You shall draw water from the springs of salvation.

Um, excuse me, where might I find those springs?

I’m wondering where in your life, when in your experience you have run across springs of salvation. Maybe we can begin by talking about salvation. How do we understand that word? The way that Christian theology has evolved among certain circles, salvation is about a ticket to heaven. Depending on which group you’re talking about, it can be a very small number of folks who make the cut.

When I was a kid, I would often walk each day with my neighborhood best friend. As we passed by a couple churches, we would often have profound 7 year old conversations about religion. He was Roman Catholic and was concerned I was not going to make it to heaven. I was Protestant Evangelical and I was concerned he was not going to heaven. That mindset can come early. Salvation was about the heavenly price of admission.

There are other ways to think about salvation. I’ve been told that it really means wholeness, that it suggests healing, a process of restoration and reparation and renewal. Among other things, that means that salvation begins right now. See St. Paul: Now is the day of salvation. (II Corinthians 6.2 ) As I thought about this, it seemed like a good idea to go to wiser sources, so I considered what Frederick Buechner had to say about salvation.

In his book Wishful Thinking (a great Christmas gift by the way), he speaks of salvation as an experience first and a doctrine second. He says it is a process, not an event. For him, it is the paradoxical experience of losing oneself and then finding that one is more fully oneself than usual. Perhaps not surprisingly, he says that the closest analogy is love. He says that when you love somebody, it is no longer yourself who is the center of your own universe. It is the one you love. He suggests that is what Jesus had in mind when he said: He who loses his life for my sake will find it. (Matthew 10:39). In that way, we do not love God so that, tit for tat God will save us. Rather to love God is to be saved. Get this: “You do not love God and live for him so you will go to Heaven. Whichever side of the grave you happen to be talking about, to love God and to live for him is Heaven.”

And he has a word for those who have had this experience. “How about the person you know who as far as you can possibly tell has never had such a moment – the soreheads and slobs of the world, the ones the world has hopelessly cripple? Maybe for that person the moment that has to happen is you.” In other words, best I can tell what Buechner is getting at is that we can point others to springs of salvation.

The psalm begins: “As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.” (Psalm 42:1,2) Hear what Jesus told the woman at the well: “Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” (John 4.15) The woman said to Jesus: “Give me this water.” Which is to say that the springs of salvation are accessible right here. Right now.

Hey, maybe that’s what the good news of Christmas, God with us, is all about.

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

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You shall know the truth, and the truth will make you odd.

–      Flannery O’Connor

Case in point: John the Baptist. We hear a lot about him these days. If Academy Awards were given for liturgical seasons, John the Baptist would get an Oscar for Best Actor in Advent. Our church lets us know he is a big deal, with attention not only on several Sundays in Advent but also on a few feast days throughout the year. That is probably a reflection of what Jesus said about John the Baptist, which is that there was no one greater born of woman than John (Matthew 11:11).

The most generous adjective I can come up with to describe the guy is eccentric. He wore strange clothes. Ate strange food. Set up a public ministry in the wilderness where there were no people. When people finally found him out in the desert, he called them a brood of vipers. No Dale Carnegie course graduate here.

We heard about him in church yesterday, and in lieu of a psalm which usually appears in the line up, the lectionary invited us to read a canticle which is really a passage from Luke’s gospel (see column on the left). Zechariah, John’s father, holds forth with prediction of his son’s greatness. So what does John have to teach us this Advent?

We get clues from a tradition in Christian art that has John the Baptist depicted again and again with outstretched hand, index finger pointing away from himself to Jesus, usually to Jesus on the cross. It’s an illustration of what John said when asked about his relationship to Jesus. John said: He must increase and I must decrease (John 3:30).

Let’s be clear. There was no shortage of ego strength with the Baptist. But he knew who he was and he knew who Jesus was, and he knew the difference, so his ministry was one of preparation for the advent of a greater presence, a higher power. It was a ministry of humility. Cue in Godspell: Prepare ye the way of the Lord.

