Since Trinity Sunday, I’ve been reflecting on a simple but powerful idea: For followers of Jesus, baptism is our superpower. In Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus gives the Great Commission: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.” (Mt. 28:16–20)
The Great Commission ties us directly to the Trinity, one God in three persons, bound together in perfect communion, mutuality, and love. The mystery of the Trinity reveals a God whose very nature is relationship — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit living in perfect communion and self-giving love.
And, created in God’s image, we’re meant to let the loving dance of the Trinity shape how we live in relationship with God and with one another.
At baptism, then, we are given a superpower. We’re claimed by God and incorporated into the Body of Christ. And the Trinity is the power bank for our superpower, because we’re united with the Creator, redeemed through Christ, and filled with the Holy Spirit. Baptism gives us a new identity and a new purpose. Baptism also affirms that we belong to God and to one another, bound inextricably together in a community shaped by grace, love, and mutual responsibility.
To live our baptism, then, is to fully engage our superpower and live as Jesus’ disciples. It’s to embody the values Jesus taught and modeled: mercy, forgiveness, compassion, peace, and self-giving love. We’re to recognize Christ in our neighbors; honor the dignity of every person; and work to break down barriers that divide God’s beloved people. And baptism calls us away from the sidelines and into active participation in God’s mission of reconciliation.
As we now enter the long season after Pentecost, we’re invited to let the interlacing life of the Trinity continue to shape how we live our daily lives, pray, and serve God. We’re encouraged to renew our commitment to the promises of our baptism: to follow Jesus faithfully, to serve others generously, and to bear witness to God’s love in the world. In doing so, we continue Jesus’ mission with confidence, trusting in his promise to be with us always.
In my post last month, I shared a resolution I wrote as part of an assignment for a theological studies class at Brite Divinity School. The spirit of the assignment was to be “in conversation with” a theologian we had read. The insightful work of Dr. Natalya Cherry, as she elucidates in her still-new book Believing into Christ : Relational Faith and Human Flourishing, inspires my conversation, as I look at the human flourishing and “dignity and respect” of Queer persons. In one of my footnotes to that resolution, I took a moment to discuss my personal thoughts on the still-controversial nature of that term — “Queer” — despite its now relatively common and longitudinous usage in both academic and everyday parlance. This month, I’ve decided to talk more about that term and to highlight my thoughts in preparation for June, the month in which we celebrate, recognize, honor, remember, and amplify the Queer community in honor of the Stonewall Riots of June 28, 1969.
I believe strongly that the words and names we give ourselves matter. In mental health and recovery, we talk about “positive self-talk,” and I think this kind of defining of Queer for myself — and being able to name myself Queer — matters in the same way that teaching myself to stop the “stinking thinking” does in AA.
I use the term Queer to identify the population of people who are kind of like me in that they live outside the mainstream of cishet presenting roles and rules. It is “my” word simply because it speaks to my experience as a person marginalized by my sexuality and gender identity.
Some people like me love this word; others prefer terms of their own.
Dr. Cherry teaches that we have to define controversial terms so that our oppressors not only won’t but can’t co-opt them. I have found her words to be powerfully true in my own experience as a Queer person. In my experience, Queer operates as a noun, adjective, and verb, and that multipartite facility complicates the way readers and listeners perceive it, so I use it with bold caution. I am a Queer; I am a Queer Person; and I Queer the way I do things in the world. Let all three meanings be heard in the spaces where I use the word. Let all three meanings stand for justice among all people who might find themselves part of communities marginalized because of sexuality or gender identity. I’m seeking a Queer(er) understanding of the Love of God when I describe myself as Queer.
The bold caution with which I use the term Queer reminds me of my trans-cestors who rioted at Stonewall, against whom the term was flung in hate, while also liberating me and encouraging others to find liberation by Queering words and practices so often forced into the “closet.” My privilege that comes from my multiple, intersecting identities — that often are seen before my Queerness — cause me to take pause when I use words that still harm some yet bring me joy. So, my use of Queer is just that — mine. Every time I use the word Queer — as a noun, verb, or adjective to describe myself, my theology, or something happening in the world — my decision to do so is both personal and political because I do it in order to lift myself up and to change the world. I am calling for God’s “flourishing” to come from my Queer “believing into Christ.”
