Advent 3 C
By: Svinda Heinrichs
Predators often get a bum rap. “Brood of vipers,” John the Baptist calls the gathered crowds. Why is that such a bad thing? After all, vipers, that is, venomous snakes, just are what they are created to be, and do what they are created to do – use their poisonous venom to catch and subdue their dinner. As I am wont to say, “They’re just trying to earn a living.” Humans are right to be wary of them, but to call a group of humans a brood of vipers gives vipers a bad name! Continue reading
By Wes Howard-Brook and Sue Ferguson Johnson
Just as the CNN and MSNBC cameras turn their lenses to the president and his people, God’s Word comes to an obscure group of folk whose hope is elsewhere.
We who read the pages of Radical Discipleship hardly need to be told that our hope is not in Trump or the Democratic Party or any of the professional purveyors of the imperial status quo. So it is not surprising to us to hear that in Luke’s time, the Word of God was heard not in Rome or Judea or elsewhere in the corridors of worldly power but in the wilderness.
Advent Week 1 – December 2 – 8
“Each of us is capable of growing our powers and skills in giving and receiving love. Despite this truth many die of thirst in a freshwater lake. All about us are people who can give us what we need; we must only learn to ask and then pay up by receiving. When we lay bare our needs and open ourselves to receive love we move from independence to interdependence, the basis of true community.”
— Gerald and Elisabeth Jud, Training in the Art of Loving
Week One’s Skill of Loving is SEEING.
SEEING: I see you in your uniqueness, not how I want or assume you to be, and I allow myself to be seen. Continue reading
Deer tracks in the snow
The First Sunday of Advent, Year C
December 2, 2018
By The Rev. Marilyn Zehr
Luke 21: 25-36
So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Luke 21:31
The Kin-dom of God is near. It visits in the night like the spirit presence of the white-tailed deer. I go out early to search for fresh prints in the previous night’s early snows. Like the kin-dom of God, the deer are on the move. It’s rutting season. Their tracks tell me that the does and last year’s fawns move in groups. The lone tracks that cross these are the bucks seeking mates. I am not yet skilled or scent sensitive enough to notice the signs the bucks leave on branches to attract the does but I know it is so. When they mate the doe and buck “enact a ritual of motion, touch, sound and scent before coming together.” (p. 14, All Creation Waits, by Gail Boss and illust. by David G. Klein, 2016) All is now pregnant possibility unfolding just beyond my vision in the night. All I see of their restless urgency are the tracks in the morning snow.
Reign of Christ
Proper 29 (34) B
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14
By: Ron Berezan
I used to avoid apocalyptic scriptures like the plague. I’m beginning to rethink that.
For many years, I found the violent imagery, intense dualism and gnostic sounding anti-earth passages too hard to stomach. So I chose to ignore them – mostly. I’ll admit, there was always a tinge of guilty fascination, a bit like staring at an accident scene, even though I knew I really shouldn’t.
26th Sunday after Pentecost
Hebrews 10:11-14, (15-18), 19-25
By Rev. Dr. Victoria Marie
Today’s homily, like most of my homilies, is not merely to preach to you but to call myself to account. It is part of my ongoing aim to preach a message of hope in these times, when the life of our planet and peace in our world are under threat.
An excerpt from an old classic: The Sun Magazine‘s interview with Martin Prechtel.
To be at home in a place, to live in a place well, we first have to understand where we are; we’ve got to look at our surroundings. Second, we’ve got to know our own histories. Third, we’ve got to feed our ancestors’ ghosts, so that the ghosts aren’t eating us or the people around us. Lastly, we’ve got to begin to grieve. Now, grief doesn’t mean sitting around weeping every day. Rather, grief means using the gifts you’ve been given by the spirits to make beauty. Grief that’s not expressed this way becomes a kind of toxic waste inside a person’s body, and inside the culture as a whole, until it has to be put in containers and shipped someplace, the way they ship radioactive waste to New Mexico. This locked-up grief has to be metabolized. As a culture and as individuals, we must begin feeling our grief — that delicious, fantastic, eloquent medicine. Then we can start giving spiritual gifts to the land we live on, which might someday grant our grandchildren permission to live there.