Tag Archives: resurrection

God and hope are not dead

1 Corinthians 15:12-20, John 5:24-27
The Feast of John of Damascus

I preached the noonday service at Trinity Wall Street the day after a Staten Island grand jury decided not to charge a white New York City police officer, Daniel Pantaleo, in the chokehold death of Eric Garner, an African American, sparking protests over the lack of accountability for police behavior in communities of color. I had already planned to talk about how people are like icons, pointing to the resurrected Christ, and I brought one of my favorite icons with me to demonstrate that point. It turns out “Mary of Seven Sorrows” could not have been a more appropriate icon for the day. During the first minute of my sermon, the moment I mentioned the grand jury decision, a man stood up and walked out of the church. He did so respectfully, but he did so in protest–a new experience for me.

Watch it here.

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Losing my religion

Sometimes religious people do really ugly things. Because I am a religious person and a religious leader, working in a religious setting after being trained in a religious school and living in a religious community, I sometimes get to see ugliness in religion up close.

This week was one of those weeks. And this week’s ugliness went public.

For me, besides the heartache, anger, confusion and sadness that accompanies these times–the thing I struggle with the most is how to talk about ugliness and evil with my friends on the fringes of faith traditions. My non-practicing Jewish girlfriends whom I love dearly and who constantly give me perspective and insight. My friends who identify as “spiritual but not religious,” having tired of religious institutions, or my friends who are vehemently opposed to religious expressions of all kinds. And the dearest of them all, my self-proclaimed “recovering-Catholic” husband who vacillates between lovingly supporting my vocation with pride, and shaking his fists with mistrust.

This week was a fist-shaking kind of week. And trust is at an all-time-low.

Two years ago, my husband and I were living on The General Theological Seminary campus while I was in my second year of school there. Without getting into much detail, two members of the administration used various bully-tactics to skirt around their mismanagement of our money. Jay was wounded alongside me as he a) footed the bill, b) lived in the very community calling our character into question, and c) watched me gingerly navigate threats with little/no recourse. It was an exhausting time, and perhaps the first time the church really broke my heart. I was learning the hard lesson that church leaders are not exempt from arrogance and meanness. The two things that most sustained us were the support and wisdom of my bishop and rector back home, and most especially the love and support of the seminary faculty. In that sense, church saved me from the church.

This week those same faculty who held me up were fired by other administrative figures at the same seminary.

The faculty were “resigned” by the Executive Committee of the Board of Trustees after communicating their serious concerns regarding the Dean and President of the seminary–concerns that in any other church or even business would require the person in question to be removed for the safety of others until an investigation into allegations was complete.  To the outside world, the message communicated is that The Episcopal Church protects those in power, even if that person has reportedly intimidated students and faculty with racist, sexist and homophobic remarks and decisions.  So again I find myself struggling to explain why religion isn’t a bad thing–why I feel called to this work of ministry–why I feel I can trust the church–why I turn to the church for healing–why I’m not only a person of faith, but also a person contributing to the overall framework of the institution of the church.

So let me say: The Episcopal Church–of which I am a member, a leader, and a representative–is a good and joyful community of people striving to “persevere in resisting evil…proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ…serve Christ in all persons…for justice and peace among all people, and respect[ing] the dignity of every human being.”  This is our baptismal covenant, as found in the Book of Common Prayer.  It’s what we promise, what we proclaim, what we are initiated into, and what we expect from ourselves and our church community.

That said, we suffer from the same unhealthy group dynamics everyone else does.  Part of my husband’s frustration stems from his belief that leaders of the church should be held to a higher standard–and to an extent, I agree with him.  Lots of people do.  But that part about “resisting evil” in the baptismal covenant?  It’s followed by, “and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.”  Not IF, but WHEN.  I think the higher standard many people think of is perfection, when in reality its a willingness to repent and say you’re sorry.  Of course the church does not have the corner on apologizing.  And note that the covenant I reference is one of baptism–not one of ordination.  It is so widely adhered to that we make a point of renewing our covenant in our liturgy at least quarterly.

This week’s ugliness has cracked open some long-time systemic problems.  Problems not unique to The General Theological Seminary.  My prayer is that the heartbreak we feel will allow for truth’s light to illuminate a way forward–one of repentance, reconciliation, redemption and resurrection.

