Sermon: The God who seeks the lost (Sept. 14, 2025)

Pentecost 14C
September 14, 2025
Luke 15:1-10

INTRODUCTION:

Today we hear some texts about what it is like to be lost, and to be found once again. The first story we will hear is a part of the story you may know as “the golden calf.” Here’s the set-up: Moses, having already delivered the 10 Commandments, has been back up on Mount Sinai, talking to God. In the absence of their leader, the Israelites are starting to feel a bit lost, shall we say, and so they melt together all of their metal and create a golden calf, which, when Moses returns from the mountain, he finds them worshipping. In this idol, they find something to bring them together, to focus their efforts. But, it’s a big no-no, as they should know, since the 10 Commandments say very clearly: you shall have no idols, and worship nothing besides the one true God. Well, God is pretty miffed by this, and, well, I’ll let you listen to hear what happens next. 

The Psalm is a cry of lament and repentance, the song of someone who knows he has wandered away from God and toward evil. It’s what David writes after he commits adultery with Bathsheba and then has her husband murdered. He begs God to find him and accept him once again into God’s mercy.

Then in the Gospel we will hear two beloved parables: the lost sheep and the lost coin, in which the subjects (a shepherd in the first and a woman in the second) search tirelessly for something that is lost, and then throw a celebration party when it is found. These are told in the context of the Pharisees grumbling that Jesus spends his time with notorious sinners – those who are lost, you might say – and the stories indicate that no one is lost beyond God’s care.

As you listen, think about a time when you have felt lost, physically, emotionally, or spiritually – perhaps following a job loss, or a death, or a move. If that time resulted in feeling found, how did that feel, and what was your response? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Whenever these parables about things lost and found come up, I find myself grappling with the questions: what is it to be lost? And what is it to be found?

I mean, I know what those things mean when we’re talking about literal coins and sheep. But more metaphorically – who is lost? What causes someone to be lost? And what then changes that status from lost to found? What does it take to be found? Are these categories clear cut (“I once was lost, but now am found,” as a beloved hymn says)? Or are they more fluid, even to the point that one could be simultaneously lost and found? (If you’re wondering, by the way – yes, I have lost sleep this week thinking about all this!)

These questions came into sharp focus for me this week after learning on Wednesday of yet another awful act of violence against a political activist, followed immediately by yet another school shooting, the 100th one this year. The act of political violence especially has blown up the news and social media as everyone, right, left and in between, has tried to make sense of what happened and why and who and how we should respond. I want to say that, no matter who he was or what he believed, political violence is un-democratic and un-Christian. No child of God, who is made in God’s image, “deserves” to die a violent death, full stop. I’m grateful that I have seen many statements from people across the political spectrum condemn the violence. But, unfortunately I have also seen the same vitriol that has become all too normal in our country as of late. 

So yes, this all brought the questions of lostness and found-ness into sharp focus for me this week. Who, in this case is lost? The shooter, who would think it fine to take another human being’s life? The one who was shot – who, yes, was beloved by many, but whose rhetoric also did real world harm to many children of God, especially minorities? Are his followers lost (especially now, as they grieve), or are the people who were harmed by his words and rhetoric lost? Is it our country as a whole that is lost? Can Americans agree that we have lost our way as a country, that we are not living as the best version of ourselves right now? Even if we disagree on what the right way is, do we agree that this is not it? And finally, in what ways are we ourselves lost – in the midst of yet another shooting, yet another act of political violence and the vitriol that follows, yet another terrifying day in the news – and all this the week we remembered 9/11? 

The truth is, that the answer to all of those questions about who is lost is: yes. Yes, all of those people and groups are lost, to different places and for different reasons. And so are we. We are lost – lost in grief, in pain, in despair. Lost in rage. Lost in sinfulness, in which our hearts may recognize an evil when we see it, but our minds try to convince us that this evil is fine, just as long as it aligns with my viewpoint. As St. Paul says, we know the right thing to do, but still we do the very thing we hate. We are lost.

So, I suppose my real question here is: Where is God in this?

Here is where these simple stories, about a shepherd and a woman seeking things they have loved and lost, offer us some good news, some pure grace. Where is God? God is the one seeking the lost. God is the one climbing over ledges and crossing ditches, in rain or shine, trying to find his lost sheep. God is the one searching through the night, lighting a lamp and sweeping every corner of the house, trying to find her one missing coin – so small, yet so precious to her. God is always, always the one who is seeking the lost. Seeking you. Seeking me. Seeking us, until we are found.

So what, then, does it mean to be “found”? 

Well, when we are looking for a lost item, for those of us who rely on our sense of sight, we know that item is found when we finally see it again. And so, could the path to found-ness be empathy – being seen by another? When our pain truly matters to someone else... doesn't that feel like being found? When someone sees us, pain and all, without our masks on? 

I have been playing this week with this idea that empathy is what leads to being found – not only when someone has empathy for us, but when we do the work to have empathy for another. And it is work - empathy requires us to find a similar feeling in our own experience, and relate it to the one in pain. That can be hard! That's how empathy is different from sympathy. Sympathy is, “Oh, I feel so bad for you,” but keeps the one in pain at a distance. As researcher and storyteller Brene Brown describes, sympathy is looking down at someone who’s in a dark hole, who is saying, “I’m stuck! It’s dark! I’m overwhelmed!” and responding, “Ooo, that’s rough.” Empathy, on the other hand, is climbing down into the hole with the person, and saying, “I know what it’s like down here, and you’re not alone.” Empathy doesn’t try to fix anything, but simply communicates that their pain matters, and even that you are willing to feel some of that pain with them. “Empathy fuels connection,” Brown says. “Sympathy drives disconnection.” 

And connection – that is the way to being found. Through empathy we find one another’s humanity, we find each other’s child-of-God-ness, and our own. To be clear, having empathy does not mean we have to like that person, nor agree with them. It does not give people a pass for bad behavior, or hurtful rhetoric. Empathy can and should exist alongside accountability and justice. And, especially when you are the one who has been hurt by another, you do not have to rush to empathize with the one who causes you harm. We can trust that God’s grace is big enough for them, even if our own hearts are not, or aren’t yet. 

