Sermon: Disruptive peace (Advent 1, 11.27.16)

Advent 1A

November 27, 2016

Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122;

Romans 13:11-14; Luke 24:36-44

            As we gear up for another Advent season, I have a question for you: How many people here love Jesus?

How many love him because he forgives us? How many because he is our friend, and loves us? How many because he shows us a good way of living?

How many love him because he was a disrupter? How many because he challenged the government? How many because what he had to offer was so entirely counter to the status quo, and so upsetting to those dedicated to the government and others who would keep that status quo, that he got himself killed?

The first few things were easy to love, right? The Jesus who stands up to authority and rocks the boat… depending on who you are, maybe not so easy to love.

And yet this is the Jesus with whom we are confronted each year in Advent. Oh, we’d love to focus this month on the wee babe on his way, as we speak, to the manger, surrounded by lowing and cooing animals, as we hang beautiful things from evergreen branches. It’s all so domesticated and easy to take. But each year in Advent, even though I know to expect it, it takes me by surprise: instead of that warm-fuzzy stuff, we get a lot of yelling – from Jesus, from Isaiah, from Paul, next week from John the Baptist… This week the yelling can be summarized: “Wake up, people! Don’t you see what is coming? Don’t you see what has been happening? God is doing something new and different. So buck up, step into the light, and get busy participating in God’s work in this the world!”

It is hard to see this Jesus as loving, much less as peaceful and serene. But it would seem that peaceful, serene face of Jesus we have come to know and love is not all there is to him. When it comes down to it, Jesus is a disrupter – one who urges us to love one another, yes, but not always in the ways that are easy or even socially acceptable. Jesus is a disrupter, and these first texts we hear in the season of Advent urge us to be disrupters, too.

            But how can Jesus be a disrupter, when we call him the “Prince of Peace”? Isn’t disruption of the status quo the opposite of peace? It does seem paradoxical. Lucky for us, Lutherans love a good paradox – our theology is full of them!

            So let’s start by just looking at this concept of peace. We all want it, right? Isaiah talks about it

"Swords Into Plowshares"
UN Garden in NYC

in our first reading, saying that the people of many nations – lots of people who are different from one another – will “beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.” In other words, these instruments of war will be recreated into tools of growth, tools of farming and agriculture, that prepare the soil for seed, and harvest it so that all may be fed. What a gorgeous image! And Isaiah seals the deal by adding, “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” Now that is an image of peace if I ever heard one!

The Psalmist wants peace, too; we are even invited in this Psalm to pray for peace in Jerusalem, a city which today plays host to Christians, Jews, and Muslims. If ever there was a place that needs prayer for peace, it is Jerusalem.

So peace – we can all agree that this is a goal. Do you want peace? Yeah, me too! Okay, so the next question is: what is peace?

This is where the problem arises, because we all have a different idea of what peace really looks like, and sometimes, what looks like peace from our vantage point does not look like peace from someone else’s. In fact, sometimes for others to have peace, our own peace is compromised.

Allow me to explain what I mean. Since Nov. 8, we have seen a very unpeaceful in America. Some 800 race, gender, sexuality, or ethnicity related hate crimes were reported in the first week alone: Muslim women having their hijabs pulled off; swastikas painted in playgrounds and at churches; gay pride flags being burned; women being grabbed and touched inappropriately because, quote, “it’s okay now!” and that’s only a few of what have been reported – many more were experienced but not reported.

In addition, lots of anti-Trump protests have broken out. Some have taken their protesting to social media. Some protests have come in the form of various petitions and rallies to call representatives. And some, of course, have come in the form of demonstrations and gatherings (the sort protected by our first amendment, “the freedom of assembly”), and while many have been peaceful, a few have, unfortunately, turned violent and aggressive.

It is especially these more public, physical demonstration protests that have upset a lot of people. Either they want people to “get over it and move on,” or they think it is an over-reaction, or

maybe they just don’t like or agree with the message. Their idea of peace would be for people to calm down, accept the world as it is, and stop making a fuss. Let’s come together as a country and work together for good.

And yes, that would bring peace in the moment. But on the other hand, the people who are protesting are also seeking peace – and feel the only way to get it is to not be silent and compliant in this moment. To be silent, they feel, is only to allow injustice to continue, which will, in the end, not bring peace for some of the most vulnerable among us.

