The Mass is Never Ended–Rediscovering our Mission to Transform the World, Revised 2023, By Gregory F. Augustine Pierce
by Demi Prentiss
Greg Pierce’s book The Mass is Never Ended maintains that the most important moment in the celebration of Holy Eucharist is the dismissal—the sending out of the faithful into the world to be alter Christi, “other Christs,” in service to the world in Christ’s name.
The Sunday celebrations of holy eucharist (“thanksgiving”) are not the completion of our week, a reward for our days of toiling in the vineyard. I like to think of our sharing the body and blood of Christ as fueling us for the journey ahead, propelling us back out into the chaos of daily life. Pierce concludes his book with the exhortation, “Stick close to the Mass. Do not let anyone or anything distract you from what it really is. Allow it to forgive you, to prepare you, and send you forth. Leave the church as if you have been launched like a rocket, embrace your mission to help make this a better world, and develop your own spirituality of work to sustain you.”
Our congregations are not the destination as we walk The Way of Christ. Instead, they serve as “base camps” for our explorations of the world we encounter in our daily lives. If we need rest or healing or encouragement, the church offers resources to equip us, in order to send us out to explore further. Our calling is to the adventure of hiking the mountains, not exploring the amenities of the base camp.
Sacraments—outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace, as the Catechism reminds us—are more God’s gift than the church’s invention. The church over centuries has codified them as reliable signposts of God at work. “See that! Pay attention! God is up to something!” The spiritual practices that the church encourages help train our eyes and hearts to recognize God’s presence working in the world. Gathering as the Body of Christ, offering praise, confessing our sins, offering peace to all, and celebrating eucharist prepare us to join Christ beyond the church walls, out in the world. With God’s help, may we seek to catch sight of and celebrate God at work practically everywhere.
Icon of The Transfiguration written by Theophanes the Greek
by Brandon Beck
Wednesday, August 6, 2025 we celebrated the Transfiguration of Jesus. According to the Gospel of Luke, “about eight days after” Jesus foretells his death,
Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but as they awoke they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” not realizing what he was saying. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. – Luke 9:28-36 (NRSVUE)
In the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, in addition to the August 6 Feast of the Transfiguration, the Transfiguration of Jesus comes to us during the Lectionary Cycle as well. This year, Sunday, March 2, was Transfiguration Sunday. At Church of Reconciliation in San Antonio, TX, we celebrated Recovery Sunday with Transfiguration Sunday. I had the privilege to bring the message that day. I share an excerpt from my Transfiguration/Recovery Sunday message with you on “Living God’s Mission” today:
Welcome to Recovery Sunday—Transfiguration Sunday—at the Episcopal Church of Reconciliation. My name is Brandon, and I’m speaking here today to support my own recovery journey.
I do Recovery one moment at a time, one day at a time, with the help of God, as I understand God. However you identify, whomever you love, and wherever you are on your own journey, I hope you find that you’re welcome here.
Recovery happens in AA, as well as in all other denominations of anonymous programs formed in the 12-step tradition. Recovery also happens in Celebrate Recovery, Positive Recovery, SMART Recovery, Refuge Recovery, and other recovery programs I’m still learning about. Whichever program you rely on—thank you. Thank you for your willingness to keep showing up and for showing up today.Thank you for your experience and your transfiguration.
You were one way and now you are completely different.
God has forgiven you; your face is unveiled; you have climbed the mountain and seen the glowing and transfigured face of Jesus; now everyone can see your face glowing because you were one way and now you are completely different.
Do you remember your first recovery meeting? It quite possibly was on a property much like this one…maybe even right here at Reconciliation, in fact. For those of us in recovery, our relationship with ourselves, with our loved ones, and with God felt broken; fortunately we found groups within which we learned to Reconcile with ourselves, others, and God.
If you haven’t ever been to a recovery meeting, I invite you to give one a try. Here at Church of Reconciliation at least six different recovery groups host approximately 30 recovery meetings each week; we gratefully welcome more groups and meetings all the time.