Still, empathy is worth the effort. God has promised to seek out the lost (those in particular need), and so when we connect our hearts to theirs through empathy, that is when and where we will find God. We find God with the poor, the sick, the abused, the oppressed. We find God with starving children in Gaza, and with bullied kids in America. We find God with immigrants living in fear of arrest or deportation, and with people who are homeless, and with people fear losing their healthcare. We find God with those who grieve. And when we find God, we discover that God also finds us. We are found. And for God, that is cause for celebration!

I don’t know the solution to whatever it is that has caused so much physical and verbal violence to dominate our news and discourse. Surely it is multi-faceted, and no one person or party or group’s fault. But I’m pretty sure striving for this empathy is a step along the path from being lost to being found. It requires us to acknowledge our own pain, and allows us to see one another in our lostness, to be in the dark hole together. And there, in that shared space, we find God – the God who is abundantly loving, patiently and stubbornly gracious, and committed to finding us wherever we are, to bring us from that dark place, into new life. 

Let us pray… Persistent God, you care about each of your children, and would do anything to find us when we are lost. Thank you. Keep our eyes open to watch for you among the lost, so that we, too, could be found. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: You're a Christian - so what? (Sept. 7, 2025)

Pentecost 13C
September 7, 2025 – Rally Day
Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Luke 14:25-33

INTRODUCTION

A bit of context for our first reading today from Deuteronomy: As you may also recall, the Israelites, after Moses led them out of slavery in Egypt, spent 40 years wandering in the wilderness in search of the Promised Land. Today’s reading is at the end of that period, as they are about to enter Canaan. Moses knows he is about to die, and is giving them some last instructions and words of wisdom before entering this land, which is already occupied, by people who do not worship the God of Israel. This is the climax of Moses’ big speech, and, contextual as it is, his words are still so valuable for us today! “Choose life!” he says. I heard one commentator say this week, “If there is one verse on which to hang your entire theology, this is it!” I quite agree – in all your decisions as a person of faith, “choose life,” choose the thing that will bring the greatest and richest life to those most in need of life.

For the Philemon text, I encourage you to read the little contextual blurb in the bulletin, which will make this short letter (we’ll hear almost the whole thing!) more meaningful.

And then the Gospel… oof. It’s a doozie. Keep in mind, that this is still the part of Jesus’ life where he is traveling to Jerusalem to what he knows will be his death. Many are following him, and he will lay out for them what it means to be a disciple. Warning: it isn’t easy! So, here we go – let’s listen!

[READ]

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

After reading this week’s assigned lectionary readings, the question that has been nagging at me all week is: What difference does it make in your life that you are a Christian? Or asked another way, how do you live your life differently than you would if you were not a Christian?

The Gospel reading is the one that especially brings this up for me. These are pretty steep demands from Jesus for being a disciple. Give up all your possessions, carry your cross, hate your closest family members. This is not a successful formula for church growth! Now to be fair, the way we read this in English in 21st century America lands differently than it would in 1st century Palestine. For example, the word translated as “hate” likely means something more like, “place at a lower priority,” as in, “if it’s between your spouse and Jesus, choose Jesus.” It’s slightly better, but still a big ask. No doubt about it – Jesus is outlining some severe demands for discipleship.

And so, I ask again: even if you have prioritized your family over Jesus (say, going to your kid’s tournament instead of worship, or staying home instead of feeding the hungry), even if you have kept most of you possessions and keep acquiring more, even if you have no intention of taking up a cross of any kind – do you still find that your commitment to Jesus, to being a follower of Christ, affects the way you live your day to day life? And if so, how? 

I’ll be honest, especially in light of texts like this, I often feel like a not-good-enough Christian. Even though I have devoted my life to serving Christ’s Church in his name, I think fairly often that I could or should be doing more to live out my faith. I think I should be giving away more money. I should spend more hours volunteering to help the sorts of people Jesus prioritized (generally, the most vulnerable). I should buy less, own less, and pray more. I should forgive more easily, and be less judgmental. I should work harder for justice, and be more willing to put myself on the line to do so. But then I think, “Well, my kids need me, or my spouse, or my aging parents…” Oops, there I go again, prioritizing my family over Jesus! 

Now, I know, it isn’t so clear cut as this. Caring for my family sometimes is a part of the way I live out the gospel and follow Jesus. It’s not black and white, and I think in this case Jesus is talking more about if your family members are at odds with your will to live out the gospel, then choose the Jesus route. But the point here is: Jesus’ demands here are difficult. He makes it very clear that the cost of discipleship is high. The payoff is fantastic, but we don’t always experience that payoff right away, so we are more inclined toward the things that pay off right now. 

Today is Rally Day, a day when we try to draw people back into the life of the Church and start up some programs that took a summer hiatus. It is also God’s Work, Our Hands Day, a day when we intentionally look outward toward some ways that we can lean into a more active faith, by serving our community. You can do that today by donating food or money to Loop Ministries, or by signing a letter that urges legislators to support programs that address food insecurity. This is all good stuff! But I urge you also to think today about this question I’ve been posing: how does your commitment to Jesus affect how you live your life? And then perhaps take it a step further: if you are like me, and often think of ways your life could better reflect Christ’s hope for us, could better live into his demands for a life of discipleship… then what is one way that could happen? 

Could you not only donate to Loop today, but also find ways to volunteer, either there or at another food pantry, especially as we focus this year on addressing food insecurity? 

Could you join a Bible Huddle, and let a more intentional approach to God’s Word guide you in your daily decisions?

If you are someone who comes to worship and then slips out quickly, could you make a habit of staying for coffee hour and talking to new people, so you develop more and deeper relationships with other people of faith, so you can support each other in this effort? 

If you can’t give away all your possessions, could you at least increase your giving to support our ministry here, or your donations to other organizations who are aligned with our mission?

What else could you do to follow Jesus more closely, to let your identity as a Christian play a larger role in the way you live your life?

