Boldness/Compassion

As I reflected on the collect we heard yesterday in church (above), there were two words that stood out for me: boldness and compassion. I thought of two women who I admire greatly to help me think about these words as part of what it means to live faithfully in the world.

Starting with boldness, I thought of the brand new book written by the Rt. Rev. Marian Edgar Budde, bishop of Washington, and a leader I greatly admire, someone who has taught me a lot. Her new book is entitled How We Learn To Be Brave. It’s described as “an inspirational guide to the key junctures in life that, if navigated with faith and discernment, pave the way for us to become our most courageous selves.”

According to this book, decisive moments in life are points when we’re called on to push past fears and act with strength. Have you ever had to do that? Bishop Budde teaches us to respond with clarity and grace even in the toughest times (and being bishop in our nation’s capital means she knows something about tough times). She says that being brave is not a singular occurrence; it’s a journey that we can choose to undertake every day.

She explores the full range of decisive moments, from the most visible and dramatic (the decision to go), to the internal and personal (the decision to stay), to brave choices made with an eye toward the future (the decision to start), those born of suffering (the decision to accept that which we did not choose), and those that come unexpectedly (the decision to step up to the plate).

The boldness for which we pray involves bravery, and the related virtue of courage. Courage is a quality prayed for at the end of communion, as we ask for strength and courage to love and serve God. I’m taken with the word courage, because as it shares root with the French word for heart (coeur), it tells us that as we pray for boldness, we are also called to pray for compassion, which again is about the heart. It is about love.

Which leads me to the second word, and the wisdom of Karen Armstrong, the second hero I wish to cite. She’s a gifted scholar, and someone with great focus on interfaith conversation. She lives out her premise that compassion is the common virtue in all faith traditions. In the same way that being brave is described as a journey, Armstrong says that the attempt to become a compassionate human being is a lifelong project.

According to Armstrong, compassion derives from the Latin patiri and the Greek pathein, meaning “to suffer, undergo or experience.” So “compassion” means “to endure [something] with another person, to put ourselves in somebody else’s shoes, to feel her pain as though it were our own, and to enter generously into his point of view.”

Compassion impels us to “work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and put another there, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.”

It strikes me that we need both to be at work in our faithful lives. Boldness without compassion can become a steamroller. Compassion without boldness leads to timidity and complicity. Yesterday’s collect underscores that need for both. I’m wondering how you might live out your faith with boldness and compassion this week.

Where are you being called to be bold? Where can you be compassionate? How can you do both?

-Jay Sidebotham

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Thought/Action

What’s on your mind these days? What occupies the real estate in your brain? Mindful that Rene Descartes said: I think therefore I am, I’m wondering how our thought processes shape our identity. The collect offered yesterday in church (see above) begins with a prayer that we be inspired to think those things that are right. I hear an echo of the various places in scripture where we are challenged to examine the interior life.

Psalm 19 asks that the words of our mouth and the meditations of our heart be acceptable in God’s sight. In a penitential psalm (Psalm 51), we read “Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.” Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, says it’s all a matter of the heart, that the inner life is the source of either goodness or division. St. Paul said: “Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” Not a bad checklist. Elsewhere, St. Paul tells readers to have the mind of Christ, the mind of a servant. How would our lives unfold differently this week if we focused on having the mind of Christ?

It’s all a matter of how we are shaping our interior life. How do the books we read, the movies we watch, the social media with which we engage shape our inner life? Do resentments and envy fill our thoughts? Do those thoughts block out lovelier ones? Where do our thoughts go when we have down time? Think about what you think about this week. And take yesterday’s collect as a chance to pray for God’s grace to shape that inner life.

But it doesn’t stop there. Thoughts and prayers are not enough. That’s true not only in our response to the current epidemic of gun violence. It goes to the heart of our faith, as the letter of James says that faith (which can correspond to the interior life) without works is dead. We are meant not only to think those things that are right, but also to do those things that are right, based on the fact that what we think about shapes what we do.

So we pray for God’s merciful guidance in our actions. For some in our tradition, there has been a split between that inward journey and outward expressions of faith. I’m grateful for the ministry of people like Thomas Merton, Thomas Keating and Richard Rohr who have provided guidance in the interweaving of the contemplative life and holy action in the world. The faithful dedication to the inner life gave them strength to work for justice and peace. Richard Rohr described the connection this way: “The effect of contemplation is authentic action. If contemplation doesn’t lead to authentic action, then it remains only navel-gazing and self-preoccupation.” He founded the Center for Action and Contemplation, about which he writes: “The most important word in our Center’s name is not Action nor is it Contemplation, but the word and. We need both action and contemplation to have a whole spiritual journey. It doesn’t matter which comes first; action may lead to contemplation and contemplation may lead to action. But finally, they need and feed each other.”