How does that apply to us? First, channeling Flannery O’Connor, we might embrace the weirdness, the oddity, the eccentricity that comes with the truth of our faith. What might that look like? Maybe like St. Paul said, it’s being a fool for Christ (II Corinthians 4:10). Maybe it’s letting someone ahead of us in traffic or in line at the store. Maybe it’s giving an absurdly generous tip to a server the next time you go out to eat. Maybe it’s extending forgiveness to someone who by all accounts doesn’t deserve it. Maybe it’s listening to someone else’s point of view when you have felt that their point of view is wrong or stupid. Maybe it’s advocating for justice and peace (in word and action), in a season when the most vulnerable are threatened, for example, those threatened with deportation (See Leviticus 19:34). Maybe it’s resisting a racist joke or comment or policy. In a time when church attendance may be an oddity, maybe it’s inviting someone to an Advent or Christmas gathering in your church, or telling someone why the place means something to you. Maybe none of these make sense in the economy of our common life, but the truth will make you odd.

Second, it’s about getting clear eyed about who we are and who Jesus is. The slowed pace and quiet time recommended for Advent might give us space to reflect on Jesus’ question to his disciples: Who do you say that I am? That kind of clarity is bound to make our experience of the joy of Christmas more intense.

Finally, it’s about finding a way to point beyond ourselves to Christ. John had his own distinctive way. We are called to find our own way. How will your life this week point beyond yourself to Jesus? How will you prepare the way of the Lord?

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

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How would you like to be remembered?

A friend attended a retreat where participants were invited to write a brief autobiography, viewed through three different lenses. They were to write their story as hero, as victim, and as learner. The suggestion is that the ways we tell our own story, the ways we wish to be remembered, indeed our sense of identity depend on our point of view. The point of view we choose shapes the ways we think and behave. To those three categories, I might add a fourth. I haven’t settled on the word to capture this category. Perhaps mistake-maker (the most generous option) or screw-up, transgressor or sinner.

The psalm printed above, read on the first Sunday of Advent, talks about how God might remember us. The author of the psalm makes the following request to the Holy One: Remember me not according to the sins of my youth (and we all have those). Rather remember me according to your love.

Implicit in that psalm is the idea that while it matters how we regard ourselves, a bit of that has to do with the way we believe God regards us. For many people raised in religious contexts, the assumption is that God is scorekeeper, a slightly grouchy one at that. It’s most vividly brought to mind by a Gary Larson cartoon. God sits at the computer. On the screen, a grand piano plummets towards unsuspecting pedestrian. God at the keyboard is about to hit the “Smite” button.

When we imagine God regarding us in that way, it makes for an anxious approach to life. Ironically, it means we begin to regard other people in that same way, keeping score, all the while treasuring resentments and infringements as if they were trophies.

But if we can believe that God’s overriding regard for us is one of compassion, we find a different way forward, marked by freedom and joy. The good news of our faith is that while the Holy One knows our stories, knows us each as hero, victim, learner and sinner, the overriding way the Holy One regards us is as beloved child. Maybe that should be the fifth option. The challenge of our faith is to ask whether we can really believe that we are the beloved child in such a way that it shapes the way we live.

Savanna Guthrie, of TODAY show fame, recently wrote a book entitled Mostly What God Does. She is not only an accomplished television presence but also a person of faith. In her book, she makes this simple point: Mostly what God does is love you. In the intro, she writes:

If we could believe this, really believe this, how different would we be? How different would our lives be? How different would our world be? If you ever struggle with your connection to God (or whether you even feel connected to a faith at all!), you’re not alone. Especially in our modern world, with its relentless, never-ending news cycle, we can all grapple with such questions. Do we do that alone, with despair and resignation? Or do we make sense of it with God, and with hope? In these uncertain times, could believing in the power of divine love make the most sense?

If we can embrace the idea that God knows all the ways we’ve messed up and still looks on us graciously, then we may well find ourselves a bit more compassionate and forgiving to people around us. St. Paul captured that idea in his letter to the Romans. He wrote: Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you.

As we begin a new year, take stock of the ways you imagine you are regarded by God.

Join with the psalmist who prays to be remembered with compassion. Join with the thief on the cross who asks Jesus: Remember me when you come into your kingdom. Offer the prayer of commendation from the Burial Office which speaks of how we might each and all be remembered: Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

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Persistence

The route of the triathlon went right by our house. I sat on the front porch to cheer people on. The first runners came through, lean and fast. After swimming more than I could ever swim, cycling further than I could ever pedal, they were sprinting for the finish line and made it look easy. Breezy. I thought to myself: Definitely another species. It is not now, nor could ever have been my experience.