What Jesus describes here for the life of a disciple is pretty radical, and a lot to take in all at once. But as I often tell my kids when it is time to clean a messy room: don’t look at the whole room at once. Focus on one thing (like, cleaning up the trash, or putting clothes in the laundry), and do that. “Chunking it,” it’s called. Make the chunk smaller until it feels manageable. 

We can do this in faith, too. Focus on one area where you could be living more fully into a life of discipleship – “hating” things that keep you from following Jesus and prioritizing things that do; giving up possessions (whether they are things, money, or even mindsets) that hinder rather than help your faith; or taking up your cross and being willing to step out courageously on behalf of people in need, even if it puts you out of your comfort zone. Focus on one area, and make a goal to do it, to accept that cost of discipleship, to strive to let the fact that you are a Christian, a follower of Jesus, affect your life and the way you live a little more than it does already.

Friends, this effort may not go smoothly. Change is hard, and we all fall short of being the people and the Christians we want to be. So know also this: that God’s grace for you, and God’s love for you are not contingent on any of this. Though we may see ourselves as not-enough, God always sees us as enough. God’s salvation for us was promised to us in our baptism, and it stands, even if you do prioritize your kids, or your spouse, or your other family members, even if you don’t take up a cross. But it is also precisely because of this immense grace, this unearned gift of salvation, that we are compelled to be the best, most faithful version of ourselves. And so may God be with us as we try, and fail, and try again, trusting always that Christ is there with us all along the way.

Let us pray… Gracious God, you have given us everything, though we do not deserve it. Strengthen and encourage us to see you more clearly, love you more dearly, and follow you more nearly, day by day. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: On welcoming strangers (Aug. 31, 2025)

Pentecost 12C (Proper 14)

September 1, 2019

Luke 14:1, 7-14; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

 

INTRODUCTION

Today is one of those times when all four of the readings really complement each other, lifting up very similar themes. Their combined purpose could be summarized by the first line from our reading from Hebrews: “Let mutual love continue.” All four readings will describe some of the specific ways we can live in mutual love as Christians: for example, by practicing humility, selflessness, concern for the other even over yourself, generosity, and hospitality toward strangers –especially, Jesus will tell us, toward strangers and those without means who have nothing concrete to offer you in return. 

They all seem like nice enough things, and some even joyful… but not a-one of them is easy! And so as you listen, watch for some of those ideals of Christian love, and consider what they each look like, practically or metaphorically, in your life – your personal life, your church life, your life as a citizen. Think about how some of these ideals enacted or embodied as a community, a nation, and as a global neighbor. My sermon will be focus on hospitality and welcome, so think especially about that ideal. Okay, let’s listen.

[READ]

St. Paul's received a replica of this sculpture after giving a financial gift to
Rochester Refugee Resettlement Services.
It lives in our Grand Foyer as a reminder to welcome.

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

My grandparents lived in Germany for several years after World War II. They were sent there by the national Lutheran church as a part of what became Lutheran World Relief. They helped rebuild the Church there after the war, and reunite families who had been separated. During their time in Germany, and throughout their 60+ years of marriage, they kept a guest book – or rather, several books. Every guest they had at their home – whether a German dignitary or a refugee child – every guest was asked to sign their book, and perhaps leave a note about their time there. What resulted was volumes and volumes of records of strangers and friends to whom they had shown hospitality over the course of their lives. Really, those guest books are a record of one of the many ways my grandparents very actively lived out their faith, and the books’ very existence cemented hospitality as one of our deeply rooted family values.

When my brother and I each got married, my parents gave us each a guestbook, too, and inscribed in the front is this verse we heard from Hebrews: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for in doing so some have entertained angels without knowing it.” It’s a lovely verse, isn’t it? I look to my grandparents as models of faith, and want so dearly to follow in their footsteps in the way they welcomed so many strangers into their lives and their home, and in doing so showed them the love of Christ. This is, in fact, one of my favorite verses for this very reason, that it makes me feel connected to my grandparents.

At this point in Michael’s and my life, most of the visitors we have in our home are under the age of 10. Our home has become something of a hub for our kids’ friends, who are always popping in for a snack or a drink or a game of hide and seek, and often end up inviting themselves over for dinner (which we generally don’t mind!). It’s kind of fun, though it has been admittedly hard on our furniture! But none of these kids are strangers. They are our neighbors, our kids’ classmates. And all of the people who have signed our beautiful guest book are friends and family. It turns out that showing hospitality to actual strangers can be… well, risky, scary, vulnerable. Because you just don’t know what you’re getting, with a stranger. Yes, they may turn out to be angels, but… what if they don’t? 

This is not just a concern for us on a personal level. Whether or not to welcome strangers is a pretty huge national issue right now as well (as it has been for years). There is so much fear stirred up around strangers, foreigners, especially those who speak with an accent or have darker skin. They are assumed to be gang members. They are called a drain on society. They are called, not “humans,” but “illegals,” as if their legal status usurps their status as human beings and fellow children of God. And they are being rounded up by the thousands and detained or sent away – some for violent crimes, which is appropriate, but only 10% of those detained have been convicted of violent crimes, and some 70% have no criminal conviction at all. Some are even citizens, or legal residents, or are in the process of becoming so. And as far as welcoming any new “strangers,” there is currently an indefinite refugee ban with few exceptions. Those who are admitted must demonstrate that they have or will contribute something useful to America, and exhibit “strong moral character.” This is how this country currently shows hospitality to strangers.

What a contrast this is to Jesus’ parable: “Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” he says. “And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” It’s tricky, right? Because of course we don’t want to let criminals into our country, and having systems in place to prevent that is important. Of course we want to be good stewards of our resources so that we can adequately care for those already here. But how do we balance those concerns with what Jesus says explicitly: that it is precisely those who have lots of need but nothing to offer who we should be inviting, first of all? It would be easier if Jesus had said, “Welcome those who have lots to offer in return, and extend hospitality to your friends and people who appear safe.” But he didn’t. 