Returning to the mind of Christ, I refer you to the beautiful hymn found in Philippians 2:5-11. Christ’s saving action came from his own inner life, his inner intention to offer himself to God for us. As his followers, his students, we pray for grace to have that same mind. What might that look like for you this week, to have that mindset? How will it shape your actions?

-Jay Sidebotham

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God in three persons, blessed Trinity

These days in our culture, words like doctrine and dogma don’t go over so well, as in the bumper sticker: “My karma ran over your dogma.” Associations with words like doctrinaire or dogmatic are hardly positive. They suggest to some that one had better toe the line, no questions asked. Believe it or else. A scan of definitions of dogma underscores the point.

Oxford Language describes dogma as “a principle or set of principles laid down by an authority as incontrovertibly true.” That’s enough to make many Episcopalians head for the door. Merriam-Webster talks about “a point of view or tenet put forth as authoritative without adequate grounds, a doctrine or a body of doctrines concerning faith or morals formally stated and authoritatively proclaimed by a church.” That reminds me of how Mark Twain described faith: “Believing what any fool knows is not true.” (I deleted an expletive or two.) I kind of like the reference to the Greek translation which says that a dogma suggests something that seems to be true.

So how do we respond to a Sunday dedicated to a doctrine, a dogma of the church, the mysterious doctrine of the Trinity? The standard joke for clergy is that this is a Sunday to invite a guest preacher. No two ways about it. The doctrine is mind-bogglingly mysterious.

Yesterday in church we read the collect for Trinity Sunday, printed above. It’s a prayer that speaks of the confession of a true faith by which we acknowledge the glory of a God who is understood (by our pea brains) as both trinity and unity. It became a dogma as it was deduced from what we read in scripture, which references God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit in a number of places. I’ve heard plenty of far-fetched sermons (and probably delivered some) that struggle to explain all this, or provide the perfect metaphor. I can’t recall any that totally eliminate the truly mysterious reality of the Holy One. As St. Paul said: We see through a glass darkly. We now know in part. (I Corinthians 13)

I do like what one of my teachers said about the doctrines, the dogmas of the church. He said that they are like buoy markers floating on the surface of the ocean. They indicate depths beyond our perception. They are pointers to deep truths, mysteries beyond our ken. They don’t explain everything. They are not the object of worship themselves. As Evelyn Underhill reminded clergy of her day: “God is the interesting thing about religion.”

So why bother? What truth is conveyed here, even if we can’t fully comprehend? Michael Curry reminds us that if it’s not about love, it’s not about God. The mystery of the Trinity points us to the fact that God is love. God is in God’s self a community. Augustine wrote a lot about this. In my limited understanding of his work on the subject, he presents God as lover, God as beloved, God as the love that goes between lover and beloved. A trinity. A unity. A community.

And perhaps the greatest mystery, the wonder of wonders, is that you and I are invited to participate in that community, to worship the Creator, to follow the Son as Lord and Savior, teacher and friend, to be filled with the Holy Spirit.

And maybe here is the so-what factor: In that participation, we are equipped to extend that love beyond ourselves. The doctrine, the dogma, the buoy marker that is the Trinity gives us a way to move forward in this world, participating in the love that is at the center of all that is. And as Burt Bacharach wrote, as Dionne Warwick sang, that’s what the world needs now. Love, sweet love. How can you enter into the life of the Trinity by sharing that love this week?

How about that for a Monday Matters? Citing Burt Bacharach, Dionne Warwick, Michael Curry, Evelyn Underhill, St. Paul and St. Augustine. Time for a cup of coffee.

-Jay Sidebotham

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Come, Holy Spirit

When Jesus had his after-hours meeting with Nicodemus (Maybe the original Nick at Nite), he talked about the Spirit. Jesus said: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” (John 3:8,9).

If Nicodemus, seasoned religious expert, sounds confused, is there hope for the rest of us? He gives us all permission to recognize that the movement of the Spirit is mysterious, often difficult to pin down, and really hard to predict. So we come to know the Spirit based on the effect the Spirit has, or perhaps as St. Paul puts it, we know the Spirit by the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Galatians 5:22,23). But how does that all happen?