That was midmorning, and the participants went by throughout the day. By late afternoon, there were just a few. It was a group I could identify with. Some older than you might imagine would wisely enlist for such a race. Others may have made a few too many visits to Dunkin Donuts. Some shuffling. Some walking. Some nursing pain. But they were intent on finishing. I was as impressed with their persistence as I was with the strength of those at the head of the pack.

For most of us, life is more like marathon than sprint. Furthermore, it’s not a race we can choose to enter on a lovely fall weekend. No opting out. It’s a long haul. It requires taking the long view. It requires persistence. It requires endurance. That doesn’t just happen. It takes training. It’s true of the spiritual journey. The language we use for training in the church is that it takes spiritual practice.

So what spiritual practices are good for us if we want to train for the marathon? These come to mind: A steady, honest prayer life. Time spent in quiet contemplation. Engagement with scripture in some habitual way. Regular participation in the eucharist. Gathering with other people of faith (those also running the race so you can talk about how tough it is). Service to others. All of these foster spiritual persistence and build spiritual endurance.

The psalm printed above, one you may have heard in church on Sunday, talks about the spiritual gift of persistence. David will not rest until he feels his spiritual mission is fulfilled. David may come across as spiritual superheroes, like those at the head of the triathlon pack. Yet the Bible is careful to indicate he was by no means perfect. Nevertheless, he persisted. That’s good news for all of us.

Persistence is not one of the fruits of the spirit listed by St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians (although patience is related). But it seems to be one of the qualities exhibited by saints, especially saints who dealt with adversity (which means most of them). It’s related to endurance which is a key theme found in the letter to the Hebrews, a sermon to a congregation under fire.

Speaking of marathons, the author of Hebrews writes the following in chapter 12: Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary in your souls or lose heart.

I have no clue where the need for persistence, for endurance surfaces in your life this morning. It may be a need you sense in your household, in your work place, in your faith community, in this divided nation, in this broken world. But as we move into Advent, with expectation of the coming of the Christ child, perhaps we can prepare by finding our own way to look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter, the author and finisher of our faith. Maybe when we do that, we can run with perseverance the race that is set before us.

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule. (Now accepting signups for the January 2025 cohort)  Sign up now!

Now

The psalm you may have heard yesterday in church (above) concludes with this statement about the way God will act. Verse 11 says: You will show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it strikes me that the psalmist is confident that the way of life will be made clear, but it hasn’t happened yet. The question, then, for people of faith: How do we navigate the present not knowing the future? How do we live in the present with a sense of equanimity and peace?

It’s a question that people of all faiths ask. Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist priest spoke about the power of deep breath amidst the changes and chances of life. He said: Breathing in, I calm the mind. Breathing out, I smile. Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.

Jesus made a similar point in the Sermon on the Mount, citing the wisdom of lilies who do not worry about tomorrow, the wisdom of birds who soar, trusting they’ll be fed. He said: So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6)

A friend who was a philosophy/religion major in college used to end each of his papers with this anagram: SOKOP. Sounds okay on paper. Easier said than done. How do we live life in the present, letting go of resentments about the past, released from fears of the future.

In reflection on this question, I started thinking of biblical stories in which God calls someone and they answer with three words: Here I am. Volumes are spoken in those three words. They suggest self-awareness about the present, even if present circumstances were not always easy.

Moses, stuck in the wilderness for forty years, wonders why his stellar upbringing and gifts for leadership were not being used. But with the burning bush speaking to him, he simply opens himself to God’s presence by saying: Here I am.

God finds Elijah bummed out because the powers that be were out for retribution. While he sits on that pity pot in that cave, the still, small voice of the Lord comes to him and asks: What are you doing here? Another way to ask might be: What are you doing with the present moment? Elijah leaves that cave and goes out to anoint a future king.

Isaiah, when called to prophetic ministry, took his own spiritual inventory at that moment, telling the Holy One that he, the prophet, was a person of unclean lips. I suspect God was not surprised by that news. Despite Isaiah’s inventory of his own life, he makes himself available in that present moment by saying: Here I am.

Mary, a young girl, gets a surprise visit from an angel with a message that will change the course of history. In that moment, she wonders: How can this be? I can imagine it could have been unsettling. Do you think? In the end she says: Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be unto me according to your word.