So protesting folks have a different idea of what peace would look like – many ideas, in fact, based on their particular experience. For people of color, peace would mean that they don’t fear for their children’s lives when they walk down the street, or their own when they get pulled over for a minor traffic violation. For immigrants, peace would mean that they can live in the country they have come to love, where they have built a life, without fear of being deported and separated from their families. For refugees, peace would look like getting out of the place where life was hell, where they were in constant danger, and to a place where they are safe. For Muslims, peace would look like being able to practice without persecution their faith – which is at its heart a faith of peace and love – just like the first amendment allows them. For someone living with a disability, peace might look like not being judged based on first impressions, indeed being treated like a person who has something valuable to offer this world, even if that looks different from what someone else offers. For someone of the LGBTQ community, peace might look like the ability to live with and love another person, and have the same legal rights as others in legal, monogamous relationships. For a woman who is a survivor of domestic abuse, peace will look like safety from her abusive partner, as well as safety from the threat or talk of such abuse from others in the future.

I suspect some of those descriptions made a few people uncomfortable, as they rubbed against your own sense of peace. That’s sometimes how peace is, isn’t it?

Do these various and beautiful children of God experience peace right now? Will they experience such peace in the coming years? I suppose it depends on a lot of factors, and one of those factors is how seriously we take Jesus’ call to us. I mentioned earlier that both Isaiah and the Psalmist urge us toward peace today. The Gospel text, however, isn’t quite so clear. Rather than obvious peace, Jesus calls us to “keep awake!” to resist falling into the safe, peaceful slumber that would allow us to be complacent in the face of injustice, in the face of an absence of peace for our brothers and sisters. So what does that mean, to “keep awake”? What do we do in our wakefulness? What peace do we seek? Peace for ourselves? Peace for our neighbors? Which neighbors?

I think Jesus answers this question in the next chapter of Matthew. Anyone remember what famous passage appears in Matthew 25? It’s the one about how Christ identifies himself with the most needy, with “the least of these”: “As you did it [or did not do it] to the least of these members of my family,” he says, “you did it [or not] to me.” He refers to feeding the hungry and thirsty,

"As you did it to one of the least of these..."

welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and visiting the imprisoned. 

Yes, it seems Jesus is quite clear about where and for whom our peace-seeking efforts should lie: with the most vulnerable, the most needy members of society. For all his hard-to-love disruptive qualities, this is what the love of Jesus looks like: like keeping awake and constantly vigilant to serve “the least of these,” to do what is necessary to bring peace to them. Jesus showed us in his life that this sometimes means being an agitator, being prepared to rattle the status quo, to put on the armor of light that is Christ and fight the good fight for those in need – even if that means our own comfort is compromised as a result. It sometimes means standing up to government and authority, like Jesus did so many times in his ministry, and not allowing them to trample the needy. It means not escaping to our own peace until that work is done.

But as he showed us in his life how to love one another and work for peace, Jesus also showed us in his death and resurrection God’s immeasurable love for us. It is this love that fuels our work for peace. It is this love that we celebrate when a babe comes to a couple of poor travelers. It is this love that carried those travelers-turned-refugees out of Bethlehem and into Egypt when the government threatened their safety. It is this love that showed us ultimately that nothing is more powerful than God, not even death.

As we look forward for the next four weeks toward the coming of this love to earth, may we be emboldened by the disruption such love causes, and by the ultimate peace that it brings.

Let us pray… Prince of peace, only you can turn our swords into plowshares, turning our animosity into opportunity for growth. Help us to put on the armor of light, and fight for those who are most in need, to stand up to anything that would threaten the peace of our most vulnerable brothers and sisters, and always to seek to bring your disruptive love to all the world. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: What happens when Christ is our ruler (Nov. 20, 2016)

Christ the King Sunday

November 20, 2016

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46

Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

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

            In our most recent joint Bible study, last week, we looked at some of the differences between the four Gospels in the telling of the passion story, the story of Jesus’ death. Some differences are subtle, some not so subtle, and many of them are essential in understanding the picture of Jesus that any given Gospel writer is trying to paint. In our conversation, I lifted up one moment that, in all the passion narratives, stands out as my favorite, and it is unique to Luke’s Gospel: it is the moment we heard today, when Jesus hangs on the cross, having been beaten, flogged, and mocked, and now forgives those who persecute him, and tells the criminal beside him, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” I find this exchange absolutely stunning, as flummoxing as it is comforting. For Jesus to offer forgiveness and salvation in this context – I think incredulously, “What are you doing, Jesus??” and then in amazement, “Who am I, that my God would do this also for me?” As I said, I find it

stunning.