The collect we heard in church yesterday (above) reminds us that all is grace. The collect tells us that the Spirit comes to us as a gift, one that is unexpectedly expansive, probably more expansive than we might expect or even want. It is human nature to want to know who is in and who is out. We want to limit the influence of the Spirit so we can explain that influence, and perhaps control the movement of the Spirit.

But the Day of Pentecost as described in the Acts of the Apostles was anything but controlled. Holy chaos broke out, in a reversal of the Tower of Babel. The good news was mysteriously proclaimed in languages of those gathered in Jerusalem. It was like a rapid spreading fire. It was like the blast of a mighty wind. It was not the frozen chosen. I can imagine that members of the religious establishment were thinking: “Wait a minute. We’ve always known how things work. We’ve known who is to be included. We need religion to be predictable.” And of course, I can imagine hearing those six words most dreaded by clergy: “We’ve never done it this way.” Maybe not unlike the parishioner who couldn’t understand why her rector talked about reaching out in the community and practicing evangelism. She said: “In this town, everyone who ought to be Episcopalian already is.”

So when we pray “Come, Holy Spirit”, or when in the eucharist we pray for the Holy Spirit to bless gifts of bread and wine, or when we echo the psalm which asks “Take not thy Holy Spirit from me” (Psalm 51), we’d best be ready to fasten our seat belts. We’d best be ready for the circle to widen, to broaden our vision of who can be moved by God’s Holy Spirit, to get a surprising vision of holiness.

Yesterday’s collect tells us that the work of the Spirit is for every race and nation. These days, we could really use that kind of work. On a global, national, ecclesiastical, personal level, we contend with great energy around division, about defining self by excluding someone else. We build walls to decide who is in and who is out, imagining that they solve anything. Religious folks consider that they have a corner on the truth. We are made to fear the other.

We need the gift of the work of the Spirit. As we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, pray for the Spirit to come with surprising effect in your life and in your community. Pray for the power of the Spirit to knock down walls the divide us from each other. Pray for the fire of the Spirit to burn away resentments and the pride that fuels resentments. Pray for the wind of the Spirit to breathe new life into relationships that have gotten stuck or stale, our relationship with neighbors, maybe our relationship with God. Pray that your own circle be widened to extend the love of God in some new way, maybe in some way you hadn’t even expected. What might that look like in your week?

-Jay Sidebotham

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The gift of loving God

O God, I do not love you. I do not want to love you. But I want to want to love you.

-A prayer attributed to St. Teresa of Avila

The wisdom of Teresa, coming to us from the sixteenth century, makes the point we heard in church yesterday in the collect (above). In a word, we need help. The prayer signals our absolute dependence on God for all things, including the ability to love God. That kind of love comes as a gift for which we pray.

That may run counter to how we think about love, a many splendored thing. We may think that love is involuntary. We fall in love. It takes over. We may think that love is something we choose, a decision we make. It’s up to us.

Yesterday’s collect says something different. It says that even our ability to love God is a gift, a grace. That wisdom echoes what we heard in a prayer earlier in the Easter season as we ask God to increase in us gifts of faith, hope and charity, asking God to make us love what God commands.

If I take a good look in the mirror, with a searching spiritual inventory of my soul, I can admit that left to my own devices, I may be able to count on loving myself (looking out for number one), and probably not a whole lot more. It’s why I appreciate the candid prayer of St. Teresa.

It’s why the words of the confession in our liturgy provide a good starting point, being realistic about where we are. We confess that we have not loved God fully. We have not loved neighbor as self. There’s not a day that that is not true in my life. There’s always a way to grow in that regard. The growth can happen when we recognize we need God’s activity in our lives to make that happen, to be transformed. Heaven may be that place where such love is fully realized. It may not happen until then.

I recently read a story Jesus told (Luke 7:36-50). While visiting a home of a Pharisee (I sometimes wonder if they were the Episcopal clergy of the day), a woman of questionable reputation comes in and anoints Jesus’ feet with her tears, pouring expensive perfume on those dusty feet, drying those dirty feet with her hair, an intimate act of loving worship. Jesus compares her action to the ho-hum complacency of the Pharisee, who made no fuss about Jesus’ presence. Jesus says that one who has an awareness of being forgiven is more inclined to deep love than someone like this Pharisee who seems to think that God is lucky to have him on the team.