I suspect all you biblical scholars can cite other examples, but you get the idea. We are called to live in the present, ready to say: Here I am, to hear that still, small voice come to us, not drowned out by resentment or regret about the past (I’m working on that one) or fret about the future (a lot of which is out of our control). In the present moment, we take stock of where we are and who we are. That includes expressions of gratitude for blessings surrounding us. The present moment holds no pretense that we have it all together. In the present moment, all we are called to do is open ourselves to God’s grace. Breathing helps.

Find quiet time today (and maybe each day) to take stock of where you are. Give thanks for ways you are blessed. Recognize your special brand of human frailty. Say: Here I am.

-Jay Sidebotham

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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule. (Now accepting signups for the January 2025 cohort)  Sign up now!

In God We Trust

The story is told of Dr. Karl Barth, amazing theologian of the 20th century, who wrote volumes on just about any topic related to faith. He apparently never had an unexpressed written thought, though I wish he was still around so we could get his take on current events.

Once when he was teaching a theology class, a snarky seminarian challenged Dr. Barth to sum up all of his theology, thousands and thousands of pages, in one sentence. The subtext: No way the good doctor could do such a thing. Dr. Barth took up the challenge, and responded with this succinct summation: Jesus loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so.

Like many songs we teach our children, there is depth in these ditties. I have in mind this week the song about the whole world in God’s hands. It came to mind as I reflected on Psalm 24, which if your church observed the Feast of All Saints yesterday, you might have heard in worship. It begins by saying: The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it.

In case you didn’t notice, we are on the eve of an election with the potential to affect our common life for many years to come, an election where anxiety is unusually high. I think it’s safe to say that about half the population is not going to be happy on Wednesday (or whenever all votes are counted.) It’s worth thinking about how we, as people of faith, navigate days ahead. It comes down to a matter of trust, confidence that the earth is the Lord’s, that God is watching over us, that God has the whole world in his hands.

A call to trust does not mean passive acceptance of whatever comes our way. It does not mean blinders or muzzles. As Christ’s hands and feet in the world, we will respond to events as they unfold by living into the promises we make in baptism, to proclaim good news in word and action, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being. It will take trust to do that.

That may not always be easy. One bit of help comes by looking at others who have figured out trust. There are biblical icons to help. Abraham leaving a country of comfort. He went not knowing where he was going. Peter stepping out of a boat to walk on water. Speaking of saints, we have examples like Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela who meet oppression with irrepressible joy that signaled their trust in God’s provision. John Lewis battled for civil rights, joyfully willing to get in good trouble. As I cited last week, Alexei Navalny brought humor to his prison community based on the confidence that Jesus would take care of it. Who else comes to mind for you?

Back in my seminary days, as one day I was wandering through the library stacks, I found a book called “Bird Walk through the Bible.” It made me realize you can write a book about just about anything. It cited all the places where birds are mentioned in scripture. We’re talking owls, sparrows, doves, vultures, ostriches, and eagles, to name a few. No penguins, as far as I can tell. I took it as a challenge to include some citations of this book in the footnotes of every single paper I wrote. No teacher ever commented, which, of course, made me wonder how much was actually read.

I remembered this bit of scholastic mischief in reading what Howard Thurman had to say about trust. He prayed: Teach me, O God, the simple lesson of trust. Bring into my sorely pressed spirit the sure confidence of birds floating in the sky with nothing to support them but the automatic trust of wings.

In the challenges that come our way, as we have no idea what the future holds, may we count on that automatic trust of wings and remember who holds the future. And this week, as we make our way to the polling place, or wait on line, or wait for exit polls or early results, or take in the results, or face any kind of anxiety-producing uncertainty, may we be given grace to let this song go through our heads: He’s got the whole world in his hands.

-Jay Sidebotham

Footnote: If you’re feeling anxious about the upcoming election, I recommend meditation on Psalm 37:1-18.

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

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Alexei Navalny’s Diary

As I read the psalms, I’m not only impressed with how their meaning transcends the centuries. I’m also impressed with how many of the psalms describe people of faith living in crisis, besieged by all kinds of opposing forces. They are not just living. They seem to be thriving.

