Sermon: Filled up with joy (Sept. 30, 2014)

Pentecost 16A/Lectionary 26

September 28, 2014

Philippians 2:1-13

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            Last week I went to a professional development event with some other clergy. One of the workshops was called “Psalms to Go,” and was an artistic expression of a meditation on the Psalms. I am always interested in learning more about how faith and the arts can come together, so I went. The first thing we did was to listen to a few Psalms read aloud, and write down any words or images that came to mind. I found this this to be easy, fun, and joyful. Then we received a blank scarf and a pile of Sharpies in different colors, and were instructed to use those words and images to decorate the scarves, creating a sort of transportable piece of “sacred space” which we could bring with us wherever we go. Hence: Psalms to go.

Here's how it turned out!

            I stared at my blank, white scarf in distress. Even though I had very happily come up with images and words, and had a sense of what I would like on my scarf, all my self-doubt crept in and took away the joy I had felt from our earlier meditations. I would mess it up, I thought. It wouldn’t look like I wanted it to. I wouldn’t know what colors were the “right” colors. And worst of all, where a real artist might see the wide open blankness of the white scarf and think “potential!” I saw it and thought, “Too empty. Too open.”

            I don’t do well with open spaces and emptiness. Whether writing a paper or painting a picture or praying or dreaming of landscaping, I do best with guidelines, structure, and something to work with. And within that structured space, I like to fill in all the gaps – adding words to silence, or color to blankness, or activity to idleness. Our workshop leader had urged us to keep some open space on our scarves to leave room for other prayers that might come to us as we use them, but even this was hard for me to do. Once I finally did get going, I wanted every space to be filled. Emptiness was bad; fullness was good.

Another part of the same workshop: a collective reflection

            Right off the tails of that experience, I read this morning’s text from Philippians, and the images that remained with me were the contrasts between emptiness and fullness. Take out that text again and I’ll show you. That first word, “if,” is not a conditional “if.” It is more like, “because.” So Paul starts out, “Because there is encouragement in Christ, consolation from love, sharing in the Spirit, compassion and sympathy… make my joy complete.” He starts, you see, with the fullness of God in our lives – encouragement, love, sharing, compassion, sympathy. “Be like this,” he says, “like Christ, and you will feel the fullness of joy.” Full. Complete. But then he goes on, quoting an ancient Christian hymn, to talk about how we were able to come about that fullness: Christ once had the fullness of divinity, he says, and all the power of that, but instead of staying there, does what? (see verse 7)… “He emptied himself.” So now we have the contrast between the fullness of God and the emptying of himself to become human. But because he emptied himself, what happens? (see verse 9) He is exalted, experiencing once again the fullness of God, and bringing all of humanity with him. In giving of himself, emptying himself, Christ was not only able to fill us up – with love, encouragement, compassion, all that – but also to himself be exalted.

            It’s an image that I can sort of grasp, but that I don’t particularly like, if I’m going to be honest with you. The reason is: I don’t like emptiness. I don’t like it when I’m doing art, I don’t like it when I pray, I don’t like it when I’m starting a sermon, I don’t like it in my gas tank. I have been thinking about this all week, and I think the reason I don’t like the idea of Jesus emptying himself, or of me emptying myself, is that I so often feel emptiness as a bad thing. I come home from a long day of hard work and I’m spent, and exhausted. I don’t eat for a few hours and my empty stomach grumbles and I have no energy. I remember when I was a new driver and I would get gas, and as a teenager with a full tank, I felt I could take on the world! But with an empty tank, all I see is limitation. Emptiness is a bad thing.

But, as I have reflected on emptiness this week, I have also realized: not all emptiness is bad. There are some days when I come home spent and exhausted – but it is the exhaustion that comes from a heart that can hardly contain all the joy it is holding. There are times when my gas tank is empty – because I have just had the chance to travel to see dear friends or family. There are times

when a table, once laden with an abundance of food, is empty – because its contents have gone to feed and nourish those gathered around, giving them physical sustenance and an opportunity to gather for conversation and laughter.