I’m wondering this morning what has prompted love of God in your life? Did that prompting feel like a gift? Did it feel like a choice? Was it some awareness of God’s grace, the knowledge of forgiveness, the glimmer of being on the receiving end of unconditional love? Was it some sense, amidst all the challenges of life, that we are surrounded by gift?

As you think about that, consider what the collect says about the love of God. It lets us know the love of God is our aim. That’s not because God is in need of affirmation or approval. Rather, the collect contends that love of God allows us to obtain the promises offered by God. In other words, it fulfills God’s best intention for us. It fits the way we were designed. With that in mind, think this week about the growth opportunity that lies before you to grow in love of God. If you’re not sure how to go about that, channel the feisty saint from the sixteenth century, St. Teresa, who prayed: I want to want to love you.

I’m guessing that’s a prayer we can each offer.

-Jay Sidebotham

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The Way

The collect we heard yesterday in church (above) is based on the gospel reading we also heard that day, an excerpt from Jesus’ farewell address to his disciples at the Last Supper. In that conversation, Jesus tells his disciples: “Let not your heart be troubled.” I’m mindful that the disciples at that critical moment, had plenty to be troubled about on the eve of Jesus’ arrest, torture and execution. Judas left that dinner table to betray. Peter promised not to deny Jesus right before he did three times. A rough evening.

As disciples wonder how to move forward, Jesus reassures them by saying: “I am the way, the truth and the life.” I’ve been thinking how that is different from saying that he knew the way, the truth and the life, which he did. It’s different than saying he would show the way, the truth and the life, which he did. It’s just one of the times that Jesus talks about himself in that way, beginning a sentence with the words: “I am.” In other places in John’s gospel, he says things like: I am the door. I am the vine. I am the light. I am the bread. Whenever Jesus begins a sentence with the words “I am,” it’s a loaded reference. For when Jesus says “I am,” he utters sacred words revealing the identity of God. YHWH can be translated “I am who I am.” Jesus is making a bold statement, to say the least, and it got him in a lot of good trouble.

But when he talks like that, it also represents a holy invitation. The way to truth and life comes in a personal relationship with the one who has risen and ascended, who in other words is not just an important historical figure, but is an active presence. How do we enter into relationship with that kind of presence?

Jesus’ final address to his disciples before he dies (John 13-17) seems to me to be about how the disciples are to stay in relationship with him after he has left them. He makes the audacious and mysterious suggestion that they could still do that. In John 15, he says that he was the vine and that the disciples would always be able to draw strength from him as the vine’s branches. Jesus extended an invitation to the disciples in the upper room to stay in relationship with him. He extends that invitation to us as well.

So what do you make of that idea of an ongoing, personal relationship with Jesus? Do you think that’s possible? It may sound weird or spooky. It’s mysterious, for sure. It may sound irrational and unscientific. It may not sound like the way that Episcopalians talk. Maybe it helps to think of it like any other relationship.

Like any relationship, it involves spending time together. When it comes to relationship with the Holy One, that sounds to me like contemplation, meditation, prayer. It involves learning about the other person, which we can do through scripture and by hanging out with a community of Jesus followers. It involves being present where Christ is present. I find that kind of presence in the bread and wine. Where do you find it? That kind of presence can be discovered in each other, and especially in those who are pushed to the edges who experience suffering. It can be found in service to those folks, as in baptism, we promise to meet the Christ present in all persons, even when Christ comes very well disguised.

I’ve appreciated the way that the baptismal service frames this kind of relationship with Jesus. When someone is to be baptized, they get asked a few questions:

1.    Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?

2.    Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?

3.    Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?

These are three strong ways to describe a relationship with the living Christ. What ways make sense to you this Monday morning. This week, what steps can you take to deepen your relationship with the risen Christ, the one who said and says: “I am the way.”

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

Feeling Sheepish

Knowing nothing about sheep, I spoke with a friend whose son has 400 sheep in Vermont. She said that sheep are simply as dumb as a post. Asked what she meant, she said that unless they are led, sheep will walk along, nosing towards the next piece of grass even if they are walking into a blazing fire or over the edge of a cliff. They need a shepherd.

