On Barriers and Saying Yes…

Tags

abundance, baptism, connection, curiosity, discipleship, evangelism, faith, God, godparents, grace, Holy Spirit, Jesus, limits, liturgy, longing, sacred

Photo credit: https://aleteia.org/2020/03/30/how-laypeople-can-baptize-in-an-emergency/

On Sunday, we heard the story of the Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.[i]  At one point in the story, the eunuch says, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”  The question is simultaneously wonderful – how amazing to hear someone so inspired by the witness of Jesus that they want to baptized right away – and anxiety-making.  Episcopalians are very clear about our identity and our liturgical ways of doing things.  So certain is our identity, that I could imagine an Episcopalian responding to the eunuch, “Well, we need to sign you up for baptism class, and then find out when the next best baptismal feast day is on the liturgical calendar.  Once we get everything lined up, we’d be thrilled to schedule your baptism!”  Somehow, that response from Philip would not have made for such an enticing story about the power of evangelism and discipleship.

The eunuch’s words were ringing in my ears when I received a similar request recently.  One of our young parishioners lost her godfather to an unexpected death during COVID.  We were all devastated and grieved together.  But a few weeks ago, the family contacted me with a request.  They had already talked as a family about how her godfather would always be her godfather, even from heaven.  But they also wanted to appoint a new earthly godfather who could help their daughter grow in the life of faith.  And so, their question was, “Is there a way you can do that liturgically by Zoom?”

One answer could have been no; we do not have such a liturgy in our Prayer Book.  But the request was so pure and Spirit-led that I knew even a Prayer Book would not want to limit such grace and abundance.  And so, in consultation with some fellow clergy and liturgical resources, including the Book of Common Prayer, we cobbled together a beautiful liturgy.  We prayed for the godfather who had passed and the ways in which he would always be with us.  The godchild formally asked the godfather if he would be willing to be her earthly godfather.  We asked the normal questions we ask in a baptismal liturgy of the godfather, and then we all reaffirmed our Baptismal Covenant and prayed over the new “family” we had created – all via Zoom.  And although we were not in our beloved chapel, we created a profound, intimately sacred space together, where the Holy Spirit blessed us as a community.

When I think about those questions, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” and “Can we designate a new godparent?” these are questions of curiosity and longing.  These are questions inspired by those seeking Christ and wanting a deeper connection to God.  If this pandemic has taught us anything, we have learned the ways in which the Holy Spirit is unbounded and can act – whether in a building, alongside a road, or online.  This week, I invite you to ponder what limits you have placed around your own connection to God – what barriers or rules have hindered your connection to the sacred.  How might you begin lessening your grip to allow room for encounters with the sacred?

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[i] Acts 8.26-40

On the Awkward and the Sacred…

Tags

awkward, church, creative, gratitude, Holy Spirit, human, new, open, pandemic, sacred, tradition, virtual, worship, Zoom

Phot Credit: Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; permission to reuse required

One of the disadvantages of leading virtual worship is that you do not get to participate in worship.  Of course, I can always go back and watch later, but I never get the “live” experience of watching prayers.  That all changed this week.  My seminary held their annual Convocation yesterday.  It was entirely virtual, with webinars, Zoom meetings, breakout rooms, and Zoom worship.  Our worship at Hickory Neck Church is via Facebook Live, so this was my first time worshiping with a community via Zoom, and I was curious to see how it would feel.

My initial response was dissatisfaction.  Although I could see there were about 50 people gathered, once slides were used on the shared screen, I could only see six people without constantly scrolling.  Although the sermon was close to my normal experiences with preaching, watching faces that seemed spaced out was a bit odd (Do the faces look that spaced out when I preach??).  And of course, when I joined in speaking the italicized words (those words “the people” are supposed to say), because we were all on mute, I felt like only the officiant and I were participating.

But that was just the initial reaction.  As I said more and more of the unison readings, I felt less and less awkward.  And even though I could only see a few faces, I loved knowing I was not alone in the worship experience.  And as I became less paranoid about what my own video screen was showing, I was able to relax into my chair, and transport myself to an imaginary pew.  The worship experience was not the same – but it was also familiar, human, holy, and lovely.