No, as usual, Jesus’ teachings are so counter to how society works! Ours is a society in which, rather than letting mutual love continue, we let mutual backscratching continue. We seek to make connections, to swap favors, to help each other out mostly or especially when we know it will ultimately be to our advantage. What am I going to get out of this? Thinking again on a national scale, it has been expressly stated that we’re happy to let strangers, immigrants, in, if they can contribute something valuable to our country. Merit-based immigration, it’s called. But here Jesus tells us, “No, don’t reach out to your rich friends or your family. Don’t do things because you know they will come back to benefit you. Serve others just for the sake of serving others, for the sake of letting mutual love continue (as the author of Hebrews would say). Serve those who really need it – the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind. Call in all the neediest strangers, and love them, feed them, and serve them.”

This is the call Jesus issues, and boy, is it difficult! If we’re honest, it may not be sound federal policy! It may put us at risk, whether as individuals or as a country! We may be blessed in the long run, “at the resurrection of the righteous,” as Jesus says, but what about now? Don’t we want to do things to benefit ourselves now, today? Why would Jesus ask of us something so difficult, even impractical? 

But here’s the thing: we shouldn’t do this – invite and welcome strangers with no promise of immediate return – we shouldn’t do this because Jesus told us to do it. We extend hospitality to strangers and welcome them because God already did it and does it for us. Yes, it is true – God welcomes us as strangers, even potentially dangerous ones, welcomes us to his bountiful banquet, not because we can do anything to pay God back, but simply because God dearly loves us. When we are the poor in spirit, poor in faith and trust, poor in riches, God welcomes us. When we are crippled by pain, by doubt, by fear, God welcomes us. When we are lame in our walk of faith, turning our faces away from the pain and brokenness of the world, negligent in tending to our relationship with God, God welcomes us. When we are blind to our own sinful ways, God still welcomes us to the feast of love that God prepares for us.

We certainly don’t deserve, nor do we do anything to earn this gift. Yet still, God invites and welcomes us each to this table, and gives us love, grace, belonging, and salvation. God provides us all that we need, and even when we greedily take it with hardly a thank you, even when we imagine only that we are entitled to these things and overlook the gracious gift that they are, even when we totally squander that gift… God still gives us more the next day. God gives and gives though we could never repay that gift. 

So let us go now to the banquet, brothers and sisters. God invited us, after all, and welcomes us with open arms. And then, nourished by this feast of love, let us go out to proclaim Christ’s Gospel of radical welcome of the stranger, in word and deed, trusting that God’s promises to us are true, and that we will indeed be blessed, perhaps by the angels we encounter, and most certainly in the resurrection of the righteous. 

Let us pray… Welcoming God, our instinct with strangers is often mistrust and fear. Make us bold to extend hospitality to strangers, trusting that in doing so, we might just find ourselves entertaining angels. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

(Side note: I also played oboe in this service! You can hear it starting in the 51st minute. Please excuse the fact that one of my keys was sticking, ugh.)

Sermon: The call to pour yourself out for the needy (Aug. 24, 2025)

Pentecost 11C
August 24, 2025
Isaiah 58:9b-14; Luke 13:10-17

INTRODUCTION 

The theme to watch for in today’s readings is: sabbath, the 3rd commandment (“remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy”), and what sabbath means for a life of faith. So before we go any further, let’s remember what we already know about sabbath. Here’s a little quiz: do you remember what is the rationale behind keeping the Sabbath? [God rested on the 7th day.] Right, God did it, so we should too. It’s a day of rest, a day we don’t work. That’s what Genesis and Exodus tell us. BUT, for a bonus point: the 10 commandments also appear in Deuteronomy. Anyone know what the rationale for sabbath is there? The explanation there says, “Remember that you [the Israelites] were slaves in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.” See here, the Sabbath isn’t so much about rest as it is about redemption, about freedom. “Remember that I am the God who frees you from what holds you captive,” God says, and implied then is, “On the Sabbath, use this time to remember how I free you.”

So as you listen to today’s texts, especially Isaiah and Luke, remember that the sabbath is about freedom and redemption. What does that freedom look like in each text? What does it look like for you, as you observe the sabbath? From what do you, or our communities, need redemption, and how would it feel to have it, and what role could you play in bringing it about? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

If I asked you to share your call story, what would you tell me? You might look at me funny – what’s a call story? You might say, “Call stories are something pastors have, and I’m not a pastor.” It’s true that this is a question often referring to pastors, but it is not exclusively for pastors! What I mean when I say “call story” is, what is the path that led you to the particular ministry in which you are engaged – not only pastoral ministry, but any ministry! Martin Luther talked about “the priesthood of all believers,” the understanding that no matter what your job or how you spend your days, you can serve God. A teacher, a doctor, a stay-at-home parent, a custodian, an artist – whatever it is you do that brings you joy and fulfills you, you have the capacity to serve God through that thing. As Frederick Buechner once said, your vocation, or your call, is “where the world’s greatest need and our deepest gladness meet.”

So let me change the question: what is it in this world that brings you deep gladness? And how have you, through that gladness, met the world’s needs? How have you seen your deepest gladness meet the world’s greatest need?

Today’s reading from Isaiah is about observing the sabbath, but it is also about this sort of call. Isaiah is writing about the best way to serve God, and to keep the sabbath. It is not about praying the right words or showing up to worship. Sabbath is about freeing the oppressed, loosening the bonds of injustice, feeding the hungry and housing the homeless. All of that comes just before today’s reading, but then there is this line toward the beginning of today’s reading: “if you offer your food to the hungry,” it says. But this doesn’t really capture the Hebrew. In Hebrew, it is more like, “if you pour yourself out for the hungry.” There is some word play on the word “nephesh” which means self or soul. “If you pour out your nephesh and satisfy the nephesh of the afflicted, the Lord will satisfy your nephesh.” It is a promise: as you give yourself for the sake of the needy, you in turn find your true self. You fulfill your call.

So then when Isaiah goes on, we can picture how that feels, to have found our own true calling in this act of serving: it feels like your light rising in the darkness, like your gloom becoming like the noonday. It feels like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail. It results in the breach being repaired, and the streets being restored. 

In short: when the world’s greatest need meets our deepest gladness, there is life and restoration. That is a call story!