Because we all share here, through direct experience or in loving support, in the transfiguring power of recovery, we live into our name–we are Reconcilers. We all were one way and now we are completely different. For each of us, something transfiguring moved us to change. I feel that expressed in the readings we heard earlier.
Those readings for today include: a story about Moses from the book Exodus; Psalm 99; a brief statement from the 2nd letter of Paul to the Corinthians; and the story that gives today its “churchy” name―Transfiguration Sunday―an excerpt of the Gospel of Luke Chapter 9.
One of the reasons I love the Episcopal Church is its use of this Common Lectionary. In addition to connecting us with our interdenominational siblings, the lectionary helps us see how scriptures from all different parts of the Bible might connect together to tell a bigger story.
Today’s readings connect in the telling of transfigurations—stories of visible life changes. If so many stories of dramatic change are part of our spiritual heritage, then my dramatic change must be important too. I wonder if you have noticed how important your story is?
“I was one way, and now I am completely different.” I’m borrowing that quote to tie everything together today. It comes from The Chosen, a planned seven-season drama of the life of Jesus based on the text of the Gospels but with added characters, dialogue, historical context, and artistic imagination. The creator, Dallas Jenkins, does some outstanding work with The Chosen, giving us characters that defy traditional, oppressive stereotypes in order to remind everyone that they are part of the story.
And, in Episode 2 of Season 1 of The Chosen one of these characters who has been given new life speaks the line: “I was one way, and now I am completely different.” Mary Magdalene, played by Elizabeth Tabish, experiences a profound change at the end of the first episode, then, in episode 2, she explains it by saying, “I was one way, and now I am completely different.”
This is loving, life-giving, liberating, transfiguring, recovery Truth.
What changes Mary Magdalene’s character? She learns something from Jesus that I think those of us in Recovery learn during our journeys: We hurt ourselves and others because we don’t feel like we deserve love, but, it turns out, every single one of us is worthy of love, respect, and dignity.
In The Chosen, Jesus, played by Jonathan Roumie, looks at this woman when she is at rock bottom, and he sees the saint inside the sinner and calls her by name.
“Mary,” he says. When Mary hears Jesus say her name, everything changes for her. She becomes willing to turn her life and will over to God. She tells people, “I was one way, and now I am completely different. And the thing that happened in between was him.”….
(To hear the rest of the message, please visit the Reconciliation YouTube page. The March 2 message begins around minute 29; however, I recommend viewing the service in its entirety for the entire Transfiguration/Recovery experience.)
Overwhelming hunger abounds. We read daily reports of the abject hunger imposed upon the starving children in Gaza; famine in Africa; hungry children even in the United States. Hunger abounds, and the lives – and, surely, long-term development – of infants and children are at stake.
At the same time, food sources abound. How much food intended for delivery overseas rotted in warehouses when USAID funding was cut off? Expiration dates are almost here for close to 200,000 boxes of nutritional supplement that have been paid for but not shipped by the U.S. government. According to the Washington Post[1], the food and supplements at Mana Nutrition alone could help as many as 60 million people. In the meantime, limited hands are available to harvest this summer’s produce on our nation’s farms and orchards as ICE agents target migrant workers. The amount of food wasted in our country is egregious, and in response, Congress has cut funding for food assistance for needy families.
The lack of concern for the plight of others is at odds with the basic teachings of Jesus. Instead of sending people away hungry, Jesus had compassion. Jesus says to his disciples, “You give them something to eat,” instructing them to feed the multitudes by gathering the seemingly meager rations of food at hand – only to have leftovers!
For Jesus, abundance means sharing. Likewise, the Apostle Paul urged the Corinthians to contribute to the needs of the community of believers in Jerusalem from their own abundance (2 Cor 9).
Although our country is one of the world’s wealthiest, we have lost compassion for those living in poverty and famine, both abroad and at home. Leaders profess Christian values but often neglect to demonstrate the essential Kingdom values of love and mercy.