These instances of emptiness are different because even though I have given of my time and energy resources, that giving has been a joyful experience, an experience in which I felt God being glorified. At the end of this passage from Philippians, Paul tells his audience, “It is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and work for his good pleasure.” Like that table, once full of food, Christ emptied himself so that we could be full, so that God could work in us, giving us the energy to work for God’s good pleasure. In fact, the word translated here as “work in you” is energeo, the Greek word from which we get “energy.” When we do what God intended for us to do, we are energized; we spend energy in service, emptying ourselves, but we also receive the energy that comes from joy in Christ.

Today at Bethlehem and next week at St. Martin after worship, we will be offering an opportunity to discover your spiritual gifts. We believe the Holy Spirit gifts each of us with particular abilities – not just physical abilities like sewing or cooking or lifting heavy things, but also more abstract abilities, like discernment, or hospitality, or knowledge, or mercy. Calling these “gifts” is appropriate, because when a gift is given, it is intended to bring the receiver joy, right? And so even when we may invest time and energy to use those gifts, we receive in turn the joy of having done something that brings fullness to our life. And so even as we empty ourselves, empty the work of our hands and hearts, into the service of another, we are filled with the joy that comes from service, and from using what God has gifted us with.

            And this is what Paul means when he says, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…” who gave up his post in heaven and emptied himself to become human, and experience all the best and hardest aspects of humanity. And in turn he was exalted and praised, having experienced the fullness of life – life on earth as well as eternal life. So this is Paul’s charge to us: to empty ourselves, so that we might in turn be filled with the fullness of joy in Christ Jesus. Even though it brings joy, it can also be hard work. But we can trust that Paul’s words are true, that God is at work in us, enabling us and giving us the energy to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.

            Let us pray… God of encouragement and love, make our joy complete: grant us the same mind that was in Christ Jesus, willing to use our God-given gifts for the service of others, willing to empty ourselves so that we might experience the fullness of joy in your love. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Grace isn't fair (Sept. 21, 2014)

Pentecost 15A

September 21, 2014

Jonah 3:10-4:11

Matt. 20:1-16

  

Jonah was angry! And I’d say, with good reason. God had told him to go to the great city of Nineveh to call them out on their evil ways, and Jonah didn’t think that sounded like a very fun job. (I wouldn’t either – those folks in Nineveh were not known for their kindness or reception to criticism!) So he went to Tarshish instead, but on the way got thrown overboard and eaten by [what?]… a big fish. So, after three days (sound familiar?) of fishy indigestion, Jonah got the message, so the next time God asked him, Jonah did as he was told. When he thought about it, those Assyrians in Nineveh really did need to be told what-for, so Jonah was willing to be the man to do it. But then what did God go and do? Nothing! God didn’t bring the destruction after all! After all Jonah had

done for God, God didn’t even follow through. Not only that, but those nasty folks over in Nineveh, those Assyrians, really deserved what they had coming to them – they certainly did not deserve God’s mercy, Jonah knew that for sure. And so Jonah was angry that God had been merciful on them – man alive, if those Assyrians were allowed to live, Jonah thought, then he would rather not. *hrumph*

            Oh, Jonah. Of all the characters in the Bible, Jonah is one of the easiest to relate to, even with all his melodramatic angst, because he’s just so human. He is entitled, believing if he is going to do something for God, especially something so risky, he ought to at least see a worthwhile result – and yet instead or getting to sit on a hill and see God give those Assyrians exactly what they deserved, God just teases Jonah with this bush that appears and dies in a day, and defends those jerks over in Nineveh. And that’s really the worst part of all – I imagine Jonah was less concerned about not getting his way, and more frustrated that God would show mercy on a group of people who had destroyed and oppressed the people of Israel. They truly did not deserve grace and mercy from the God of Israel.

And this is a point on which I reluctantly admit that I am very like Jonah, and I bet you are, too. We like to be the judge of who deserves mercy and who does not, don’t we? Whether in the context of hot button issues like capital punishment (“That person deserves to die because he killed an innocent man”) or walking down the street (“That person doesn’t deserve money from me because she isn’t even trying to get work”) or even in the church (“I’ll give the church more of my time when the church proves that it cares about me”), we imagine ourselves to have a pretty good sense of who deserves what and when. And so when God decides not to destroy Nineveh after all, even though they have done so many horrible things, it is as offensive to our sensibilities as it is to Jonah’s.