Looking back on that experience, I want to offer major kudos to all who are “making it work” with virtual church.  I know it is not the same.  I know it is hard staying positive when all you want is something more familiar.  I am so grateful for all of you who are sticking with it, making the awkward become sacred.  I hope that you are having moments of grace and blessing.  And I also hope you are noticing all the names (and faces if you’re Zooming) you do not recognize:  those folks who find it harder to harken the doors of the church than to hop on Facebook for worship – whether when you are live, or at 10:00 pm, as you watch the archived video while you ease off to sleep.   This may not be church as we have always known it.  But we are also fashioning something new, flexible, and creative, while rooting ourselves in the traditions we know and love that ground us.  This week, you have my gratitude for all the ways you are staying open to the Holy Spirit.  And if you have not found a place to experience the Spirit, I’ve got just the place for you!!

On Seeing Goodness…

Tags

creation, gathering, God, good, goodness, grace, gratitude, pandemic, sacred, seeing, worship

Photo credit: http://www.dirtyandthirty.com/dirt-of-the-day/finding-good-world/

After six months of waiting, planning, praying, and organizing, my parish finally held our first in-person socially distanced worship service.  We had prepared our members and guests for how different Socially Distanced (SD) Worship would be, even producing an instructional video.  And when the day finally came, our volunteers were amazing – sanitizing, directing, monitoring, and executing a beautiful morning of worship. 

I have been reflecting on the experience of finally being back in the worship space with other people, and I realized what we have been saying all along was true:  it was not the same as worship before the pandemic.  Certainly, the service was familiar:  the liturgy, beautiful music, the physical patterns of standing and sitting, and the reception of communion.  But the little things were different:  the inability to physically embrace or shake hands (something that felt sorely needed after such a long separation), the absence of touch during the Eucharist (an act that has always felt intimately and sacredly physical), the general tentativeness of all gathered (the desire to keep each other safe creating an underlying tension).  We had said SD Worship would be different, and it was.

But SD Worship was also good.  You could feel the palpable relief of everyone to finally be back in the space we love.  I watched as our deacon became much more animated while preaching with people in the room.  I heard sounds I had not heard in the last six months – a familiar lector reading the lesson, the organ and a violin making an otherwise spoken service feel whole, and voices responding in a room that has been mostly empty on Sundays.  It was definitely not the same.  But it was certainly good.

One of the things that has impressed me during this pandemic is the ability of parishioners, neighbors, and friends to see goodness.  When a health crisis occurs, in the stress of restarting schools virtually, in the inconveniences of wearing masks and staying home, I still encounter people who can name goodness in this time.  My invitation for you this week is to find something good and holy about this most unusual time each day.  Try to imagine the way God responds in creation at the end of each day, saying, “It was good.”  What is good in your day today?  Where are the moments of grace, the occasions of gratitude, the sacred for you this week?  I hope you will share them, as your moment of goodness may be what someone needs to help them see goodness in their life too. 

On Sacred Ground and Stories…

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God, holy, Moses, power, sacred, sacred ground, story, struggle, tender

Photo credit: https://gracechurchanderson.com/2017/09/holy-ground/

Last week, our parish kicked off a program called “Sacred Ground.”  The program comes out of the Episcopal Church and is meant to be a program to help Caucasians begin (or continue) to wrestle with the issue of racism.  As part of the introductory materials, Bishop Michael Curry retells Moses’ call narrative.  If you remember, God tells Moses to take off his shoes beside the burning bush because he is standing on holy ground.  Bishop Curry submits that the ground is holy not because of the fire but because it is the place where God tells God’s story.  Curry further suggests that anytime someone shares their story, we are standing on sacred ground with them.

As our group began to tell our stories, I began to realize perhaps this is why we are struggling as a country and community these days.  So often we assume we know people’s stories based on their political stances, their social media posts, or even our chitchat with them on a daily basis.  But every person has a story – a journey of joys and sorrows, a path of successes and failures, and a walk of pride and shame.  And until we make space to hear that story, we will judge, assume, and desecrate the holiness of others.

This week I came across a story of a project in Denmark called the Human Library.  People go to public libraries and instead of borrowing books they “borrow” people.  Each person is given a “title,” such as “Unemployed,” “Refugee,” or “Bipolar.”  When you borrow the person, you sit with them for thirty minutes and hear their story.  The idea is to break down prejudice through the power of story.