Now, a call story doesn’t have to be lofty and out of reach. It can simply be an articulation of how the particular work you do is making the world better. I asked my housecleaner once if she enjoys her work. “Yes,” she said. “I like that every day I get to make people’s lives better. I get to lighten their load a little bit, remove a stressor, and when I leave, I can see the difference.” I also asked the woman doing my nails, on a recent three-generation mani-pedi girl’s day, what she enjoyed about her work. She said, “I love working on people’s feet. Our feet work so hard, and I like treating them well. Plus I get to know people and hear their stories and just listen. A lot of times, this is the only place people have just to talk and be listened to.” Both of them, you see, housecleaner and nail technician, are fulfilling their calling.

So I ask again: what is your deepest gladness? What makes you come alive? What gifts, when you put them to use, light up the world, even just a little bit?

I have been thinking about this question a lot this week, as I have been working with council to create a Ministry Site Profile for St. Paul’s. In case you missed this, we are using some of our Keymel Bequest, the part we set aside for Mission Expansion, to fund a new position that will be a Minister of Community Connections, or something like that (we haven’t settled on a title yet!). We are hoping this person, who might be a pastor, or may be a deacon or other lay professional, will help us do exactly what I am talking about with Isaiah: first of all, help us discover what are our very best gifts and deepest gladness – both as individuals and as a congregation. We hope this person will help us discern what are the greatest needs in our community, by spending some time in the community (and empowering us to do the same). We’re especially interested in learning from and working more closely with some of our mission partners, such as the various organizations to whom we have recently given donations. And finally, we hope that, together, we will discover “where the world’s greatest need and our deepest gladness meet.” That is, where can our particular gifts as individuals and as a congregation best meet the needs of our surrounding community, so that we can, as our vision statement says, “spread the word of God, build a strong community, and make the world a better place”?

All this will require some buy-in from the congregation, some discernment and personal exploration and openness to the Spirit. But I am hopeful that the result will be discovering some ministry opportunities that will excite our congregation, so that people would feel a deeper sense of ownership and enthusiasm about what we are doing here. When we are engaged in the thing to which God has brought us and called us and guided us, Isaiah tells us we will feel like a watered garden, one that can feed and nourish the world – because we are not merely pursuing our own interests, but are pouring ourselves out for others. When we fulfill our call, we join in a dance of deep delight. 

So this is my ask for you, as we continue to work toward calling a new deacon or pastor to join our staff and work with us on this: think about the question I have been posing throughout this sermon. What is your deepest gladness, what lights you up, and the world around you, and how can that gladness join with the joy and delight of others in this congregation, to meet the world’s needs, and help to free people from whatever holds them captive? For that is the purpose of the sabbath: to free and be set free from captivity, so that we all might find life.

Let us pray… God of delight, you have gifted each of us in ways that bring us such gladness. Help us discern how that deep gladness can meet the world’s great need, so that we would fulfill our call. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Let us run with perseverance the race set before us (Aug. 17, 2025)

Pentecost 13C
August 17, 2025
Jeremiah 23:23-29; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56

INTRODUCTION

Warning: if you were looking for some comforting, feel-good texts from scripture this morning, you may be disappointed by what you’re about to hear. God says in Jeremiah that God’s word – the very word we so often look to for comfort – comes like a fire, and like a hammer breaking a rock in pieces. Not exactly what I’m looking for when I seek comfort!

But wait, it gets worse. Hebrews goes through a litany of people of faith over the generations who have trusted in God but who never received what they were promised. Ugh.

Then we get to Luke, we will find a stressed-out Jesus on his way to his death in Jerusalem. He offers these troubling words: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”  Now that is definitely not something that brings me comfort! 

Readings like these can rattle us, but also, in naming a difficult reality, they can also help us look more deeply at the struggles we face. So as you listen, lean into these difficult words. Notice what they stir up in you. Notice how and why they feel uncomfortable to you. And we’ll see what I can do in the sermon about finding some good news to bring to that discomfort. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

We are so excited today to be welcoming Andrew as our new music director! Andrew and I had lunch together this week and talked about some of the wonderful ideas he has for our music ministry here at St. Paul’s. I hope you’ll stay for the lovely coffee hour reception we have planned after worship to welcome him. What a great day, full of joy and celebration!

…Until… we read the appointed readings for the day. Upon reading them early this week, my heart sank. God’s word like a fire, like a hammer breaking rock. People of faith who lived difficult, courageous lives but never received what was promised. And Jesus, the very Prince of Peace, telling us, “Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth?” Why yes, Jesus, yes I do. That’s literally what the angel said when you were born. That’s what your uncle Zechariah said about you. Peace is exactly what we were expecting! “No, I tell you, but rather, division!” Sigh, great. Like we needed more division in the world. This is not the set of texts I wanted to welcome Andrew, and frankly, it’s not ever a set of texts that feels very good to read any time, especially not in a world that is full of enough conflict and division.

Now feels like a good time to mention that not everything in the Bible is prescriptive, telling us how things should be or will be. Some texts, like these ones, are descriptive, telling us how things are. And I feel like we can get on board with that assessment. We don’t feel God’s peace as often as we’d like. We do know division, and conflict. We do feel broken, and burned, and like the promises for which we have been waiting and watching and living aren’t ever going to come. So in that way, these texts don’t offer the kind of comfort that says, “It’s gonna be fine, don’t you worry!” But they do offer the comfort of saying, “Yeah, life is sometimes hard, painful, divisive. It stinks. You’re not alone in feeling that. Humans throughout time have experienced it, too. And God loved them, and was with them, and Jesus died and rose for them, just like God does all that for you.”

Looking at it this way draws my attention toward this beautiful text from Hebrews. This passage is sometimes called the Faith Hall of Fame – a list of faith giants whose stories can be read throughout the pages of scripture. And to finish off this litany, the author gives us this powerful line: “Since therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us 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.” It is a long and dense sentence. Let’s break it down together.