I probably could have deduced that from scripture which again and again speaks of our relationship to God as similar to that between shepherd and flock, beginning with Moses, himself a shepherd, leading the complaining, clueless children of Israel through the wilderness. Psalms (not only the 23rd) speak of the joys of having a shepherd who walks us through the valleys. Psalms speak of how dangerous it is to be without a shepherd. The prophets warn of false shepherds, as did Jesus, particularly in the tenth chapter of the gospel of John, which is always our focus on the fourth Sunday of Easter (yesterday).

Yesterday’s collect (above) makes that point. Our liturgy picks up the need for a shepherd, particularly in the conclusion of the burial office, where we commend the person that we love but see no longer to the care of the good shepherd. We pray: The God of peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, the great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant: Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight; through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

So, fellow sheep, how do we get our noses out of the grass and enter into relationship with the one who is called the good shepherd?

Yesterday’s collect gives us three ideas.

First, it’s a matter of hearing his voice. It’s not exactly a newsflash to say that we are surrounded by a lot of noise. Many voices call to us at once. In all that racket, it’s easy to just keep grazing along without really knowing what we are hearing. That is where it is important to carve out quiet time, not always easy to do. Are you in any way able to have a daily dose of silence? We hear the voice of the good shepherd in attentiveness to scripture. That’s why in the work of RenewalWorks we speak of the importance of embedding scripture in everything we do. We hear the voice of the good shepherd in paying attention to the pain in the world. What are the voices that command your attention? Amidst them all, can you hear the voice of the good shepherd?

Second, it involves coming to know the one who speaks that voice. I’m finishing up a pilgrimage in the Holy Land. There’s a historical dimension to that knowledge, learning to know about Jesus, getting a sense of a real human being, with real family and friends and enemies who lived in this part of the world.

But there’s a deeper dimension involved. It’s not just knowing about Jesus. It’s the marvelous and mystical dimension of knowing Jesus, knowing him personally as the living, active and gracious good shepherd, calling to us right now. What do you make of that idea of knowing Jesus the good shepherd? I confess for me it is often challenging. I’m working on embracing it.

Third, it’s about following, again getting moving (another RenewalWorks principle). It’s not just thinking about where I find the next blade of grass, where I get my next meal, what’s the next thing to do on the to-do list. It may mean stepping out into the unknown. It may mean following into a place of risk. It may mean going to a place of change. It may mean leaving what is comfortable. The truth of our faith is that the good shepherd meets us where we are, but loves us too much to leave us there. How might you be a follower this week?

The hearing, the knowing, the following represent our hope. I love the last stanza of Hymn 645, “The King of Love” that references the parable of the lost sheep. It goes like this:  Perverse and foolish, oft I strayed, but yet in love he sought me; and on his shoulder gently laid, and home, rejoicing, brought me.

That homecoming hope rests with the good shepherd. How will you listen for his voice this week?

-Jay Sidebotham

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Eyes Opened

Going out on a limb here, I’m guessing that if you opened this email, you have some openness to matters of faith. So the questions on my mind, posed by the prayer we heard yesterday in church (see above): What have been the eye opening experiences for you? Was it sudden, like St. Paul getting knocked off his horse? Was it gradual like the blind man who received sight in stages (Mark 8)? How’d you come to this place this morning, spiritually speaking?

One reason we’re given the 50-day Easter season is so we can hear various resurrection stories, describing different ways people have eyes opened to the reality of the risen Christ. Mary goes to the tomb Easter morning. In her grief, she thinks Jesus is the gardener, until he says her name. Eyes opened. We heard about Thomas who wouldn’t or couldn’t see the good news of Jesus’ resurrection until he got a glimpse of his deep woundedness (and perhaps connected it with his own deep woundedness). Eyes opened. The disciples on the road to Emmaus walk along with Jesus, failing to recognize who he is. It’s the moment when he breaks the bread and blesses it (sounds like the eucharist to me) that they see that Jesus is alive. Eyes opened.

Which gives us permission to recognize the many ways that people have eyes opened to faith. The good news of our tradition, the conviction that we serve a resurrected Lord, may be hard to see. We may imagine that modern thought processes are more sophisticated than those in the early church.

But from the first days of the church, there was debate about whether any of this made sense. Paul wrote to the Corinthian church with the recognition that the good news of Jesus was either foolishness or scandal to most people in his culture.