This week I invite you to reach out to someone you do not know much about – someone you only know superficially, someone different from you, or someone you already know will rub you the wrong way and ask if you can hear their story.  In this time of social distancing, maybe you start with projects like Humans of New York or StoryCorps.  But maybe you use a phone, FaceTime, or outdoor coffee as your method to connect with someone local.  Either way, this week I invite you to take off your shoes and stand on some holy ground with one another and your God.  Perhaps once we all have our shoes off, we will find ourselves walking much more tenderly with one another.

On Teachers, Nurses, and Grandmas…

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appreciation, blessing, care, Christ, God, grandmother, gratitude, Jesus, light, love, ministry, notes, nurses, pandemic, sacred, teachers, thank you, thankful, vocation, work

Photo credit:  https://www.considerable.com/life/etiquette/bring-back-thank-you-notes/

One of the things my grandmother instilled in me from an early age was the importance of thank you notes.  She taught me how to write them, how quickly to send them, and the significance of being a person who reliably sends them.  These days I fear she would be sorely disappointed with how those carefully honed skills have deteriorated over time – not that I do not know how to write them or understand their importance, but how my overflowing plate often means the list of thank you notes to be written makes it to the bottom of my “to do” pile.

That is why I am thankful for the ways in which our country has designated this week as appreciation weeks for two powerful vocations:  teachers and nurses.  Left to my own devices, I regularly forget to show my appreciation for the teachers in our lives.  But this annual week always reminds me that for thirty-five-plus hours a week, teachers are the people who are with my children – teaching them, shaping them into thoughtful citizens, helping them grow into their unique identity, and generally helping them feel loved and valued.  I have always thought of teachers as part of our “village,” who are helping my husband and me raise our children.  And this year, more than ever, I am amazed at the ways teachers are pivoting, learning new technologies, figuring out different ways to engage children in a pandemic, and showing love to our kids while socially distanced.

Likewise, I am grateful for a week to show our gratitude toward our nurses.  My most powerful experience with a nurse was in childbirth.  I had been laboring for the better part of twelve hours when I finally elected to have an epidural.  Everyone left the room, and as I leaned forward for the anesthesiologist, I could not stop shaking – whether from exhaustion or fear, I am not sure.  But the nurse took my arms firmly, looked me right in the eyes, and instilled in me a trust so deep I can still feel it palpably ten years later.  Nurses do this every day – take our lives into their hands, guide us through healing and wellness, and comfort us in ways that build confidence, trust, and care.  And in the midst of this pandemic, they are literally putting their lives on the line to do this often-overlooked work.

I’m not sure this is enough of a thank you note to meet my grandmother’s standard.  But what I can tell you is our teachers and our nurses are doing sacred work every day of the year.  They love us, care for us, and show us the light of Christ every day.  If you have a teacher or nurse in your life, neighborhood, or circle of friends, please be sure to thank them personally for the ways in which they are changing our lives today.  I invite you to return God’s blessing they have been to you back to them.

The Why of Pilgrimage…

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foreign, God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, journey, pilgrim, pilgrimage, prayer, refresh, relationship, renew, sacred, servant, Spirit, spiritual, walk

Photo credit:  https://rrcb.org/the-spiritual-blessing-of-pilgrimage/

Tomorrow, I will help lead sixteen pilgrims on a journey through England.  There have been countless details to coordinate, communication to send, logistics to handle back home, and preparations for the team’s spiritual guidance.  Over a year of planning will come to fruition once we step on that plane, and I cannot be more excited to see what is in store for each person’s spiritual journey.

Many people have asked me why we would go on a pilgrimage.  The truth is, there is no simple answer, and each person goes for their own reason.  Perhaps at the heart of the reason is to forge a deep connection to God.  For some, that connection is enriched with beautiful architecture, sacred art, and beautiful, holy music, all of which can be found in minsters, cathedrals, and colleges on our journey.  For others, simply getting out of their routine, going to a foreign place, and taking on the ritual of walking, meditating, listening, and praying is how they enliven that connection.  For others, relationship is their mode of connecting to God – relationship with team members, relationship to other pilgrims and Christians along the way, and relationship with our spiritual ancestors, who built these sacred spaces centuries ago.  We go on pilgrimage to know God, to walk with Jesus, to be fed by the Holy Spirit.  Many of us even go having no idea what to expect, but longing for something deep and abiding.