“Since therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…” Ah, this is one of my favorite images in scripture. We are surrounded, on every side like a great cloud, by people who get us and guide us. This is the bit that reminds us that we are not alone in our struggles. The writer of Hebrews has just recounted the many challenges faced by people of faith, then says, “You see? You aren’t alone.” And boy, what a comfort that can be. Sometimes in our pain, that is just that we need – for someone to see us, for someone to recognize that it hurts, for someone to crawl down into the hole with us, not to tell us, “Don’t worry, stop crying, it’ll all be okay,” but rather, “I can see that you are worried and in pain. Know that you are not alone in this dark hole.” Part of the beauty of being a part of a communal faith like Christianity and the Church, not just an individual one with your own personal Jesus, is that we are assured that we do not have to go it alone. That cloud of witnesses extends also here today, sitting all around you. We are in this thing, this life, this struggle, together.

Next: “let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely.” This image of being burdened, and then unburdened, is also a powerful one. It can be tempting, can’t it, to let all our stuff, all our baggage, weigh us down, and make us want to give up or wallow or complain and never move. Who among us does not have baggage? Who among us does not carry regrets? It is a condition we all know so well. And so, Hebrews beckons us to put it down. We’re not perfect, and we won’t be able to live perfectly a life of faith. If you look closely at those “great” witnesses that get mentioned, among them you will find a prostitute, an adulterer, multiple murderers (including one who killed his own daughter), people driven by greed and power, people riddled with doubt and insecurity. They are not perfect, by any stretch. And neither are we. 

So let us lay that aside, and do as Hebrews says next: “let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” You see, we are not perfect, and we don’t need to be – because Jesus is. Jesus perfects our faith. If we were already perfect, we would have no need for Jesus. It is Jesus’ love and grace that make us saints. It is Jesus’ resurrection that brings us life. It is not our own perfect running of this race, in which our shoes never come untied, our foot never catches on a hurdle, and we never shove another runner out of the way in order to get ahead. No, all those things will happen in this race or have already. But when we continue to set our sight on Jesus, who is the perfector of faith, then we will always know where we are going, despite how we may get disoriented, or how many times we may trip and fall. We can persevere because we look always to Jesus.

And finally, Hebrews describes what is so great about Jesus: “for the sake of the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” In other words, Jesus is the one who is willing to get down in that dark hole with us and our shame. Jesus is the one who is willing to go to the very depths of shame and pain for the sake of our redemption, our chance at healing, at finding wholeness and purpose and hope. He did that for us – and now, he sits at the finish line, having “taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”

And that, that is something that can give us immense comfort: that even in the midst of inevitable division and brokenness, and poor decisions and regret, and conflict in families and in countries – even in the midst of all that, Jesus is waiting for us at the finish line, showing us where to go, pointing out the cloud of witnesses who surround us as we run with perseverance this race, finding us in whatever dark holes we dig ourselves or get thrown into, and telling us, “I know, life isn’t fair, and this is a really tough time. I have been there too. I have endured that shame, that pain. You are not alone, and you never will be. Now, follow me – the finish line is this way.”

So, maybe this is the perfect set of texts as we welcome a new staff member, and as we prepare to begin another school year, another program year. I suspect Andrew will hit some wrong notes this year (maybe he already has, though I’m sure none of us noticed!). I am certain I will at some point say the wrong thing, or not show up when or how I should have. I’m just as sure that you won’t be perfect in whatever you endeavor, and that all of us will feel the pain of conflict and division and brokenness. But more than that, I am sure that there is grace for that. I am sure that Jesus bears it with us, and perfects our faith by forgiving us, setting us on our feet, and pointing out to us once again the way toward love and hope and newness of life.

Let us pray… Pioneer and perfector of faith, you have surrounded us with such a great cloud of witnesses. Help us to lay aside every burden, and the sin that clings so closely, so that we could run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking always, always, toward you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.  

Sermon: Hope when it seems impossible (August 10, 2025)

Pentecost 12C
August 7, 2016
Genesis 15:1-6; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

INTRODUCTION

The first and second readings today complement each other so well, I just couldn’t help preaching on them! So as much as I like Luke, I’m going to focus this introduction on their context.

First, the story about Abram, later Abraham, who was promised many times by God that he would be the father of a great nation, and yet at 100 years old he and his wife Sarai were still childless. In today’s text, Abram really starts to doubt, and wonders if maybe this heir God has been promising him will end up being his servant, Eliezer, not his own flesh and blood. But God assures him once more that the promise will be fulfilled, in a beautifully mystical expression of that promise. 

This moment is so important, in fact, that the writer of Hebrews will pick it up centuries later. As a whole, the book of Hebrews aims to bring encouragement to discouraged Christians, urging them to persevere in faith. In today’s reading, the author uses the story of Abraham and Sarah to show how God has been and will be faithful, even when it seems impossible. 

All of our texts are about what it means to have faith, even in the face of discouragement. As you listen, think about a time in your own life when you have found it difficult to keep the faith, when God’s promises seemed too big, too impossible, and what it was like trying to hold onto that faith anyway. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

“Waitin’ for the whales to come… waitin’ for the whales to come… Been up since the crack of dawn. Waitin’ for the whales to come. I paid my money, and I’m waitin’ for the whales to come.”

This is a song by singer/songwriter Claire Holley, and was introduced to me by a friend from seminary. He thought it was such an apt commentary on life: you wait and wait for something to come, do all the things you are expected to do to make that thing happen, and it just seems like you still wait and wait for the thing you really want to happen, to finally happen.

This song always pops into my head when I read the texts for today – not only as a metaphor for life, but a metaphor for faith. Faith can in some ways be the same, can’t it? You pray, you wait, you pray some more, you read your Bible looking for answers, you pray some more… but you just have to wait and wait until you see some response from God. “Waitin’ for the whales to come…”

That’s why Abraham is the classic biblical model of faith – and we see the height of his faithfulness in today’s short reading. Abraham (at this point, still Abram) speaks to God in distress, reminding God that while He promised Abram many descendants, here Abram remains, growing old in years and still childless. Abram is getting understandably worried. At this point, Abram is afraid that his servant Eliezer will be his sole heir. Abram has been waiting for those proverbial whales to come for so long already, and it’s getting to be too late; and he is losing hope. BUT, the author of Genesis says, God tells him, “No, Abram, I got this! I told you I would! Don’t you worry: your own flesh and blood will be your heir, not your servant.” Then to prove his point, he takes Abram out into the starry, starry night and, in what I have always thought was one of the most mysterious and quietly dramatic expressions of promise in the Bible, says, “Look at all those stars. That’s how many descendants you will have – more than you can even count.” 