            When I told our Bible study this, I was not yet aware that this text was the appointed one for Christ the King Sunday this year. Christ the King, or sometimes called, “Reign of Christ,” is a day in the church year when we celebrate that Christ is our ruler, and is ever working to bring about God’s kingdom here on earth (that is, working toward this world being a place in which, as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, God’s will is done “on earth as in heaven”). All of today’s texts speak to some aspect of who Christ is as our king. In Jeremiah, he is a shepherd, gathering us together. Christ as King will execute justice and righteousness. In the Psalm, God is our refuge and strength and a very present help in time of danger. Colossians focuses on Christ’s “strength” and “glorious power,” which he shares with us. This Christ the king is one who rescues, holds together, and brings peace and reconciliation through the cross.

            These are all good descriptions of what I would expect from a king, and indeed what first century Jews expected of a king: someone mighty, who saves, and leads, and protects, and inspires, and brings peace to a hurting people! But then we get to Luke’s description of the kingly Christ, and we are stopped in our tracks. This is not the picture of a king that first century Jews expected, nor is it the one that we would wish for or describe, left to our own devices. This so-called king, with his crown of thorns, looks weak, beaten down by the enemy, complacent. There is nothing of the “glorious power” of Colossians, nor the refuge and strength from Psalms, nor the protector from Jeremiah.

            So my two questions this week have been: first, if this is indeed our king, this man hanging on a cross, accepting abuse, forgiving his persecutors, and inviting criminals to join him in paradise – if this is our king, then what does it mean for us as followers of this king, and second, does this picture differ from what we expect of our secular rulers?

            First, what does such a king mean for that king’s followers? I mentioned at the beginning of this sermon that I find this depiction of Jesus stunning, at once upsetting and comforting. Let me explain that a little further. My experience, living in this world, is that anxiety is the cause of most if not all conflict. Whether in a couple, a family, a church, or a corporation, anxiety can be caused by any number of things: change, miscommunication, differing expectations, etc. And when anxiety enters the picture, people are more likely to react, lash out, accuse, and insult. Or, they might avoid, cutting themselves off from the issue. Or, they might play peace-maker, insisting that everyone get along. We have seen all of these responses and more in an anxious America in the past two weeks. In the face of anxiety, our natural response is to engage in fight or flight.

            Which is what makes Jesus’ response so stunning: it is completely out of our human experience. He has every reason to feel anxious and more. He’s been publicly flogged, beaten within an inch of his life, and now hung on a cross to die, while those who love him stand by and say nothing. But rather than lash out at his betrayers, or make snarky comments, or give a list of rationale as to why this is inappropriate… he forgives them. He side-steps the anxiety, and he simply forgives them, offering salvation even to criminals. That is the king that God gave to God’s broken people: not a ruler who lashes out, who wields the sword, who attacks and counter-attacks, who uses people’s faults against them, nor even one who saves himself, when he has the chance, from even greater

misery. No, the king that God gives to God’s broken and wayward people is one who willingly makes himself vulnerable, who responds to threats with peace, who forgives to the end, and who offers us the promise of salvation, even so.

            And so to return to my first question: what does this mean for us, as followers of this ruler? Once again, I am both comforted and threatened by the answer, for to be followers of this ruler means to strive for the same: to answer attacks with love, not hate or even apathy; to respond to anxiety with understanding and compassion, not sword and shield; to constantly remind each other of our dependence on God for our salvation, rather than fleeting worldly promises. It is a tall order, one that can only be met with the love, power and support of that same king who calls us to this seemingly impossible task.