In today’s world, Jesus calls us to speak up and express compassion and empathy toward those in need. Supporting and caring for the vulnerable and innocent is a collective responsibility, and by working together, we can make a difference. This is what it means to be a follower of Jesus today.
If you make friends with crows…the rope and bucket that haul you up…Tiny violets reassure the hillside…a kid you don’t know smiles at you anyway…Inspired by “Wonder is saving enough,” by Steve Garnaas-Holmes
by Demi Prentiss
In the 1979 Book of Common Prayer’s Rite of Baptism, nestled between the water and the oil of chrism, is a beautiful prayer that helps us remember how we’re called to live. After thanking God for the gift of new life, and asking to be sustained by the Holy Spirit, we ask for four things:
An inquiring an discerning heart
The courage to will and to persevere
A spirit to know and to love [God]
The gift of joy and wonder in all [God’s] works
We’re inclined to forget that “wonder” part. Not many hymns about wonder. (#400, #412, and #580 in The Hymnal 1982 are notable.) Scripture mentions “awe of the Lord” pretty often. But for me, wondering is a much more incarnational practice. I’m encouraged to use all my senses as well as my mind to study the subject of my wonderment – to absorb the full gift of what I’m observing. And I’m often reminded that God is God, and I am not.
When I asked EpiscoBOT about the word “wonder” in liturgy and scripture, here’s the reflection that came up:
The Episcopal tradition cherishes wonder as a doorway to faith. In scripture, wonder often follows an encounter with God’s power or love. In our worship, prayers and hymns continually invite us to stand in awe before God’s works—reminding us that faith is not just about understanding, but about being open to mystery.
If you’d like more specific references or ideas for including “wonder” in your prayers or teaching, please let me know. And remember: it is a holy thing to pause in wonder before the living God.
I love thinking of faith as opening ourselves to mystery, and wonder as a doorway to faith. Wonder leads us to discovery and innovation.
This past week I encountered a poem that blessed me with a broader perspective of wonder as a saving gift of grace, “the rope and bucket that haul you up out of your dank well”:
Wonder is saving enough
Have you noticed the pheromones
the world is sending out to you?
Not wanting you to save it,
just to fall in love with it.
Tiny violets reassure the hillside
which every winter has been tormented by ice.
When the dam is removed after a century, salmon
already know their way to their ancestors' birthplace.
The jazz of the meadowlark.
Laughter, even at funerals.
Such things are the rope and bucket
that haul you up out of your dank well.
The smell of lilacs is meant for bees
but it comes to you.
If you make friends with crows
they give you gifts.
Downtown a kid you don't know
smiles at you anyway.
It's the world's way of letting you know
it wants to stay married to you.
― by Steve Garnaas-Holmes
May we live into that baptismal prayer that claims for us “the gift of joy and wonder” in all God’s works. May we walk through our lives with enough courage and curiosity to notice the glory of God all about us. May we find ourselves fully alive to God’s presence, “lost in wonder, love, and praise.”
As I listen to the news these days, I’m distraught by the direction that our country seems to be heading. Our economy is impacted by our over-consumption; and our reliance on cheap – even child – labor deprives people of the dignity of a living wage. We’re destroying our planet with our over-reliance on fossil fuels, our wasteful attitude toward water, and the destruction of our forests and wetlands. We support systems of domination, as the rich get richer on the backs of those less fortunate. We’re mortgaging our children and grandchildren’s future.
And the budget reconciliation bill passed by Congress on July 3 only exacerbates matters. When I read about its provisions to strip people of their health insurance, cut food assistance for the poor, and curtail clean-energy development, I ask myself: How do we, as people of faith, respond to the injustices around us?
In the midst of my personal anguish, words of the late Rev. Canon Fletcher Lowe – one of the founders and convener of Partners for Baptismal Living (Episcopalians on Baptismal Mission) – come to mind. Fletcher often reminded us that the intersection of Church Street and State Street is where we bring our faith to bear on public policy, striving to promote the common good and to protect those pushed to the margins and those unfairly treated.