            That is what makes grace so scandalous! Help me here: what is the definition of grace? … It doesn’t follow the normal rules of entitlement that we know so well – it gives people what they don’t deserve and didn’t earn. This is abundantly clear in Jesus’ parable about the workers in the vineyard.

Workers in the Red Vineyard, Vincent Van Gogh

The workers who have worked all day – in the scorching heat, they’re quick to add – have been paid exactly what they had agreed to. When the generous landowner decides to pay the 11^th hour workers the full day’s wage as well, the all-day workers are not negatively affected in any way. They just find this unconventional business practice to be offensive to their sensibilities. It isn’t fair. It doesn’t follow the normal rules. Those guys don’t deserve to be paid what I was paid, because I worked longer and harder and I am entitled to more pay! Grace, when it is offered to us and brings good in our lives, is very welcome. But when someone else is offered that same grace and we perceive an unfair distribution, even if we are not adversely affected but especially if we are – then grace becomes offensive and difficult to swallow.

            I heard a story about a college professor who was administering a final exam for his class on youth ministry. The class had struggled that year, really having trouble with the concept of grace, both for themselves and for others. When the students arrived to take the test, they had a brief review session – including several items that were on the study guide, but others that the students didn’t remember. The professor explained that these items were in the reading, and the students were responsible for everything in the reading. The students reluctantly agreed. The professor then handed

out the exam face down and told the students to wait until everyone had one. When it came time to turn the test over and begin, the students found that all the answers were filled in! A note on the bottom said, “This is the end of the final exam. All the answers on your test are correct. You will receive an A on the final exam. The reason you passed the test is because the creator of the test took it for you. All the work you did in preparation for this test did not help you get the A. You have just experienced...grace."

Responses to this antic were varied. Many who felt unprepared for the exam were relieved and grateful – like the 11^th hour workers. Others who were prepared were furious – they had spent a lot of time studying, and some people probably didn’t study at all! Why should they both get As? But grace is like that. It is scandalous. It is unfair. It doesn’t follow the rules. And yet, this scandalous grace is God’s expression of love for us.

            This is difficult for us to swallow. The rules of entitlement are deeply ingrained, and so are the rules of capitalism. And they are very logical! Just think of this: if that exam weren’t the last, how many students would study for the next test, knowing that they could just be wasting their time? Or the laborers – who of those laborers are going to get there early the next day, knowing that the owner of the vineyard will pay you the same whether you work one hour or nine? Or Jonah – will he do what God asks him to again, knowing that last time God didn’t even do what He said He would? This sort of logic is how our society functions well. If we instead follow the rules of grace… wouldn’t our whole system fall apart?

            But Jesus does not say, “This is how you should run a vineyard.” He says, “The kingdom of God is like this.” Because we humans are imperfect, we do need some of those rules and systems we have in place. There are laws in society just as there are laws in faith – for example, the 10

Sierra Starr Vineyard, Grass Valley, CA

commandments. We need that guidance, the curb to keep us on the right road. But in the kingdom of God, or when we are living as if we are in the kingdom of God, living the life of a Christian, we understand that it isn’t about fairness. It’s about grace. It’s about love. And it’s not easy. It isn't fair. It doesn’t make sense. For what is easy or faith or sensical about a man hanging on a cross? And yet, this is our defining Christian symbol, a testament to the costliness of the grace that allows us to live lives of love: an innocent man who “took the test” for us, dying in our place, so that we might all be paid the same daily wage of grace.

            And so we are! We all come to this font and have water sprinkled on our brow, hearing those words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” We all hear the words of absolution after confession, declaring that we are forgiven. We all come forward to this table, regardless of what good or bad we have done during the week, regardless of what terrible thing has happened in our past. We stretch out our hands like the undeserving beggars that we are. We hear those words, “Given for you,” and receive, each of us, the same size piece of bread, the same amount of wine, the same immeasurable forgiveness. That indeed is a scandal, a gift we do not deserve. And yet, that is the way God loves us: not based on our worth or goodness, but based on who God is and what God has done. Thanks be to God for that.

            Let us pray… God, you are gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. We thank you that you love us according to your goodness, and not according to ours. Help us to live lives that reflect your grace to all whom we encounter. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Keep it Simple, Stupid!