            But then we move to that second question: is this what we expect also from our worldly leaders? I have really struggled with this one, because while I want to think I would seek a leader like Jesus, I also think, “This sort of kingship would never work in the real world.” It’s all well and good for Jesus to be this way, but a president? I have many times thought, half sadly, half sarcastically, that if Jesus ran for president, he wouldn’t get elected. We seek outwardly powerful people to be our leaders, just like centuries of Jews, who were asking God for a mighty ruler to fight off their oppressors and use a strong arm to save them from their enemies. Except, that “powerful” ruler they requested came as a babe in a manger, and grew up a peasant, and spent his life fraternizing not with the rich and powerful but with the marginalized, who forgave the most despised of society (including those who hurt him and accused him directly!), who lifted up and fought for the lowly, and who, in the end, brought all people to himself.

            All this, yet his “strength” and “glorious power” came from his very willingness to be vulnerable, from his willingness to forgive, from his attention to the poor and needy, the marginalized and disenfranchised. This is a power unlike what we are accustomed to seeing.

            Yet what if we did expect this from our rulers? What would such leadership look like in today’s world? If Jesus were president, for whom would he fight, with whom would he fraternize, and to whom would he reach out?

            I have been thinking more than usual this week about what my Christian call means in public life, or said another way, how to be a patriotic American who is also living out her faith in civil society. I wonder if part of it might be to ask these questions about how Christ would reign in America today, and then to hold our elected leaders accountable to that (by calling, visiting, writing letters, etc). And then to fight for those same things President Jesus would. To work in whatever way we are able to bring Christ’s reign here to earth, through our prayers and petitions, our love and compassion, our faith-full voices, our willingness to use our particular gifts and positions for helping those in need, as well as our willingness to forgive, and our invitation into Christ’s salvation.

            That is my Christ the King Sunday hope and prayer this year: that we would all seriously consider how Christ would reign in this time and place, and then do all we can to make that reign a reality – in America and in this world.  May we all seek first the kingdom of God and its righteousness, by whatever means necessary.

            Let us pray… Christ, our King, we thank you for being our ultimate ruler, for showing us what a just society, a righteous kingdom, can look like, and for empowering us to seek that kingdom. Guide us to work with you to bring that kingdom upon this earth, by the strength of your glorious power. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: What comes after this election? (Nov. 13, 2016)

Pentecost 26C

November 13, 2016

Isaiah 65:17-25

Isaiah 12:2-6

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Luke 21:5-19

            This was a big week in the history of America. Either way the election ended up going, it was going to be big, and we all knew it. Tuesday night the country and the world watched anxiously as the poll numbers came in. Wednesday morning half the country woke up happy and hopeful; the other half awoke devastated, anxious and afraid. All of us have since then been trying to process what this result will mean for our future.

            And then we come to worship this morning, and hear this collection of texts. As you may know, I don’t choose the texts each week; they are chosen well in advance and are a part of what’s called the Revised Common Lectionary, which intentionally puts texts together by theme and season. (Though I admit, I swapped out the standard Old Testament and Psalm for the alternative option, which offered a bit more hope – I figured you wouldn’t mind!) As I read these texts again on Wednesday morning, my heart sank. How is one to preach to a congregation that is politically mixed, with texts that could very well be inflammatory given the current emotional temperature of our country?

            Depending on how you voted this week, I suspect these texts might speak to each of us a bit differently today. If you proudly cast your vote for Donald Trump, you may hear the first lesson from Isaiah, with its optimism about the newness that God will bring about, and it is God’s word to you: with God’s help, our country will finally be headed in the right direction! We shall be saved yet! If you proudly cast your vote for Hillary Clinton, you might hear the ominous words of our Gospel lesson, with its predictions of the end of the world and the dreadful things that will happen, and think of all the ways you fear that America as we know it might come to an end in the next four years, looking to the various hate crimes that have popped up since Tuesday as your proof. If you cast a vote holding your nose, unsupportive of either candidate, maybe you are also drawn to Isaiah, and the hope it brings that God will create something new and wonderful out of a terrible situation.

            The spread of the emotions this week is wide, and I think first of all, it is really, really

important to acknowledge that. This is not a time to gloat, nor to blame; it is a time to let people feel what they need to feel – without convincing them everything will be all right, or that they should get over it. As the Church, it is also the time to ask a question I have asked you before, but today I ask it again with a new urgency: how do we be in community with one another when our emotional spectrum is so wide and varied? How do we live in Christian love alongside one another? How do we seek healing over division, and love over hate?