It’s what we preach.  Heck, let’s be the sermon.

And so it is in the hope of Christ that I pray for humility–for myself, my peers, the vulnerable students and the bishops that support them, the faculty, the Dean, the Board–and for their spouses and families that did not “sign up for this” in the same way we did.

#prayforGTS

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Christ is Risen—-SO WHAT?

Preached on the Third Sunday of Easter at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York City

For three Sundays now, we have been hearing stories of resurrection. Easter stories. Stories of Jesus’ friends responding to the mind-blowing reality of a resurrected Christ.

First we hear from the two Mary’s at the tomb. Together they go to the place where Jesus was buried, only to find the stone rolled away, the tomb empty, and an angel of the Lord indicating that Jesus has up and moved on to Galilee. Always going places, that Jesus. Can’t keep him down. The women are terrified! Not only is their friend missing from the place where they laid him, but their world is surely turned upside down and inside out, if what the angel says is true and Jesus has beat death after having been dead.

Then we hear from our doubting friend Thomas. I don’t know about you, but Thomas’ story always makes me feel a little better about myself. Like me on some days, Thomas has his doubts. And yet he is still counted among the faithful disciples of Jesus, and he even gets a whole story dedicated to his stubbornness as Jesus appears specifically to him saying, put your fingers in my wounds and your hand in my gaping side. And as Mother Carla reminded us last week, it is because Thomas doubts that he is later able to exclaim with confidence, “My Lord and my God!”

That brings us to this week. This week we’re on the road to Emmaus with Cleopas and his friend—both followers of Jesus. They seem to spend the whole day with an unrecognizable Jesus, who unpacks the scriptures for them and calls them “fools” just like in the good old days. It is not until Jesus breaks bread with them that they recognize him—and then he disappears. We sing about this at Eucharist sometimes: “The disciples knew the Lord Jesus/in the breaking of the bread.” And then they turn to each other and say, “Were not our hearts burning within us?” Aw, man! How could we be so dense!

Each of these vignettes speaks to our persistent and exuberant proclamation throughout the fifty days of Easter:

Alleluia! Christ has Risen!

The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Only, the responses of Mary, Thomas and Cleopas don’t really resonate with our weekly exclamations. If you were to say to any of these followers, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” They would likely respond: “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you sure? Oh. My. God.”

And if we really take seriously Mother Carla’s weekly exclamations, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” Perhaps before we can say, “The Lord is risen indeed,” we, like the disciples, need to ask: Wait… what?

What do our lives look like after Easter? And I don’t just mean, well now we have eternal life thanks to Jesus’ victory over death, though that truth clearly has massive implications of its own. No, I mean what is the impact of a risen Christ today. And tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. What does Easter look like in my everyday life right now.

Christ is risen. So what?

Christ is risen. What now?

Like Mary and Mary at the empty tomb, we need to take a moment to realize, with trembling even, that our world has been turned upside down. Death doesn’t mean what it used to. The God we worship is more powerful than any “end” or “finality” death once represented. And nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even death. Jesus has changed the world and there’s no going back.

And like Thomas poking Jesus’ wounds, we need to spend some time contemplating just how crazy this idea is. Rather than just accept the resurrection as if it’s simply an event we remember every Easter, we need to grapple with the unbelievable implications of Jesus returning from the dead with wounded hands, feet and side. And then believe it. We have to name our doubts before we can proclaim the mystery of our faith.

And finally, like Cleopas on the way to Emmaus, we need to be continually schooled by Jesus while our hearts burn within us.

Only then can we begin to live into the everyday reality of life after Easter. Only then can we live our lives as people who begin to comprehend the significance of a resurrected Jesus.

Peter tells us that it’s through Jesus we come to trust in God. It’s through our fear, doubt, wonder and celebration of Christ’s resurrection from the dead that we find faith and set our hope on God.

And it’s in response to that truth that we have what Peter calls “genuine mutual love,” so that we can “love one another deeply from the heart.”

This is what the every day Easter life looks like. This is what it looks like to be “born anew,” having received the Holy Spirit after Christ’s death and resurrection. First comes the trust in God; then comes the genuine love. First comes the grappling with fear, doubt and wonder so that we can believe the unbelievable with courage and conviction; then comes a love that is equally courageous and life changing.

