithfulness that no one else has. Our collective, yet individual gifts sustain each other so that we can face whatever life throws at us. We can be encouraged by the abundant love we see in each other, knowing we reflect that same love and encouragement back. We’re not doing this abundance thing by ourselves. We have each other and we have the Holy Spirit guiding our steps, as we all discover what it means to be God’s best stuff, God’s top-shelf wine poured out for all to taste and see that God is still with us, and still changing water into wine.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.