But we go not just to fill our own spirits – we go to bring back those renewed spirits.  We go so we can share our journey with others.  We go so we can come back better servants of the Good News.  We go so our faith community is richer as a body.  We go on pilgrimage for all of us.  I invite your prayers for those who go this week.  But I also invite your prayers for your own spiritual journey.  May your week be enlivened, refreshed, and renewed as we walk together.

 

Please enjoy this poem found in Ian Bradley’s Pilgrimage:  A Spiritual and Cultural Journey.  Our team has used it in our own preparations, and would like to gift it to you. 

To the Pilgrim

 Set out!

You were born for the road.

Set out!

You have a meeting to keep.

Where?  With whom?

Perhaps with yourself.

 

Set out!

Your steps will be your words –

The road your song,

The weariness your prayers.

And at the end

Your silence will speak to you.

 

Set out!

Alone, or with others –

But get out of yourself!

You have created rivals –

You will find companions.

You envisaged enemies –

You will find brothers and sisters.

 

Set out!

Your head does not know

Where your feet are leading your heart.

 

Set out!

You were born for the road –

The pilgrim’s road.

Someone is coming to meet you –

Is seeking you

In the shine at the end of the road –

In the shine at the depths of your heart.

 

He is your peace.

He is your joy!

 

Go!

God already walks with you!

 

~Anonymous

 

One “Why” of Church…

Tags

church, community, conflict, creation, faithful, gift, God, intentional, love, meaningful, relationship, sacred, scripture, why?

Photo credit:  https://ncchagerstown.org/attendance-membership-and-belonging-at-new-creation/

A few months back, a commenter on my blog asked why people even need to go to church.  I have thought of hundreds of reasons, and could probably write a whole series of posts about that question.  But this week, one of those reasons became very clear to me.  One of reasons being a part of a church community is so important is because being a part of a church community teaches members how to be in meaningful, faithful, sacred relationships with others.

Certainly, scripture teaches us humans are made in the image of God, and that our creation was very good.  Scripture also teaches us to love God, love ourselves, and love our neighbor.  And there is much scripture that teaches us what community means, the value of every person to making the community whole, and what behaviors are needed to be loving people made in the image of God.

Now, I know the Church and her leaders have often failed at living in that specifically Christian way.  But belonging to a church means you are committing to trying to live the life of love intentionally, authentically, and humbly.  The Church is where we learn how to lovingly live through conflict.  The Church is where we learn how to kneel at the altar rail right next to someone who has hurt us, who disagrees with us, who has challenged us, and see the commonality in our outstretched arms, waiting for the healing body of Christ.  The Church is where we learn how to say, “I’m sorry,” “I was wrong,” “I messed up,” and “I forgive you.”  The Church is the place where we can hold the fragility of human experience, the sinful nature of each of us, and the beauty of God’s creation in tension, and experience the depths of love known only through the eyes of Christ.

Maybe Church is not a place like that for you.  For me, the Church makes me a better human being, and a better child of God.  The Church keeps me honest, loves me when I do not deserve it, and molds me into a servant of God who can share that same life-giving, liberating love with others.  I am so grateful to be a part of a church, so honored to be a priest in the Church, and so overwhelmed by the power of love I find powerfully within the community of the Church.  If that is a not a gift you have received, I invite you to my church, anytime.  If that is a gift you have received, I invite you to give thanks to God for God’s gift of the Church to us.  And if you are giving thanks this week for your own church experience, I encourage you to give that gift to someone else.

On Seeing Christ in the Chaos…

Tags

chaos, control, expectations, God, Good News, gospel, holy, Holy Spirit, Jesus, mess, sacred, scripture, story

Photo Credit:  Charlie Bauer; reuse with permission only

Yesterday at the Godly Play class Hickory Neck offers at The Kensington School, we finally got to tell the Epiphany story – the story of the magi visiting the Christ Child.  As we reviewed the whole story of Advent and Christmas, out came all the figurines of prophets, Mary, Joseph, Jesus, Angels, Shepherds, various animals, and wise men.  Typically, the teacher tells the story quietly, using the figurines, and then we have the kids retell the story, taking turns with the figurines.  And because the class has become so large, we usually have two sets of figurines so we can break into groups.  I would never say the class is perfectly orderly, but it is much more measured than you might imagine with two- to five-year-olds.