And you know what I’ve discovered here at St. Matthew and St. Timothy? That just as courageous faith makes for genuine love, so does genuine love make for courageous faith. I know this because the love you have shown me over the past two years here has given me a new boldness and courage in proclaiming my faith in Jesus—in English and Spanish. This post-resurrection-Easter-courageous-genuine-love is life changing stuff—and I know that because your love has changed my life.

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

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Lent Week 3

During the season of Lent, I am leading a group study on baptism and the triduum at the Church of St. Matthew & St. Timothy in New York City.  We meet on Wednesday nights in English and Thursday nights in Spanish.  I am only posting the English handouts on the blog, but can provide Spanish translations on request.

Week 3: Wednesday, March 26

The Space Between: Good Friday

The Good Friday liturgy is simply a reading of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to John, followed by prayers, followed by anthems and the veneration of the cross. “The service has no formal entrance rite and no blessing or dismissal: since the church began it’s Triduum celebration on Thursday evening, the Good Friday liturgy is simply a gathering together or a focused offering of prayer at a particular moment in the course of the three days.”[1]

Story: Egeria is a Galician woman who made several pilgrimages to Jerusalem and kept precise journals, giving us an idea of early church practices:

“The pilgrim Egeria gives us the first evidence of special rites to mark the day in her description of the Good Friday rites in Jerusalem about A. D. 381-384. From eight o’clock in the morning until noon, the wood and superscription of the supposed true cross were exposed on a linen-covered table at the site of the crucifixion in the courtyard behind the Martyrium, the great church built by Constantine’s mother Helen. There the faithful came to venerate them as the bishop held his hands firmly on the cross while the deacons stood guard. At noon the people assemble in the courtyard for a service of psalms, lections, hymns, and prayers which lasted until three o’clock. They then moved into the church for a service and afterward to the tomb where the Johannine account of the burial was read (Jn. 19:38-42). A voluntary vigil at the tomb continued through the night. After a time other churches acquired portions of the true cross and conducted rites similar to those performed in Jerusalem. Eventually veneration of a cross became a practice in churches which did not possess any piece of the true cross.”[2]

  • What purpose does the cross serve in Egeria’s time? In ours?
  • The veneration of the cross is optional. The Prayer Book states, “If desired, a wooden cross may now be brought into the church and placed in the sight of the people.”[3] Our church chooses to share in this practice—why?
  • Does the cross mean something different on Good Friday than it does on Easter?

 

The cross sits atop Conejos Peak in Colorado, which I summitted this summer with my family.

This cross sits atop Conejos Peak in Colorado, taken this summer while hiking with family.

“The Christian’s participation in Jesus’ death in baptism is also a participation in his resurrection (Rom 6:5)…Baptism orients us to a future that does not end in death even while it initiates us into a cruciform pattern of life. This was Christ’s path to the resurrection, and thus it is also ours.”[4]

  • Christ cannot be resurrected without first dying on the cross. We can’t celebrate Easter without first observing Good Friday.
  • Is the cross a symbol of death? Or victory? Or…?

 

[1]Jeffrey D. Lee, Opening the Prayer Book (Cambridge, MA: Cowley Publications, 1999), 89.

[2]Marion J. Hatchett, Commentary On the American Prayer Book (San Francisco: HarperOne, 1995), 232.

[3] Church Publishing, Book of Common Prayer Chapel Edition: Red Hardcover (Unknown: CHURCH PUBLISHING INC, 1979), 281.

[4] Susan K. Wood, One Baptism: Ecumenical Dimensions of the Doctrine of Baptism (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2009), 8.

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Time to testify

Preached on Proper 28 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19

If you are at all familiar with the history of this church, St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s, you know the church building has been destroyed 4 times since its inception in 1797.  This very building that we are sitting in now was rebuilt in 1969 after being burnt to the ground in 1965.

If you have been around this church for the past 15 or 20 years, you know the neighborhood and the congregation have seen their fair share of change.  I’ve been here less than 2 years.  But I spent 5 weeks listening to the stories of people in this parish as we discussed Radical Welcome* in our October book study.