We get glimpses of that in the psalm heard in church yesterday, printed above. The psalmist speaks of terrors (v.4), of affliction and troubles (v.6). Yet that same author can say taste and see that the Lord is good. (v.8) How is it that people in these situations can affirm God’s goodness and embrace a word of hope? I want to know what they know.

I think of the apostle Paul who wrote a letter to the Philippian church from a first century prison cell. Let your cinematic imagination run wild in thinking about what that prison block looked like, felt like, smelled like. Yet in that letter, the apostle issues a call to rejoice again and again, affirming that he can do all things through the one who strengthens him, claiming that his sole purpose is to know Christ and the power of his resurrection.

More recently, I have in mind the piece I read in the New Yorker last week, excerpts from Alexei Navalny’s prison diary. Woven throughout his reflections there is a spirit of humor and well being, dare I say joy.

In one entry, he responds to questions of how he keeps going, how he avoids hatred and despair. He offers two techniques. The first has to do with wrapping his mind around the worst thing that could happen and figuring that was survivable.

It was the second technique that caught my eye, tugged at my heart, stirred my soul. He said the technique he has in mind is so old “you may roll your eyes heavenward when you hear it. It is religion. It is doable only for believers but does not demand zealous fervent prayer by the prison barracks window three times a day (a very common phenomenon in prisons.)”

He said that “being a believer makes it easier to live your life, and to an even greater extent engage in opposition politics. Faith makes life simpler.” The technique he suggests: “You lie in your bunk looking up at the one above and ask yourself whether you are a Christian in your heart of hearts. It is not essential for you to believe some old guys in the desert once lived to 800 years old, or that the sea was literally parted in front of someone. But are you a disciple of the religion whose founder sacrificed himself for others, paying the price for their sins? Do you believe in the immortality of the soul and the rest of that cool stuff? If you honestly answer yes, what is there left for you to worry about? Why, under your breath would you mumble a hundred times something you read from a hefty tome you keep in your bedside table? Don’t worry about the morrow because the morrow is perfectly capable of taking care of itself.”

He concludes this entry by saying; “My job is to seek the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and leave it to good old Jesus and the rest of his family to deal with everything else. They won’t let me down and will sort out all my headaches. As they say in prison here: they will take my punches for me.”

As I fret about my worries, with a special brand of angst about next week’s election, I think the Holy Spirit sent me this testimony from a remarkable saint. For this edition of Monday Matters, Mr. Navalny has provided most of the content. I hope it stirs your soul as it did mine. I add his voice to the witnesses of folks I’ve met along the way who teach me about coping with affliction and loss, who keep hope alive in those situations. I hope you have run across folks like that. They do the soul good.

May you and I be given the grace this week, in whatever adversity we face, to seek first the Kingdom of God and to leave it to good old Jesus and the rest of his family to deal with everything else.

Rest in peace, Mr. Navalny. May light perpetual shine upon you. Thank you. Thanks be to God.

-Jay Sidebotham

Footnote: If you’re feeling anxious about the upcoming election, I recommend meditation on Psalm 37:1-18.

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule. (Now accepting signups for the January 2025 cohort)  Sign up now!

Temptation

In The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare notes that even the devil can quote scripture. Perhaps what the bard had in mind was the story of Jesus’ temptation, told in detail in Matthew and Luke’s gospels. In those accounts, there are three temptations. One of those temptations comes as the devil tells Jesus to cast himself down from a high precipice, to trust that God will save him.

To get Jesus to do this, as in the other two temptations, the devil quotes from the Bible, in this case a verse from the psalm printed above, a psalm you may have heard in church yesterday. According to that psalm, God will give angels to protect, no matter what happens. Jesus doesn’t go for it, battling scripture with scripture and saying: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.

As a church, as followers of Jesus, we are guided by the canon of scripture. That includes 66 books that the church deemed authoritative. But I suspect we each have a canon within the canon, those scriptures that we turn to because they agree with what we already think, or support us in what we’re doing, or help us argue a case, or get us off the hook. All of that causes me to think about the ways we interpret scripture and our tendency to use it to serve our own purposes.

Years ago, I was working with a young couple in preparation for their marriage. They were lovely, interesting people. Smart as could be. Smarter than this priest. They were not persons of faith. They thought religion made no sense. Especially organized religion. So we had interesting conversations. At the end of our time together, they gave me a gift, a book called THE BIBLE TELLS ME SO: The Uses and Abuses of Scripture.