My high school soccer coach was always telling us not to make things more complicated than they needed to be. Don't force a pass; make the pass that makes the most sense. So he was always shouting at us from the sidelines: "KISS!!" which was Coach Voss shorthand for, "Keep Is Simple, Stupid!!"

I have been thinking a lot this summer about "keeping it simple, stupid." That is, I have wanted to simplify my life. I know this sort of thing sometimes happens in response to major illness, so maybe that is why. Or maybe it is because we have only lived in our house for a year, and already, by virtue of combining two households and never quite finishing unpacking, there are piles of things in corners with nowhere to live permanently. Or maybe it is because we are redoing our closet, and in my dreams, when it is done, our clothes will suddenly all fit in the one closet instead of being spread across the three bedroom closets, but in reality I know that probably isn't true.

Whatever the reason, this summer has been one in which I have tried to simplify life a bit. This has happened in a number of ways:

Cooking from scratch: This actually came from several other desires, which I have been planning to outline in another blog post sometime. The relationship of this to living simply is that when I cook from scratch, I know what food is going into our meals, and that makes me feel closer to and more in touch with it. This summer, I have been taking advantage of the abundance of locally grown food in this area, which I can get at any number of nearby farmers markets, at food stands along the road, or at our grocery store, which each week brings in some vegetables from a local farmer. I will tell you, knowing the freshness of the food, and knowing it only traveled a few miles to get to my plate, makes the food taste so much better! They always say that, but it is really true.

Walking: I am proud to say that I have gone for a walk or a run almost every day since this spring. I played year-round soccer and other sports growing up, so never had to make an effort to get additional exercise. After all my surgeries and the physical limitations that came with them, I have really felt the need to move and get back my strength - and to my surprise I have really enjoyed it. The discipline of rolling out of bed and into my running shoes has added a nice structure to my morning, and really my whole day. It gives me a reason to start the day with something that requires me to breathe. It gets me out and a part of my neighborhood (and see my neighbors!). I have also made an effort to walk places like the grocery store, to restaurants, etc. whenever I can, which makes me feel even more a part of the neighborhood, and saves gas. I haven't lost a lot of weight, but several people have commented that I look healthier, more fit. But most of all, I love that I am doing something that humans used to do all the time, but have stopped doing much of at all. I take delight in counting my steps (or rather, letting a pedometer do it), to hold me accountable. Breathing in the sounds and smells and sights of my neighborhood has made me feel deeply a part of it, and even when I don't want to go, there is an underlying pleasure and delight about that.

Clothing Purge: This is what got me started naming these practices "simplicity." I read one little article about having only 33 items of clothing per season, and I was intrigued. I read more and more. Everyone who had tried it said, "I love fashion and shopping, and I never thought I could do it, but now that my closet is nearly empty, I feel liberated. Where I never had anything to wear before, now that I have less, I always do, because I love everything I own!" I want that, so much. So while I haven't gotten anywhere near 33 items, I filled three garbage bags of clothes to give away, some full of clothes I haven't worn in years. It has been a beautiful practice of letting go of this scarcity mindset, always thinking, "But what if I need that?" and also a good practice in recognizing what is needed, and what just fills a spot. Having a positive memory attached to it is no longer a reason to keep a shirt I never wear. If a pair of pants fits, but doesn't make me feel really good to wear it, it goes away. My new criteria is, if I don't feel great with this on, then it is going away. (This becomes even easier when I realize I bought that article at a thrift shop 5 years ago - so it is okay to let it go now!) I never thought I could be so content with less.

Time to Read: One of my professional goals this year was to carve out some time in my work week to read work-related books as professional development. I haven't been great at it, but every single time I do pull it off, I am better for the effort. Books truly offer a window into a world outside your own. I have rediscovered the joy of curling up with some tea and a good book and a dog, and spending hours reading. It is such a lovely way to be quiet. 

Praying Outside: One of the selling points for our house was the large, screened in back porch. It wasn't on our wish list, but since we have it, we are determined to use it. And used it we have! We splurged on a nice, comfy set of patio furniture, and I have lived out there this summer. One way I have done this is to take my cup of tea out in the morning, and do morning prayer amidst the sounds of nature and neighbors. How much easier it is to pray for things and people whom you are actually experiencing as you pray! I have also been attending our prayer group at one of my churches, which, during the summer, has been meeting in the morning in our new prayer garden. This, too, has been a beautiful experience, to gather with my people in the midst of God's creation and pray for our community. 