What I have learned from all of you is that this church was a safe harbor when the streets were too dangerous to walk down.  In a time when one could not walk from Columbus Avenue to Amsterdam unless first heading a few blocks North or South to circumvent drugs and violence, St. Matthew & St. Timothy was a haven of worship, learning, language and relationships.

The neighborhood is a safer place now than it once was.  But with increased safety comes increased rent, leaving many priced out of their homes—either forced to leave, or to stay but feel like outsiders.  And the changes have taken a toll on our Spiritual Home too.  We look around and feel anemic—nostalgic for the days when services were noisy with children and pews were full of friends.

We are not too different from the writer of Luke’s Gospel and the people who would have first heard it.  While the exact date of Luke’s Gospel is not known, many scholars believe that it was written after the destruction of the temple described in our reading today.  So while Jesus was predicting the destruction of the temple, Luke’s account is written in retrospect of it.

And if the destruction of the temple weren’t enough, the verses immediately following today’s reading talk about a serious neighborhood change—the rule of the gentiles in what was a Jewish land.

In short: this message is for us.  This Gospel is ours.

Jesus says the temple building will be thrown down, when not one stone will be left upon another.  This church has seen the same.

He says we’ll encounter false teachers to lead us astray.  Our world has known many.

He says nations and kingdoms will be at war with one another.  The Veterans we honored this week can speak to that truth.

He warns of natural disasters and epidemics.  We of course remember last year’s Hurricane Sandy even as we pray for the victims of this week’s Typhoon in the Philippines.

He warns of betrayal and hatred and death.  An every-day threat.

And in light of allllll that, Jesus says we will not perish.  We will endure.  And he tells us this is our opportunity to testify.

To give testimony.  To bear witness.  That’s not easy to do when your temple is in shambles and your community is a faithful remnant among strangers.

And I’m not trying to say that our church has fallen apart and our neighbors are our enemies.  This is not a perfect comparison—and thank God it isn’t.  But it is a chance for us to recognize the challenges of Jesus’ time and of our own time, and to hear Jesus’ call in the midst of it all to be the resurrection people who proclaim a resurrection story.

It’s easier to testify when things are going well—when we are feeling strong and sure of ourselves.  I tell people all the time that I intern at the best parish with the best mentor.  I tell people how wonderful the parishoners are and how welcome you all make me feel.  I tell them I actually get to do good work here—like working with the soup kitchen last year, preaching in two languages, leading a thought provoking book study.  For me, having only been here 18 months rather than 18 years, it’s easy to appreciate the thriving ministry that is St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s.

But we have to testify when we’re feeling down too, and I can understand how those who have experienced the transition in our community and church might find endurance and testimony to be hard work.

Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is about hard work.  You would almost think he’s writing to employees at a business, but he’s really talking to Christians in the early church.

My favorite line is, “We hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work” (3:11).  Note that Paul does not equate busy-ness with work.  The Thessalonians were apparently quite busy even in their idleness.

New York is a very busy place—take it from someone clearly not from here.  My level of busy-ness has reached an all time high, and my guess is you feel pretty busy on most days too.  Sometimes I’m so busy I can’t seem to get any work done.

Here are some examples:

When I’m so busy worrying about an exam that I can’t focus on studying for it.

When I’m so busy writing a sermon that I forget to listen to the Holy Spirit.

When a seminary is so busy making ends meet that it forgets that it is an extension of the church first and a business second.

When we’re so busy preparing food for the soup kitchen that we forget to prepare our hearts to truly serve our neighbor with dignity and love.

When we’re so busy missing so-and-so who used to be here all the time that we either forget to check in on that person or forget to check in on the person who is actually here present with us.

Sometimes we’re so busy lamenting the destruction of the temple that we forget to testify to the promise of resurrection.

People occasionally ask me why I’m training to become a priest when churches everywhere are experiencing decline.  Where’s the job security in that?

The truth is I’m training to become a priest in a church that preaches resurrection—Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.  We practice resurrection every time we come to this table to receive the broken body of Christ, and we practice resurrection when we become what we receive—Christ alive in us, in our church, in the world.

And it’s true that we feel thrown down or betrayed at times.  But this is where we come for the spiritual food we need to endure.  Not enduring as busy-bodies, but as witnesses to a risen Christ.