One gets the point of the book with a look at the Table of Contents. One chapter was about the ways scripture was used to support slavery. The next was about the ways scripture bolstered the case of abolitionists. One chapter spoke about the ways scripture prohibited leadership by women in the church. The next spoke about ways scripture opened the door for that leadership. You get the idea. The upshot: we have to think about the ways we read scripture, and what will be our guiding principles. Scripture has power. Power can be used well or not so well.

In its entirety, the psalm before us this morning is a promise that God will be with us in the challenges we face. It’s a beautiful, reassuring message. The devil picks out a little bit, proof-texting in hopes of trapping Jesus. But as Jesus told the devil in the desert, that doesn’t mean we are free to put God to the test. That’s what I think this particular temptation is all about. The temptation to imagine that we are in a position to say to God: Prove it. The temptation to imagine that God needs to answer to us, to see if God really knows what God is doing. The temptation to think that we are the ones running the show. Human history indicates that we get into trouble when we enter into that mindset.

So let me ask again: What are guiding principles as we read scripture? While I’m excited that the church has selected an amazing person, Sean Rowe, to be our next Presiding Bishop, I will miss Michael Curry. I will always be grateful for his spiritual gifts as communicator, or in church language, as evangelist. I hope he’ll continue to let his voice be heard.

I’ll never stop relying on this quote from him: If it’s not about love, it’s not about God. That succinct bit of wisdom covers about all we need to know. It provides a lens for our reading of scripture, which in its diversity is really a story about God’s love for us, love from which we can never be separated. It’s a story about our call to reflect that love in relationship with all our neighbors.

Think this week about how scripture informs your life of faith, and how you can view its many voices through the lens of love.

–Jay Sidebotham

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule. (Now accepting signups for the January 2025 cohort)  Sign up now!

Teach us to number our days

The liturgy offered at an Episcopal funeral, the Burial Office, is always marked by grief and loss. There’s always sadness. At the same time, it is one of the most beautiful services we have in the Prayer Book. As the Prayer Book says in an unusual postscript (p. 507), it is an Easter service, marked by joy, holding the hope of resurrection at its center.

In my experience, there are certain hymns that are frequently selected for this service. Occasionally, there are surprising choices. For example, I’ve had families ask to include the Christmas hymn “Joy to the World” in the liturgy, even when the service happened in the middle of summer.

One of the most commonly chosen hymns begins this way: O God our help in ages past. It’s a familiar hymn (#680 in the 1982 Hymnal), taking its cue from Psalm 90. You may have heard a portion of that psalm in church yesterday, printed above. The hymn is appropriate for a funeral because that liturgy calls us to recognize the contingency of our lives. It invites us to recall how we are indeed dependent on God for help.

The portion of Psalm 90 read in church begins this way: Teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom. What does that wisdom-generating process of numbering our days look like? In the churches where I’ve served for most of my ministry, I’ve offered this blessing that I suspect you’ve heard, crafted by Swiss poet and philosopher Henri Frederic Amiel (1821-1881). It’s a blessing that wisely asks us to number our days. It goes like this:

Life is short and we do not have too much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us. So be swift to love, make haste to be kind, and the blessing of God be with you.

In my experience, there are few things I’ve said in church that have resonated so deeply and evoked as great a response. I’ve wondered why that is. The baldness of the beginning (Life is short) is a reality check. With that reality check under our belts, the blessing invites us to best use of our limited time, letting that limited time be marked by lovingkindness.

It’s a bit like John Wesley’s rule of life:

Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

The psalm tells us that lovingkindness is God’s work, and so it is work we are asked to emulate and imitate in the time we have.

The portion of Psalm 90 read in church ends this way: Prosper the work of our hands. Prosper our handiwork. We might interpret that to ask God to help in the limited time we have to be successful in the work we do, whether we get paid for it or not. We might interpret that to ask God to bless our creative enterprises. All good requests. And maybe it’s a prayer for blessing on our efforts to show lovingkindness, in a world that is increasingly, dangerously mean-spirited. (Have you watched the news lately?)

Take time today to reflect on what it means to number our days. Make each day count. Let each day bring with it the fulfillment of opportunities to show lovingkindness.

–Jay Sidebotham

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