Gardening: I had dreams of a large raised bed garden in our yard, but one of the very things we loved about the neighborhood - shade and trees - makes that difficult. So I settled for one tomato plant, some basil, and some parsley. The experience of going outside and pulling some basil and mixing it with a fresh tomato, or including some fresh parsley in a salad, has been the very definition of simple joy. What a miraculous thing to grow your own food and eat it - garden to plate! 

Sewing: I have a zillion friends having babies, and so I have been busy in my dedicated sewing room making things for them. I've made a lion, a bear, a monkey, two manatees, and a quilt. For each one, I pray with each stitch for the baby and family who will possess it. I have always wanted to be someone who makes things for people, and it is everything I hoped it would be. It feels so good not to give into consumerist culture and instead to make things with my own two hands. Michael has been doing something similar in his wood shop, making gifts for people he cares about, and has the same experience. Why did we ever get away from these crafts?

I continue to strive for ways to be more simple. It will be interesting to see how that might play out with kids in our lives someday. We are both completely uninterested in having every possible baby thing, and want to keep baby accessories to a minimum, but the reality is we have a lot of people in our lives who will want to shower us with baby goodies. So we'll see on that - but meanwhile, I'm doing my best to Keep It Simple, Stupid!

Sermon: The ritual of forgiveness (Sept. 14, 2014)

Pentecost 14A/Lectionary 25

Sept. 14, 2014

Matthew 18:21-35

            This has been a long week, and I’m sure anyone whose kids are just starting school and sports again can agree! Even without kids, I came home some days this week, sometimes after 9pm, so exhausted I could hardly hold my head up, and could not wait to get into my bed. But when I finally climbed the stairs toward my bedroom, did I fall right into bed? Nope. I brushed my teeth. I did the usual evening rituals, and then and only then did I crawl under the covers.

            I didn’t really want to brush my teeth, truth be told. But the thing is, it is a habit, a ritual, so much so that if I hadn’t done it, I probably would have gotten into bed and felt all wrong, perhaps so wrong that the wrongness would finally convince me to get back up and go take care of the nagging need to go to bed with clean teeth.

Why so insistent about brushing my teeth? Is it my pride in my nearly perfect dental health? No, I don’t think so. Do I get a prize if I do it enough? Not that I know of, though I’ll ask my dentist

about that. As much as anything, I do it because it is ingrained in me. Do you know what I mean? Do you have things like that, things that are so ingrained in you that it feels wrong not to do them? .... Okay, so if this is so important to me, then how many times do you think I should brush my teeth? As many as seven times?

            When Peter asks Jesus in our Gospel lesson today how many times he should forgive someone who has wronged him, suggesting “as many as seven times,” it sounds to him like he is really going above and beyond. Three times to forgive someone would be a lot, but to more than double that? Talk about mercy! But to Jesus the question must have sounded as foolish as me asking you how many times I should brush my teeth. The truth is, counting the number of times I brush my teeth is ridiculous – it is something not to be counted, but just done, over and over again, without counting, because there is a continual need to do it. And so Jesus’ response reflects that. To suggest forgiving someone 77 times is not just increasing the number, but rather is saying, “Stop counting and just do it!” Make it a part of you. Forgive day in and day out. Forgive in the morning, in the evening, all over this land. Forgive when you start your day, and forgive when you are so tired you can hardly climb up the stairs to bed. Keep on forgiving.

            Easy for me to say… harder for us to do. This past week we started what we’re calling a Roundtable Pulpit Bible study, where we study the texts appointed for the upcoming Sunday and let them work in us all week before hearing them in worship on Sunday morning. So I had the opportunity to grapple with this text with a group of you all, and together we shared about times when we have been forgiven, and times we haven’t, and times we have forgiven others, and times we haven’t. This is deep stuff! Forgiving the person who cut me off on 104 on my way here? Well I can likely manage that by the time I arrive at my destination. But what about the big stuff, the stuff that cuts us deeply, that leaves wounds and then scars, the stuff that affects us for the rest of our lives? What about the person who bullies you in school or at work, routinely tearing down your self-worth? What about the man or woman who is abusing your best friend? What about your estranged child? What about those behind the 9/11 attack? Or, what about the time you did something seemingly unforgiveable – said words you couldn’t take back, refused to love someone in need, allowed someone to die, or harbored hatred for someone in your family?