And then I think the most unbelievable statement in the Old Testament: “He believed the Lord.” Abram believed! When there was no reason in the world to believe, beyond God’s word, Abram believed. He’d been out since the crack of dawn watching for those whales, and nothing, but God said it would happen, and so Abram believed. 

Faith. This moment is one of the most enduring expressions of faith we have in scripture. It is so significant, in fact, that the author of Hebrews used it as the example in his or her own homily on faith, which we also heard today. It is a beautifully poetic piece of scripture, in which the author also defines what faith is: 

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” I have long loved this definition of faith, but the way our world is right now, hearing these assuring words feels like salve to my heavy and wounded heart. On the one hand, we see brokenness, and violence, and hunger, and dishonesty, every day on the news. Everyone has found someone to hate, someone to tear down. We watch out for ourselves, while compassion, empathy, mercy and humility seem to be in increasingly short supply, and those most on the margins – the ones Jesus explicitly told us to care for – suffer the most for it. Everyone seems to be so good at finding everyone else’s brokenness and darkness, their very worst thoughts, intentions and traits, and there doesn’t seem to be enough grace to go around. 

In the midst of all this, the question that keeps arising for me is: how is a faithful Christian supposed to respond to this? How do we engage with each other in productive ways, in our dialogue and our actions? How do we respond in our prayers? Sometimes, it feels like we pray and pray for resolution – for kindness and goodness to prevail, for God’s will to become clear, for mercy and understanding and forgiveness and reconciliation – and it doesn’t make any difference. The next day we get up and there is something else on the news that breaks our hearts, or makes us feel sick. And we keep on waiting for those whales to come. How do we continue to be faithful in this climate – not to mention in any number of personal struggles in which all hope seems to be lost, and everywhere we look is just more discouragement?

Into this heartbreak and discouragement come these words from Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” It is, as I said, a salve to a wounded heart – encouragement to continue hoping, encouragement that our hoping, though it may not result in just what we had planned, will ultimately not be in vain.

Some years ago, during Vacation Bible School in my previous call, we were raising money to help build a well that would provide fresh water to a place that doesn’t currently have access. One day, as we wrapped up for the day, one of the preschoolers came up to me, very distraught. She had conflated Jesus’ story, with the well-building, and thought that Jesus had fallen into the well and couldn’t get out! Through tears she told me how concerned she was about Jesus. As much as I assured her, she was so shaken. I told her, “Jesus is so good, he will win every single time! Even when he died, he came back to life – nothing can beat him! Even if he did fall into a well, he would be just fine.” She was unconvinced. I gave her a hug, which seemed to help a bit. But I was struck how this worry and fear begins even at this early age: even when we do have faith, it is hard to hold onto hope when life seems dismal. In this 4-year-old’s world, the situation was hopeless: that well was so deep, so how would Jesus survive it? But Hebrews invites us to hold onto hope even when things do seem impossibly bad.

But Hebrews is not only about encouragement to keep hoping. I read these compelling words from Hebrews also as a challenge, urging us not just to quietly hope in our hearts, but to actually practice hope, to let it compel us to get in there and do something: to give money to build a well, to speak words of love into a world of hate, to support someone who is stuck in that dark place. Practicing hope could be building communities of belonging even for those who hold different views, and practice having respectful dialogue (this is work, by the way, that I believe the Church is uniquely suited to do!). Sometimes practicing hope looks like kindness, sometimes it looks like educating yourself about both sides of an issue and then speaking aloud a difficult truth, sometimes it looks like getting physically and emotionally involved in a cause that is important to you. Whatever it is, I believe that hope has the power to motivate us, to move us, and to change us.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith is actively watching for the whales, even when it seems unlikely they will ever show up. Faith is not an “out,” not a reason to say, “Oh, God’s got this under control, so I’ll just sit back and wait” (though to be clear: God does have this under control!) Faith is understanding that God might be using us to bring about the kingdom promised to us in our Gospel lesson, when Jesus tells us, “Have no fear, little flock, for the Father has chosen to give you the kingdom.” It’s hard to believe it, sometimes, when that kingdom seems so far off in the distance. But hold fast to hope, my friends: God might be using us to share that news with others, or to get out there and work for peace, or to share love and kindness instead of hate and exclusion. 

God might be using us in any number of ways, but as we act for and with God, we are also assured that someday, somehow, the kingdom will come, and God will win. The whales will come. Jesus will get safely out of the well. Love and justice will prevail. Meanwhile, we continue to live in the assurance of things we hope, to be convicted in the things we don’t yet see, but that God has promised. God be with us as we live in this hope and this faith. 

Let us pray… Faithful God, when life seems dismal, grant us faith: assurance in your promises, hope in the things we cannot see, and hearts to work to bring about the kingdom you have chosen to give us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Sermon: Naming God in Prayer (July 27, 2025)

Pentecost 7C
July 27, 2025
Luke 11:1-13

INTRODUCTION

Fun fact about Luke’s Gospel: in Luke’s telling, Jesus spends more time in prayer than he does in all the other gospels combined! Today we see an example: after visiting Mary and Martha last week, Jesus has now left and takes some time by himself to pray. The disciples are so interested in this, that when he returns they ask him, “Lord, teach us to pray.” They are hungry to be close to God, as Jesus is. 

We’ll see that prayer theme in other texts, too. In Genesis, Abraham will bargain with God, asking him again and again to save rather than condemn the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. “Come on, Lord, you don’t want to hurt innocent people,” he says. “Please, rethink your plan!” A classic prayer, right? “God, do this thing that I think would be better! Please and thank you!” And the Psalm gives thanks for the times when God has heard our plea, and responded. So prayer is a pretty strong theme today! 