But not yesterday.  I’m not sure whether we, the leaders, were off our game, or the kids were still hyped up from returning from break, but the retelling portion of class was utter chaos.  Taking turns fell apart, quiet redirecting failed miserably, and by the time we regrouped to close the class, there was a mass of wooden, sacred figures in a disordered pile.  As we were making our way out, I looked at the pile sadly, grateful that they were all made out of sturdy wood and nothing more destructible, but somewhat disappointed to see such a holy mess.

But as I was thinking about the mess today, I was thinking perhaps my sadness at the chaos was my own “stuff,” having nothing to do with the success of the class.  Too often, we like our Gospel stories neat and tidy.  Too often we tell familiar scriptural stories expecting them to teach specific lessons.  But when we are honest, we know that is not how the Good News works.  The Good News upends worlds, upends social order, and upends our expectations.  Engaging with Jesus is messy work, and sometimes, in the midst of trying to figure out our faith, we end up with a messy rubble in front of us.

I do not know what you are you struggling with today – what things you wish were under control but are actually a mess, or what things you have been expecting from God that just are not how you expected, or what chaos others are making in your life that makes you feel bereft.  What I can tell you is that Christ is there, maybe a bit mired in the chaos too, but there nonetheless.  And sometimes, the mess is just what you need to shake you up and see the movement of God in a new and fresh way.  I suspect things will not turn out as you expect, but then, the Holy Spirit rarely works in ways we expect.  Sending you prayers today, that you might see Christ in the chaos!

Homily – Luke 10:25-37, P10, YC, July 13, 2019

Tags

baptism, baptismal covenant, covenant, dignity, faith, God, Good Samaritan, Jesus, kindness, Mr. Rogers, neighbor, sacred, Samaritan, Sermon, unworthy

Last Sunday, a group of parishioners gathered to watch Won’t You Be My Neighbor, the documentary about Fred Rogers.  There were countless things I could tell you about this film, but one thing that really grabbed my attention was toward the end.  The film documented a criticism of Mr. Rogers as raising up a generation of people who feel and act entitled.  You see, one of the primary lessons from Mr. Rogers is he loves each individual, just as they are.  No changes are necessary; no fault is too big.  Mr. Rogers loves you just as you are.  You can hear the words of God in Mr. Rogers’ words – God too loves us unconditionally, and certainly loves us better than any human ever could.  However, Mr. Rogers’ critics would argue if everyone is loved just as they are, then surely they do not need to improve, or earn respect, or work hard.  But the film asserts something quite different.  The film asserts without being recipients of unconditional love, individuals cannot be givers of unconditional love.  In other words, to respect the dignity of every human being, one must first learn how sacred one’s own dignity is – one must be shown how she or he is a person with dignity to be respected in order to know how to respect the dignity of others.

That sense of each person having profound, sacred dignity is one of the main lessons of our gospel today.  The Good Samaritan is one of those stories that is so widely known all I need to do is say, “the Good Samaritan,” and we likely already know the story.  We might automatically recall, “Oh, that’s the story Jesus uses to tell us to be like the Good Samaritan – to be kind to others.”  In one sense, our recollection would be true – at the heart of Jesus’ story is a message to be kind to all.  But what that simple summary misses is the finer details to this story.

You see, those two people who separately pass the victim along the road, are a priest and a Levite.  These two people are not just people of faith – they are keepers of the faith.  They know the laws better than most people of faith.  You may have heard over the years the logic that priests or Levites could not risk being defiled by touching the body of the victim, and so that is why they went around the victim.  But the truth is, their avoidance had nothing to do with defilement – they were heading away from the temple and therefore were not in need of ritual purity, and any good priest or Levite knows they were expected to check on this victim; should he be dead, they should help bury him, and should he be alive, they should tend him.[i]  Basically, these are good, trained people of faith, not fulfilling their duty to love their neighbor as themselves.

But perhaps even more significant is the identity of the Samaritan.  The story does not say, a priest and Levite passed, but another faithful Jew came to the victim’s aid.  The story says, a priest and Levite passed, but a man whose people are mortal enemies of people of faith – who has persecuted, defiled, and subjugated people of faith – is the one who helps.  Saying “The Good Samaritan,” is like saying, “The Good Murderer.”[ii]  That this typically hated man is the one who shows mercy, kindness, and love is shocking.  The hearers of Jesus’ story are shocked, and our ears need to be similarly shocked.  Asking us to respect the dignity of every human being is already a monumental task; respecting the dignity of every human being is inconvenient, is humbling, and involves a willingness to be wrong about others.  Respecting the dignity of every human being means being willing to see how the best of the faithful fail at kindness, and how sometimes our worst enemies are better people of faith than we are.