            Suddenly forgiveness becomes almost scandalous, and even seems impossible. And at the same moment, the parable that follows Peter’s question hits us like a kick to the gut. A man is forgiven an astronomical debt – put in modern terms, this slave owned the king about $500 million dollars. There was no possible way he would ever pay off this debt. Yet the king, full of mercy, forgives it.

Oh, how I wish the parable would end there! I could wrap up this sermon with a neat little bow, saying, “See how merciful our God is! That God could and would forgive us even this debt we could never repay, no questions asked. Amen!” But alas, the weasel in the story goes off, finds a fellow slave who owes him a much more modest sum – only a few thousand dollars – and when the second slave pleads for mercy, the first slave will give none. Hello?! Did you not remember the

abundant mercy that was just shown to you? Okay, well I can still get on board with this parable as is – the idea is “this is how not to be.” But then the end: the king finds out about it, and takes back his mercy, and tortures the slave until he pays back his debt.

            Like I said, it comes like a kick in the stomach. And perhaps the reason it is so hard to hear is that even as we disdain this unmerciful, jerky slave, we realize: that slave is us. We have been forgiven a gigantic debt we could never repay on our own by a God who is unendingly gracious and merciful. And yet we can’t find it in ourselves to offer even a shred of that forgiveness to people who have hurt us deeply. Is there some way we can learn to forgive?

            In her book, Dead Man Walking, Sister Helen Prejean tells the story of Lloyd LeBlanc, a Roman Catholic layman, whose son was murdered. When LeBlanc arrived to identify the body of his son, he immediately knelt down and began to pray the Lord’s Prayer. When he came to the words, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” he realized the depth of the commitment he was making. He later told Prejean, “Whoever did this, I must forgive them.” With so many feelings of bitterness and desire for revenge to overcome, LeBlanc knew this would be

difficult, which is why, he said, for the rest of his life, forgiveness must be prayed for and struggled for and won.[1]

            Forgiveness, whether of others or of ourselves, is hard work – even if the practice of it becomes ingrained in us from how many times it must be repeated. So why put in the time and the work? Because the alternative is that we let our lack of forgiveness hold us captive. Indeed, it tortures us, just like the slave in the parable was tortured when he didn’t forgive. An unwillingness to forgive is far more damaging to the one withholding forgiveness than it is to the one who is not being forgiven. When we are unwilling to forgive, we allow ourselves to remain slaves, to remain imprisoned. So how do we get free?

Some may consider the rituals we enact in worship to become meaningless the more we repeat them. But in their repetition, they hold the power to form and shape our lives of faith. One ritual that has formed my faith is included in our worship today, and that is the order for confession and forgiveness from the LBW. The words of this confession were the words I spoke as a child, along with my congregation, every single week. They are written on my heart, and even now, they remain the words I use to articulate my faith. But as I have grown more mature in my faith, I have realized just how much truth there is in those words I know by heart: “We are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. We have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.” We are in bondage, and all the time do things we shouldn’t, and don’t do things we should, and we cannot free ourselves from this pattern.

            But therein lies the good news. We cannot free ourselves – but God doesn’t ask us to. We’re not in this alone. That, after all, is why God sent us Jesus – to show us that God’s forgiveness is boundless and unconditional, and to show us what transformation and new life can look like. And because we are showered daily in this grace – first in our baptism, and every day since – and because we are a forgiven people, we can also become forgiving people.

And so we keep trying. We keep trying to live into our forgiven identity by offering that forgiveness to others, or praying that we might someday be ready to. We keep on practicing forgiveness so that it becomes for us a faith-forming ritual: something we do as frequently as we brush our teeth; something that we do because without it something feels off; something we do because we are so overcome by the grace of God that we can’t not do it. And by God’s unyielding grace, we trust that the freedom that forgiveness offers can be ours.

            Let us pray…  Gracious and merciful God, help us to live into the identity you gave us in baptism, such that we can learn to forgive others – and ourselves – as freely as you have forgiven us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

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[1] http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=593