Fletcher’s words are a call to action, because, whether we want to be or not, we’re embedded in relationships with one another. And today’s political environment fails to recognize how deeply interconnected we are.
Earlier this month, Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe echoed that sentiment when he wrote in Religion News, “God calls us to place the most vulnerable and marginalized at the center of our common life, and we must follow that command regardless of the dictates of any political party or earthly power. We are now being faced with a series of choices between the demands of the federal government and the teachings of Jesus, and that is no choice at all.”
At baptism we promise to follow Jesus and Jesus alone – with God’s help. We are called to serve as instruments of God’s healing, and that begins by striving to seek and serve Christ in all persons and by respecting the dignity of every human being. Today.
My grieving, following my husband’s death several months ago, has not been what I expected. I had never imagined that this time would unfold in this way. I have not viscerally felt his absence; I have been much more aware of my husband’s presence – in beloved possessions he left behind, in memories of good times and challenges and making our way through them, in his legacy of kindness and engagement with the under-resourced and marginalized, and embedded in my heart.
I have often been brought close to tears by a sense of wonder and joy as I recognize the gift I was blessed to receive in our 52+ years together. So I was struck by Ross Gay’s words from Inciting Joy, as quoted in Richard Rohr’s “Protest, Pain, and Joy” blog post (June 19, 2025):
“What happens if joy is not separate from pain? What if joy and pain are fundamentally tangled up with one another? Or even more to the point, what if joy is not only entangled with pain, or suffering, or sorrow, but is also what emerges from how we care for each other through those things? What if joy, instead of a refuge or relief from heartbreak, is what effloresces from us as we help each other carry our heartbreaks?…
“My hunch is that joy is an ember for or precursor to wild and unpredictable and transgressive and unboundaried solidarity. And that that solidarity might incite further joy. Which might incite further solidarity. And on and on. My hunch is that joy, emerging from our common sorrow—which does not necessarily mean we have the same sorrows, but that we, in common, sorrow—might draw us together. It might depolarize us and de-atomize us enough that we can consider what, in common, we love. And though attending to what we hate in common is too often all the rage (and it happens also to be very big business), noticing what we love in common, and studying that, might help us survive. It’s why I think of joy, which gets us to love, as being a practice of survival. [1]”
My baptismal vows remind me that God, living and active, is present always, and part of my job is to perceive God at work in the world around me. Through the stability and acceptance of several interlocking communities, I have learned that community can grow from seeds of common sorrow, and can bloom into joy as a practice of survival. Such solidarity – helping each other stand in the storm – builds a place where together all can belong – children of God, beloved and called.
Editor’s Note: The events of the past week have elicited comment from numerous faith leaders. “Living God’s Mission” blog has chosen to post the following news story from Episcopal News Service in addition to our usual weekly posting. Please be sure to scroll down to see Pam Tinsley’s “On eagles’ wings” blog, posted June 10.
Partners for Baptismal Living blogger Brandon Beck writes, “Heading into the weekend, we amplify the voice of the collected California bishops:”
Seals of the Episcopal Dioceses of (l to r) California, El Camino Real, Los Angeles, Northern California, San Diego, and San Joaquin
[Episcopal News Service] The diocesan bishops of the six Episcopal dioceses in California issued a statement on June 10 responding to the federal immigration raids in Los Angeles and subsequent clashes between protesters and law enforcement, as well as the Trump administration’s decision to send soldiers to the area against the wishes of California leaders.
The following is the text of the bishops’ letter.
A Letter from the Episcopal Bishops in the State of California
Beloved in Christ,
Like all Californians, we are watching with great concern the events unfolding around immigration protests in Los Angeles. We are deeply concerned about the ICE raids and about the potential for violence arising from the deployment of National Guard troops and Marines to the Los Angeles area. We are concerned that military deployments will escalate the confrontations unnecessarily, and worry that all of our regions in California may be subject to future deployments that heighten tensions rather than resolving them.