In a few moments we’ll prepare this table for our Holy Communion—all of us, together.  And whether you’re robed at the altar or standing in a pew, you are integral in sharing Christ’s body.  Together we profess a bold faith and pray bold prayers.  Your testimony is just as important as mine, Deacon George’s or Mother Carla’s.  This is our work. But it’s not the end of our work.  We testify to a risen Christ in these walls with one another, and then we continue to bear witness when we “go forth into the world rejoicing.”

Jesus tells us: “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Lord, help us to see the opportunities here among us.  Help us to be your resurrected church.  Amen.

*Radical Welcome by Stephanie Spellers is an excellent read.

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Ser la resurrección

17 noviembre, 2013—Proper 28—Iglesia de San Mateo & San Timoteo, Nueva York

2 Tesalonicenses 3:6–13; San Lucas 21:5–19

Si están familiarizados con la historia de esta congregación, San Mateo & San Timoteo, conocen que el edificio de la iglesia ha sido destruido cuatro veces desde su incepción en 1797.  Este mismo edificio en el cual nos sentamos ahora fue reconstruido en 1969  después de haber sido quemado en 1965.

Si han estado aquí en los últimos 15 años, ya saben que el barrio y la congregación han visto mucho cambio.  Hace menos de 2 años que estoy aquí, pero las 5 semanas pasadas, he escuchado las historias de varias personas en esta iglesia durante nuestras reuniones hablando del libro “Radical Welcome.”

Lo que he aprendido de todos ustedes es que esta iglesia era un lugar seguro cuando había demasiado peligro en el barrio.  Que a un tiempo no se podía caminar desde Columbus Avenue hasta Amsterdam a menos que primero anda unas cuadras al norte o el sur para eludir las drogas y la violencia.  En este tiempo, San Mateo & San Timoteo era un refugio de celebración, adoración, estudios, lenguas y relaciones.

El barrio es un lugar más seguro ahora, pero con el aumento de seguridad viene el aumentado de rentas—hasta que algunos son obligados a irse, o a quedarse, pero se sienten como extranjeros.  Y los cambios han tenido graves consecuencias para nuestro hogar espiritual también.  Miramos alrededor y nos sentimos anémicos—nostálgicos de los días cuando los servicios eran ruidosos con niños y los bancos estaban llenos de amigas.

Nosotros no somos muy diferentes al escritor del Evangelio de San Lucas y la gente que lo habría oído primero.  No se conoce la fecha exacta de este Evangelio, pero muchos estudiosos creen que fue escrito después de la destrucción del templo descrito en nuestra lectura de hoy.  Así que, mientras que Jesús predice la destrucción del templo, la narración de San Lucas está escrito en forma retrospectiva.

Y si la destrucción del templo no era suficiente ya, los versículos inmediatamente después de la conversación de la lectura de hoy hablan de un cambio serio en el barrio—el imperio de los gentiles en lo que era una tierra judía.

El punto es: este mensaje es para nosotros.  Este evangelio es el nuestro.

Jesús dice que el edificio del templo será destruido, cuando no quedará ni una piedra sobre otra.  Esta iglesia ha visto lo mismo.

Dice que nos encontraremos con falso maestros que nos llevan por mal camino.  Nuestro mundo ha conocido muchos.

Dice que las naciones y reinos estarán en guerra, uno con el otro.  Los veteranos que honramos esta semana pueden hablar sobre esa verdad.

Advierte de las epidemias y los desastres naturales.  Recordamos el huracán Sandy el año pasado mientras que oramos por las víctimas de tifón de esta semana en las Filipinas.

Advierte de la traición  del odio y la muerte—una amenaza cada día.

Y aún todo esto, Jesús dice que no pereceremos.  Perduraremos.  Y nos dice que esta es nuestra oportunidad para testificar.

No es fácil dar testimonio cuando el templo está en ruinas y su comunidad es un remanente fiel entre extraños.

Y no estoy tratando de decir que nuestra iglesia ha caído y nuestros vecinos son enemigos.  Esta comparación no es perfecta—y gracias a Dios que no lo es.  Pero es una oportunidad para reconocer los desafíos del tiempo de Jesús y de nuestro propio tiempo, y a escuchar el llamado de Jesús en medio de todo, que nosotros somos la gente de resurrección que proclaman una historia de la resurrección.