            What I have found helpful this week, and what I believe is an essential first step toward faithfully living together, is finding ways to listen to one another – not to reply or convince, but just to hear and understand. This has been a season full of attacks and counter-attacks, of judgments and blame of the other side, of insisting that this view is right and that is wrong. So much of it is fueled by emotion, and when emotions are so high, no amount of reason or logic will help or change anyone’s mind or bring anyone closer to another – especially when, as I think has been the case in America, the primary emotion is fear. When we fear, we react – just look at today’s text from Luke. Jesus tells them that the temple, their place of worship, which was rebuilt with their own hands following the horrible, dark time of the exile, will be torn down. Their immediate response is fear: “What? When? Why? How will we know?” This temple was more than a building: it represented how God had answered their prayers in the past and brought them out of exile and back to their home. Surely it would not be taken from them again! Jesus does little to assuage their fears: he only warns them further, and they are left with uncertainty and anxiety about the future.

 Acknowledging that emotion, that fear, is important in knowing why someone behaves the way they do. Trying to rationalize it away only deepens the fear and sense that the fear is misunderstood and not taken seriously. At their core, what people want is to be understood, and their feelings valued.

So how does this affect our desire to be in Christian community together? First of all, we acknowledge: everybody feels, and everybody’s feelings are valid, and everybody wants to be heard.

Those hearing God’s good word in Isaiah were coming to the end of 70 years in exile. They were growing increasingly hopeless, distressed, separated from their faith and their God. Isaiah’s prophecy speaks to those feelings, and offers them a word of hope. It is not unlike many Trump supporters, who have for too long felt their voices and concerns were not heard by Washington, and now here comes a Washington outsider who gives voice to their feelings, and in that articulation they find hope.

Then we turn to our passage from Luke. This was actually written several decades after Jesus lived, about 15 years after the temple had already fallen, so by including this discourse, Luke was likely trying to make sense of the fallen temple to an audience who had already witnessed it. That audience was living in a tense time, where the political scene was scary to them. They felt threatened, and so their inclination was to look at the calamities around them and view it as a sign: that God wasn’t on their side, or that God was somehow punishing them, or that God was simply absent. This is not unlike those who are fearful and anxious about a Trump presidency. Many fear that we have elected a man whose behavior has normalized and legitimized some dangerous and hurtful ways of acting in the world, and undermined many Americans’ dignity and personhood. “How can God have allowed this?” they ask. “Is God even on our side anymore?” But Jesus was telling those 1^st century listeners and us: God is very much present, and very much on your side.

Whichever text speaks to your heart this week, the one that I think we all must take as our guiding light is the Psalm, which comes from Isaiah: “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might, and has become my salvation.” In the end, you see, we do not put our trust in human leaders. Though Luther wrote, and I agree, that government is one tool God uses to take care of God’s people, at the end of the day our salvation comes from the Lord, our strength and our might, and above all, we must trust in God.

So what does that look like, right now, in this time and place? How do we trust God if we voted for Trump? How do we trust God if we voted for Clinton? What does trusting God look like if neither candidate was your cup of tea? Jesus answers that question for us: “This will give you an opportunity to testify,” he says. In the face of calamity, or uncertainty, or a divided country in which half its citizens are grieving and anxious about the future and half are hopeful: this is your opportunity to testify – not for your candidate or viewpoint, but for the love and grace of God.

Sec. Clinton said the same thing in her concession speech. “Never stop believing,” she said, “that fighting for what’s right is worth it.” She backed it up with a reference to a Galatians text very

similar to today’s from 2^nd Thessalonians, “Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.”

That is what it means to trust in the Lord. It is not sitting back and saying, “God’s got this, I’ll just wait and see.” No, it is listening to God, listening to what is God’s will, listening to the needs of our brothers and sisters of every stripe and walk, and fighting the good fight, fighting for what is right. It means donating items for Christmas stockings that go to help children in need, including children of migrant workers. It means reaching out to your Muslim neighbors and saying, “How are you feeling?” and truly listening to their story. It means continuing to tell children that bullying is not okay, that every child (and adult) is a beloved child of God. It means valuing people and their gifts and their experience, whether that experience is as a black inner city woman with eight kids by three fathers, or a gay man, or a woman trying to climb the corporate ladder, or a white, working class man from Alabama who has never left his hometown, or an evangelical woman who has spent her life fighting against abortion, or a Latino man who is trying to make a better life for his family, or a Syrian refugee. Trusting God means loving and caring for all of these in whatever way we are able, because we know that Jesus died also for them.

Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right. Feel what you need to feel, seek the support you need, and finally, trust in God, our salvation, and use this time as an opportunity to testify: to testify the love of our forgiving God, who brings all people to Himself, who went to the cross to show us that love, and rose again to bring us into new life.

Surely it is God who saves me. I will trust in Him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, and He shall be my savior. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Things we want to teach Grace

November 11, 2016

My dear daughter,

          Before you were born, your dad and I talked a lot about things we wanted to teach you, things especially that we wanted to teach you as our daughter. This week, in the wake of Donald Trump beating Hillary Clinton for the presidency, I feel compelled to write them down for you, so that you will never, ever forget.

1)   You are loved. This is hands down the most important thing for you to know. Your dad and I love you

more and more each day, as we get to know you better and appreciate who you are and what you bring to this world. Your grandparents love you, and all your extended family and many friends. Most of all, God loves you. None of us will ever let you go, my dear child.

2)   You are valued, not for what you do, but for who you are. We also love and value some of the things you do – you are, by and large, delightful (as I write this, you are reading a book aloud to us in the most adorable and dynamic baby dialect) – but at the end of the day, we value you simply because you are Grace, and Grace has so much to offer, and though what you have to offer will change, our value of you never will.

3)   Everyone else is also to be valued and respected. We think you’re pretty great, but the good news is, everyone on this earth has something important and valuable to offer the world, too. And so we want you to learn to value and respect these people, too. Sometimes this looks like simply smiling and saying hello. Sometimes it means praying for their well-being. Sometimes it means taking the time to hear their story, their struggles, and what brings them joy. More often than not, I find I am a better person for having heard the stories of people who are different from me.

4)   Kindness goes a long way. It’s easy to be kind to people you know and like. But we hope you will be kind even to people you don’t know and like. Ask the grocery store clerk how her day is going. Hold the door for someone. Sit with someone who is lonely at lunch. Smile at someone who looks different from you. Pay the toll of the person behind you on the thruway, or for someone else’s coffee. Ask someone who is looking sad if they would like to talk. A little kindness goes a long way, and it is far more important to be kind than to be right.

5)   It’s okay to be smart, capable, and assertive. As a girl or a woman, you may encounter people who think it is most important for you to be pretty, or sweet, or even to act dumb. Don’t listen to them. Never stop learning. Never stop trying new things. Never stop singing your song. Never stop striving, even when someone else gets what you wanted. And above all, never let anyone tell you that you are somehow less valued because you are a woman. Being a woman is an incredible thing, and one that should never keep you from pursuing good in the world.

6)   It’s okay to say “no,” especially about your body. If someone asks you to do something you are not comfortable with, it is okay to say no. Your body is yours, and no one gets to decide how to treat it, or what to put in it, but you.

7)   Love one another. This is something that Jesus says many times, but it is also the basic tenet of every major world religion. Sometimes loving one another is easy. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it looks just like people expect it to – like, kindness, and giving people what they want, and helping them. Sometimes love looks different than you might expect – like, being respectfully honest, or holding people accountable, or speaking truth to power on behalf of the disadvantaged or disenfranchised, or going against the majority to do what you know is right. Loving one person or group of people does not always look or feel loving to another person or group. Sometimes it is hard to discern what is the most loving action, but here are some hints: Love puts the other first. Love means building bridges, not walls, because love is connection – with God and with one another – not separation. Love is showing up, and being present. Love is seeing the beauty in another person, and celebrating it in whatever way you can.

My dear Grace, I pray that you will always know these things, that you will always be driven by hope, love, and possibility, never by fear or despair. And I pray that knowing these things will compel you always to seek good in the world, but also to seek to make the world even better, by sharing your own beautiful spirit and strength with whatever challenge or opportunity you encounter. You, my daughter, have the power to change the world, and don’t you forget it.

I want to end this particular letter with some words from Secretary Clinton’s classy concession speech, which I listened to with tears running down my face as I thought about you: “Never stop believing that fighting for what’s right is worth it. It is, it’s worth it! . . . And to all the little girls…, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams.” May it be so for you, my daughter. I love you so much.

                                                                                                Your proud Mama