Bishop John Harvey Taylor, the Episcopal Bishop of Los Angeles, has posted on social media this past weekend about what is happening in Los Angeles and his interpretation of the ways in which local officials, law enforcement, federal agencies, and protesters are all interacting. He expressed deep pain and anger as fourteen people in one single Episcopal congregation in that diocese were detained by ICE on Friday. Certainly, we as Episcopalians are shocked and saddened when any of our own are removed from our beloved community.
In all six of our dioceses, people are concerned and fearful about the denial of due process for those detained and the potential for ICE raids targeting beloved community institutions and people working to support their families. People feel angry and threatened that the haven they sought in our communities is no longer safe. U.S. citizens and legal residents feel deep grief at losing beloved friends and family members. Children whose parents are deported face uncertain futures. In our churches, we strive to protect our members who are at risk.
Our Baptismal Covenant asks us, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being (BCP p. 417)?” This question is a direct and ongoing call to us as persons who follow Christ to live out our calling opposed to injustice, to violence of any kind, and to stand up where human beings are not treated as we would treat a child of God. This question needs to be foremost in our thoughts as we consider our response to the situation in Los Angeles.
In The Episcopal Church, we uphold a proud tradition of advocating for civil rights and supporting the vulnerable in our society. We stand for fierce love and for justice that leads to peace, as well as societal practices that preserve human dignity. With God’s help, we will speak and pray on behalf of all in this situation.
Bishop Taylor has asked for our prayers for Los Angeles, and we invite all our dioceses to pray for the unfolding situation there as well as for peace and justice in all our communities. We ask that you join us in praying:
“Grant, O God, that your holy and life-giving Spirit may so move every human heart, and especially the hearts of the people of this land, that barriers which divide us may crumble, suspicions disappear, and hatreds cease; that our divisions being healed, we may live in justice and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen” (BCP p. 823).
In Christ, The Rt. Rev. Lucinda Ashby, Episcopal Bishop of El Camino Real The Rt. Rev. David Rice, Episcopal Bishop of San Joaquin The Rt. Rev. Austin K. Rios, Episcopal Bishop of California The Rt. Rev. Susan Brown Snook, Episcopal Bishop of San Diego The Rt. Rev. John Harvey Taylor, Episcopal Bishop of Los Angeles The Rt. Rev. Megan Traquair, Episcopal Bishop of Northern California
Ever since a bald eagle flew over our son and daughter-in-law’s outdoor wedding – and a friend observed that eagles are a sign of blessing – I’ve been mesmerized when an eagle soars overhead. If I hear a murder of crows squawking fiercely, I’ll search the skies for a nearby eagle.
Recently, my fascination with eagles led me to follow the Big Bear Eagle Nest Cam. Jackie and Shadow have been nurturing their two eaglets, as they grow from newly hatched little fluff balls into full-sized eagles. But the real excitement has been watching the young stars Sunny and Gizmo learn, from observing their parents and then practicing. Arranging freshly delivered sticks around the nest helped them develop nest-building and bonding skills. They tussled over fish, and they watched their parents soar overhead and sometimes fend off other birds of prey. Of course, the highlight has been their “wingercizes” as they prepare to fledge!
I was struck by the similarities between Sunny and Gizmo and Jesus’ first disciples, who observed, practiced, and learned from Jesus. The same qualities lie at the core of our call today, as we learn to live and to love like Jesus. Observing, practicing, and learning are how we learn to “fly” – that is, to reveal Christ’s love in the world. The Holy Spirit guides us, even when we falter – just as Sunny and Gizmo are encouraged by their parents. We also can look to each other for encouragement and support.
Our spiritual practices of learning and worship ground us in God. Like our eaglets’ “wingercizes,” they help us grow deeper in our faith. They strengthen us to go where God calls us: to befriend the marginalized; to feed the hungry; to house the unhoused; and to speak truth to and about power – and always with love.
Likewise, we “fledge” every week. Church is like a basecamp or a spiritual gym: It prepares us to put our faith – strengthened by our “wingercizes” – into action in our daily lives. We practice our faith with love by going out into the world to do the work that God has given us, wherever we may land.