Es más fácil testificar cuando las cosas van bien, cuando nos sentimos fuertes y seguros.  Digo a la gente todo el tiempo que yo trabajo en la mejor parroquia con la mejor mentora.  Digo a personas lo maravilloso que son todos ustedes y cómo bienvenida todos me hacen sentir.  Yo les digo que buen trabajo puedo hacer aquí—como trabajar en el “Soup Kitchen” el año pasado, predicar en dos idiomas, facilitar un estudio de libro.  Para mí, haber estado aquí sólo 18 meses en lugar de 18 años, es fácil apreciar el ministerio vibrante de San Mateo & San Timoteo.

Pero tenemos que testificar cuando nos sentimos débiles también, y puedo entender cómo aquellos que han experimentado la transición en nuestra comunidad y en nuestra iglesia pueden sentirse que el testimonio es un trabajo duro.

La carta de Pablo a los Tesalonicenses habla de trabajo duro.  Casi parece que está escribiendo a los empleados de un negocio, pero realmente está hablando a los cristianos en la iglesia primitiva.

Mi frase favorita es, “Pero hemos sabido que algunos de ustedes llevan una conducta indisciplinada, muy ocupados en no hacer nada.” Notan que Pablo no equiparar ser ocupado con trabajo.  Los Tesalonicenses aparentemente estaban muy ocupados en su ociosidad.

Nueve York es un lugar muy ocupado—te lo dice como alguien que claramente no es de aquí.  Mi nivel de actividad ha llegado a el punto más alto, y supongo que se deben sentir muy ocupados como yo.  A veces, estoy tan ocupada que no puedo hacer cualquier trabajo.

Estos son algunos ejemplos:

Cuando estoy tan ocupada preocupada por un examen que no me puedo concentrar en el estudio que debo hacer.

Cuando estoy tan ocupada escribiendo un sermón que olvido escuchar al Espíritu Santo.

Cuando un seminario está tan ocupado por la banca rota que se olvida que es una extensión de la iglesia primero y un negocio segundo.

Cuando estamos tan ocupados preparando la comida para “Soup Kitchen” los domingos que olvidamos de preparar nuestros corazones para servir al prójimo con dignidad y amor.

Cuando estamos tan ocupados extrañando a tal persona que no viene a la iglesia que olvidamos llamar a esta persona para saber como está, o olvidamos preguntar como está la persona que está aquí, presente con nosotros.

A veces estamos tan ocupados lamentando la destrucción del templo que olvidamos a testificar a la promesa de la resurrección.

A veces personas me preguntan por qué estoy entrenando para ser sacerdote cuando iglesias por todas partes están experimentando decaencia.  ¿Dónde está la seguridad del empleo en esto?

La verdad es que estoy entrenando para ser una sacerdote en una iglesia que predica la resurrección—Cristo ha muerto, Cristo ha resucitado, Cristo volverá.  Practicamos la resurrección cada vez que venimos a esta mesa para recibir el cuerpo roto de Cristo, y practicamos la resurrección cuando nos convertimos en lo que recibimos—Cristo vivo en nosotros, en nuestra iglesia, en el mundo.

Y es cierto que nos sentimos débiles a veces.  Pero aquí es donde venimos para la comida espiritual que necesitamos para resistir.  No para ser ocupados, pero para ser testigos de un Cristo resucitado.

En unos momentos preparamos esta mesa para nuestra comunión—todos juntos.  No importa si usted está el el altar o en un banco, eres integral en compartir el cuerpo de Cristo.  Juntos profesamos una fe audaz y rezamos oraciones audaces.  Su testimonio es tan importante como la mía, o de diácono George, o de Madre Carla.  Este es nuestro trabajo.  Pero no es el punto final de nuestro trabajo.  Testificamos a un Cristo resucitado en estas paredes juntas, y luego seguimos dando testimonio cuando vamos adelante en el mundo.

Jesús nos dice: “Esto le dará la oportunidad de testificar.”  Señor, ayúdanos ver las oportunidades aquí entre nosotros.  Ayúdanos a ser la iglesia resucitada.  Amén.

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