Today we are baptizing a child of God.  Her parents, godmothers, and our community will make promises today – to raise her in the community of faith, to show her to love and respect, to fight for justice and peace, to share the word of God, and to repent when she messes up.  We say those words today as we reaffirm our own baptismal covenants; but sometimes we forget how revolutionary the covenant is.  We are agreeing to teach Selah to live a revolutionary life.  When we say we will teach baby Selah to respect the dignity of every human being, we are saying we will teach her the hard work being inconvenienced and humbled in order to care for others.  When we say we will teach her to love her neighbor as herself, we are saying we will teach her that even her greatest enemies are worthy of love.  When we say we will teach her to repent when she sins, we are saying we will teach her to be willing to admit when people who we have deemed unworthy of love and care show us what true kindness really looks like.

Today, when we hear Christ’s words to “go and do likewise,” we can be encouraged that Jesus empowers us to make some promises.  Today we look at Selah’s precious, innocent face, and we promise to walk with her as she discovers how hard this work of being a faithful follower of Christ really is.  Today, we promise to confess to Selah the times when we have failed to love our neighbors as ourselves.  Today, we promise when those we despise, those who hurt us, those we cast out because they are not like us, those we can no longer see humanity in ask us, “Won’t you be my neighbor,” we will say with Selah, “Yes.  You are my neighbor too.”  Amen.

[i] Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus (New York:  Harper One, 2014), 99-102.

[ii] Levine, 105.

On Invitations to Compassion…

Tags

barriers, compassion, empathy, God, invitation, journey, margins, sacred, share, suffering, sympathy, walk

Photo credit:  https://www.ted.com/topics/compassion

This past week I have been pondering the notion of compassion.  The notion first struck me as I visited one of our parishioners at the hospital several times.  Each time I have visited, someone else had already visited or was on their way to visit.  Having been to many a hospital room, I know this is not the norm.  Often, people in the hospital are there without much support.  To see the community rally around this parishioner – both fellow parishioners and personal friends – was such a potent witness to the power of compassion.

Midweek, our own parish began to wonder how we might show compassion to our neighbors in need who were struggling due to government shutdown furloughs.  As we shared ideas as a community, and as we checked on our own parishioners, we discovered that several of our parishioners were already acting on behalf of our neighbors in need.  In fact, several parishioners were quietly gathering funds to support our local Coast Guard members.  I was so proud to learn about the quiet, unassuming compassion of our church.

Finally, my daughter and I paid a visit to a Children’s hospital for some routine checkups.  As we were waiting in three different waiting rooms, we watching families pass us by with children who were much sicker, or who had challenges that I will never face with my children.  I found myself humbled by journeys I could not imagine, and wondering how I might move from sympathy to compassion.

My ponderings reminded me of something Father Gregory Boyle articulated in his book Tattoos on the Heart.  Father Gregory teaches a class in the local prisons, and in one of the classes they talked about the difference between sympathy, empathy, and compassion.  As the inmates discussed the topic, they agreed that sympathy is the expression of sadness for something someone is experiencing.  They defined empathy as going a step further and sharing how your own similar experience makes your sympathy more personal.  But compassion was a bit harder to define.  Father Gregory argues, “Compassion isn’t just about feeling the pain of others; it’s about bringing them in toward yourself.  If we love what God loves, then, in compassion, margins get erased. ‘Be compassionate as God is compassionate,’ means the dismantling of barriers that exclude.”[i]

I wonder how God is inviting you this week to step beyond sympathy and empathy, and step into compassion. That kind of work is not easy, and will likely mean getting a bit messy.  But I suspect that same kind of work takes us from looking at the world around us and saying, “That’s too bad,” or “I’m so sorry,” to “Let me walk with you.”  That is the sacred spot where we experience God between us.  I look forward to hearing about your experiences of accepting God’s invitation to compassion this week.

[i] Father Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (New York:  Free Press, 2010), 75.