Just a few days ago, the Christian church observed Ascension Day, commemorating the day the disciples saw the risen Christ ascend into heaven. The Western church often depicts Jesus rising like an Atlas rocket, soaring toward the heavens as though propelled by a NASA booster. The Eastern church tends to understand the Ascension less as a heavenward escape from terra firma and more as the second person of the Trinity expanding to fill the entire cosmos, infusing Christ’s presence into every atom of the universe.
In their classrooms, teachers of Catechesis of the Good Shepherd tell the Ascension story and then extinguish the Paschal candle. Lifting the snuffer from the candle, the catechist engages the children: “I wonder where the smoke goes?” and points to the dispersion of the smoke as an example.
I love the concept of the Universal Christ, the “glue” connecting all things since the Big Bang. Ascension Day prompts me to see the glory of the Lord all around me – in each person I encounter, as well as in the whole creation. The more skillful I become at glimpsing God’s glory wherever I look, the more grateful I become. I can feel the connections among all of us creatures, as I become more aware of the truth of ubuntu – an ancient African word that conveys the philosophy “I am because you are.”
I believe one reason Jesus left the disciples on that faraway hillside long ago was to widen their vision. Rather than focusing on Jesus the person, they began to see God at work in the world, in their brothers and sisters and community – and even in themselves. They sharpened their vision to see God’s glory in unexpected people and places and things. And their eyes – as well as their lives – became brighter.
John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus said, “The glory that you [Father] have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one.”[1] Poet Steve Garnaas-Holmes helps us see God’s glory more clearly:
Glory “The glory that you have given me I have given them.” — John 17.22
God has given you the same glory God gives Christ. You are not created in error or failure, but in glory. God's glory shines in you. God is not served when you dismiss God's work, or dishonor the light.
Beneath the grime of our judgments, the slop and crud of our feelings, invisible even to the person themselves, is a great magnificence, humble, often lonely, yearning to be seen.
God's glory shines in everyone, in every child, in the demented curmudgeon, the strung-out addict, the convict and the executioner, and most of all in the person you meet next. Do you see it?
Like an antique dealer looking past the dust, a mother loving her child beneath the stains, learn to see as God, with eyes for glory. Seeing so will make your own eyes brighter.
Over the past several weeks I’ve been reflecting on the post-resurrection conversation between Jesus and Peter at the end of John’s gospel. Peter and some of the disciples had left the upper room in Jerusalem where Jesus had breathed the Spirit upon them, empowering and sending them to continue his ministry. But they don’t seem to have done so. Instead, they’ve returned to their former occupations as fishermen.
So, Jesus appears on the beach, makes them breakfast, and reminds Peter that it’s time for him – and the others – to do what he has sent them to do: to feed and tend his sheep.
Feeding and tending Jesus’ sheep – God’s sheep – are what all of us as Jesus’ disciples are called to do. But what does this mean today?
We’re to feed and tend the sheep Jesus puts in our path: the marginalized; the hungry; the fearful; the unloved; and refugees, to name only a few.
Certainly, we’re called to feed them in the literal sense of the word. Especially today, as food insecurity is aggravated by severe cuts to programs that provide food benefits. Food banks and school lunch programs are already experiencing severe shortages.
Yet, we’re called to feed others spiritually as well. We do this whenever we root ourselves in Christ – treating others with the respect and dignity that Jesus teaches. We feed others when we, ourselves, are fed spiritually at the eucharistic table so that we can seek and serve Christ in the world. We feed others when we invite them to join us in spiritual community.
Tending God’s sheep calls us to do more, to put ourselves between our sheep and the wolves, to stand up for the weak and vulnerable, the voiceless – or those whose voices have been silenced. We tend God’s sheep when we stand up to unjust power structures – those power structures that divide, separate, and dehumanize God’s children. We tend God’s sheep when we openly claim and proclaim the goodness that God infuses into all of creation, into all of God’s creatures and creation itself.
How will you feed and tend the sheep Jesus places in your path today?
Living God's Mission 