As you listen to the readings, consider what your own prayers are like. Do you spend more time in prayer asking God for help with things, or thanking God, or confessing, or applauding God’s good work, or simply listening for guidance? What does it look or sound like when God responds (whether that response is a yes, or a no)? Where is your own prayer life strong, or where could it be stronger? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Today’s Gospel reading always gives me a pang of self-recognition: when the disciples ask Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray,” the same request rises in my own heart: “Yes, Lord! Teach me, too, while you’re at it!” 

To be clear, intercessory prayer is not where I struggle – that is, the sort of prayer where I ask God for something. Heal this person after surgery, give patience to that person during a tough time in life, bring peace to places of conflict, help me understand that person causing me trouble, guide me on this decision, or yes, sometimes even, “Please let there be a parking spot.” I have no problem asking God for things!

No, the kind of prayer I struggle with is the listening kind, the contemplative kind, the kind where I simply dwell in God’s presence, and listen for what God has to teach me. 

Inspired by this Gospel reading, I brought this question to my spiritual director this week. I said, “Contemplative prayer intimidates me.” She asked what was intimidating about it. I said that, like Martha from last week’s story, I am “worried and distracted by many things,” and my mind easily wanders. This frustrates me, causing more worry and distraction. I don’t think I’m very good at it, and I don’t like not being good at things, and if I’m going to struggle through something I at least want to see a tangible result on the other side, and so far, I wasn’t getting enough of that quickly enough to motivate me to keep trying. All of that is what intimidates me.

And so, I return to the disciples’ plea: Lord, teach me to pray. 

Now on the surface, Jesus’ answer is a helpful how-to guide. Address God, acknowledge the holiness of God’s name and by extension this prayer space, ask for both physical and spiritual needs to be met, help us walk in God’s ways, keep us safe from danger. But as I said, I personally don’t struggle as much with asking for things. Jesus’ stories that follow about persistence in prayer are helpful, I suppose – keep at it, Johanna, even when it is hard! But again, they seem to be about persistence in asking for things. 

This, too, I lamented to my spiritual director. “That’s not where I feel a longing, or a hunger in my prayer life,” I said. What I hunger for is a sense of connection with God in prayer. I want to leave prayer feeling like I have been fed and sustained by my encounter with the One whose name is holy.

And so, this is where my heart has landed in this text this week, my friends. Not with the full Lord’s Prayer, important and rich as it is. Not with the parables that follow. Not with Jesus’ memorable advice to “Ask, seek, and knock” – though any of these things I mentioned could alone yield an entire sermon series each! This text brings up SO many questions about prayer – how to do it, the efficacy of prayer, what happens when prayers don’t seem to be answered, a whole can of worms. 

But that’s not where my heart landed this week. My heart landed on Jesus’ very first instruction: “When you pray, say: Father.”

Let me ask you something: when you pray, not just the Lord’s Prayer but in general, is there a name you are most likely to use to address God? Maybe it is Father, maybe something else? For me, I almost always address God as “God.” God: the one who is unknowable yet fully knowing, mysterious, all-powerful, beyond my human understanding… So really, is it any wonder, if that is the name I use to address God, and the images the name brings to mind, why it might be hard for me to feel the personal connection I crave? 

Names matter. What we call someone matters. Parents often use cute nicknames for their kids when they need some love (sweet-pea, bug, baby girl), but their full name when they are in trouble. Lovers do the same thing, using terms of endearment in times of emotional intimacy, but different names when they’re asking for help, or when they are in a fight.  

So what does the name you use in prayer for God say about your relationship with God, or about what you are hoping to get out of your time of prayer? Jesus suggests using “Father,” which is meant to indicate that our relationship with God is of the most intimate sort, and also that we, as children of God, strive always to be obedient children who walk in God’s ways. That’s all well and good. And I am lucky – I have a loving relationship with my earthly father, who happens also to be a person of deep faith whom I respect and admire. But not everyone feels that way about their father. How does it feel to call God Father, and have that bring up feelings of neglect, or abuse, or silence, or abandonment? 

How would it feel different to call God “Mother” in prayer? My mom is compassionate, playful, creative and caring – so for me, calling God “mother” would bring those images to mind – also not bad, but those attributes are not always what I am seeking in a time of prayer. 

So then thinking even beyond that parental image, God goes by many, many names; indeed, God cannot be contained by a single name or image! So what if we went into prayer calling God by a name that reflected the attribute of God for which we are yearning in that moment? If we begin by doing as Jesus suggests – “search and you will find,” searching our hearts for our deepest longing and desire from God as we enter a time of prayer – what names might we use? 

I did this exercise myself this week and came up with some ideas from scripture and from experience. Listen to some of these names, and consider how they might feel as ways to address God in your personal prayer – how would they affect the nature of your prayer? Maybe close your eyes as you listen, if you’re comfortable and let these names form an image of God – which one feels right to you at this moment?

Divine Healer. 

Listening Friend. 

Source of Life. 

Compassionate Creator. 

Emmanuel. 

Promise-keeper. 

Loving Embrace. 

Companion on the Road. 

The One Who Weeps. 

Light in the Darkness. 

Way-maker.

How would addressing God by any of these names change the relationship you are building with God in prayer? Because in the end, that is really what prayer is: it is relationship with God. It is sometimes asking, in the way you can only ask someone who you know truly cares for you. It is sometimes listening. Sometimes it has an agenda, and other times it is sitting quietly in companionable silence. Sometimes it is a book club of friends, wrestling and asking questions about what can be gained from the written Word. Sometimes it is arguing. But always, it is a relationship, a connection, and one that has the power to change our lives, to fill us up, to sustain us and feed us, and give us strength for the journey.

I’m not advocating changing the Lord’s Prayer, or addressing God in that prayer as anything other than the name Jesus suggested (though pastorally, I do want to acknowledge that this name may or may not be a helpful or life-giving name for everyone). I am suggesting that in learning with the disciples how to pray (learning that continues throughout the life of faith), we consider even how we begin, at the very start of prayer. Names matter. What we call someone matters. It sets the tone and is the beginning of the God-connection we seek. 

Let us pray… God of many names, you are our Father, and you are so much more than that. Expand our minds to know and experience the many ways you show up in our lives and in our prayer. Teach us to pray, so that we might continually deepen our connection with you. In the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.