Fast forward to Easter Day this year, the theologian and bishop N.T.Wright was interviewed in an op-ed column in the New York Times. He spoke about eyes opened to the physical resurrection of Jesus. He admits that for many people it makes no sense. He said: “Then, as now, claiming that somebody was alive again — particularly somebody who made the sort of claims that Jesus made or were made about him — was revolutionary. It was dangerous talk. So if people don’t like dangerous talk, then stay away from Easter is my advice.” The interviewer noted that we sometimes assume that skepticism is a recent phenomenon. She asked: “How would ancient Jewish audiences and Gentile audiences think about the apostles talking about the Resurrection?” Bishop Wright said: “Early Christianity was born into a world where everybody knew that its central claim was ridiculous, and the early Christians knew it themselves.”

The prayer we heard yesterday tells us that the opening of eyes is God’s work. So we start by recognizing it’s a matter of grace to come to faith. As you move through the Easter season, give thanks for the ways grace has come to you, for the people and experiences that were part of that process. Maybe find a way to tell someone about those people or experiences. No matter how long you’ve been on the spiritual journey, pray for new ways for eyes to be opened.

And know we are not passive in the process. As you offer that prayer, think about whether you are really open to having eyes opened, whether there is more comfort in keeping eyes closed. As N.T. Wright noted, eyes opened can be dangerous.

As you ask God to open your eyes, set aside some quiet time to make that holy request known. And prepare yourself for the possibility of transformation.

As I write, I’m on a plane to Israel with a group of pilgrims. I’m praying for my own eyes to be opened in new ways to the good news of the immanent, historical Jesus, the good news of the resurrected, transcendent Jesus. Please say a prayer for me in that regard. (Thanks.) And I’ll pray this Monday morning for readers, wherever they may be on the spiritual journey, that this day and season will bring eyes of faith opened in new ways to God’s redeeming work.

• -Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

The Difference Easter Makes

What happens on Sunday morning is not half so important as what happens on Monday morning. In fact, what happens on Sunday morning is judged by what happens on Monday morning.

-Educator and theologian, Verna Dozier

The collect we heard yesterday in church (above) made me think back on why I started writing on Monday mornings. In part, I was prompted by the wisdom of a woman whose faithful witness inspired me. Verna Dozier was an educator in the schools of Washington, D.C., and a leader in the Episcopal Church. I’ve got her quote, the one printed above, on the wall of my office to remind me of the Sunday/Monday connection.

Don’t get me wrong. Sundays are awesome. We rightfully spend a lot of resources to make Sunday worship our best offering. But faith becomes compelling when it shapes our lives when we’re not in church. As the General Thanksgiving in the Prayer Book says, we are called to honor God not only with our lips but with our lives.

Among other things, it’s a way of saying that thoughts and prayers are not enough. That’s tragically obvious as we contend with the scourge of gun violence. Indeed, if all we do is rely on thoughts and prayers, that can have damaging and dangerous effect.

Hear what the prophet Isaiah has to say on the subject: “The Lord said these people draw near with their mouths and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me.” (Isaiah 29:13) Jesus put it this way: “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of My Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) The New Testament letter of James says: “Faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” (James 2.17)

So in the season of Easter, as a church we read from the New Testament book called the Acts of the Apostles. I’m guessing no one thought of calling the book the Thoughts and Prayers of the Apostles. Again, don’t get me wrong. Gathering for worship was clearly at the heart of the early church. Thoughtful prayer mattered.

But the early church grew exponentially because people outside the church looked at people inside the church and said: “See how they love one another.’ Members of the community of faith shared resources with each other. No one was in need. Church members went out into the world to share good news with people who had been excluded. Folks who were marginalized, regarded as dispensable, e.g., children, old people, immigrants, orphans received care, were given compassionate attention.

Oh, how I wish people looked at the church, looked at our congregations, looked at my life and saw the love of Jesus at work in the world. I can dream, can’t I? But newsflash: that’s not the word on the street about the church in America these days. So here we are. What might we do about that?

We could do worse than to keep Verna Dozier’s quote front and center. To start each day with a bit of creative imagination about how we can show and share the love of God, known to us in Jesus. What would it mean to start each day thinking about how we can worship not only with our lips but with our lives. Our culture is hungry for that kind of faithful authenticity. It can be as simple as treating people we meet with lovingkindness, even the jerks (of which there are ample supply). It can be a matter of praying blessing on those who have hurt us, those who fuel our resentments. It can be hard, mustering courage to face the forces of violence in our world. It can be active ministry to those in need.

When any of that happens, we begin to get a vision of resurrection faith, enough to make us say: “Alleluia.”

-Jay Sidebotham

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