In his foundational text Fear of a Queer Planet (1993), on page xiii, which introduced us to the term “heteronormativity,” Michael Warner says:
Every person who comes to a queer self-understanding knows in one way or another that [their] stigmatization is connected with gender, the family, notions of individual freedom, the state, public speech, consumption and desire, nature and culture, maturation, reproductive politics, racial and national fantasy, class identity, truth and trust, censorship, intimate life and social display, terror and violence, health care, and deep cultural norms about the bearing of the body. Being queer means fighting about these issues all the time, locally and piecemeal but always with consequences. It means being able, more or less articulately, to challenge the common understanding of what gender difference means, or what the state is for, or what ‘health’ entails, or what would define fairness, or what a good relationship to the planet’s environment would be.
As we continue to “strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being,” I hope that our efforts to Queer language and our own ways of being and seeing continue to become Queer(er) and Queer(er) so that all people “flourish” in diversity and belonging.
And always remember, if you don’t understand, someone else probably doesn’t either. So ask.
Last week, Forward Day by Day published a reflection on Matthew 6:25by the Rt. Rev. Porter Taylor, retired bishop of Western North Carolina. The verse reads, “Therefore, I tell you do not worry about your life.”
He wrote about how worry can make us feel inadequate and isolated:
“When we forget who we are as God’s children, then we worry. We worry because of the way the world around us measures what success is and what it is not. Generally, we think success is about what you own, what you do, and what people say about you. We worry about having enough money or being important enough or being popular enough.
“There’s a story that when Martin Luther was dealing with the backlash from the church officials at the start of the Reformation, he would walk back and forth in his study and say over and over again, “I have been baptized, I have been baptized.” He was reminding himself of what mattered — and what did not.
“In our baptism, we are “sealed by the Holy Spirit” and “marked as Christ’s own forever.” That seal and that mark may not align with how the world measures importance, but they provide the compass so we can remember who — and whose — we are.
“MOVING FORWARD: When you start to worry, remember that through baptism, you are sealed by the Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.”
As I read his reflection, I realize how easy it is to fall into the trap of feeling inadequate and even worthless. The messages we hear from our culture and even from our national leaders too often point out how we don’t measure up, that some are better than others, or that we have only ourselves to blame for our woes.
Yet, baptism reminds us that just the opposite is the case. At Jesus’s baptism at the Jordan the crowd heard the voice from heaven declaring, “This is my Son whom I dearly love; I find happiness in him.” Our baptism affirms that we, too, are God’s beloved, and that God delights in us. Through the waters of baptism, we are together in eternal communion where there are no insiders or outsiders. Because in God’s Kingdom, we are souls worthy of love and belonging, the only measurement that matters.
Recent events in the U.S. have disrupted my equilibrium. I’m hard-pressed, news geek that I am, to listen to daily news. I can hardly bear to hear what new assault our government is making on marginalized, under-resourced, and immigrant populations, while science and ethics are dismissed from the room. I’m an older Boomer, reasonably well-resourced, and there are plenty of days when I feel unequipped to offer my life-skills or passions to change the course of human events.
I owe a debt to song-writer Christopher Grundy, for planting an ear-worm in my brain earlier this year. And lately it’s surfacing more and more often: “Set your face toward Jerusalem.” That mandate comes to us from scripture, Luke 9:51. Shortly after Jesus’s transfiguration (Luke 9:28-36), where three of his disciples witnessed him in glorious conversation with Moses and Elijah, Jesus expressed his determination to go from rural Galilee to Jerusalem, the seat of power for the Jews of the first century CE. Like the prophets before him, Jesus was drawn to confront authority, speaking truth in love to those who routinely inflicted suffering on the marginalized. The expression “setting his face toward Jerusalem” conveys the flint-hard strength of his intention, and his recognition that he is likely to fare no better than the prophets who preceded him.
For me, being a follower of Jesus is a commission to stand with the long-suffering. Perhaps for me, right now, that means setting my face toward Jerusalem – to confront the people in power, who refuse to use their power for the common good. They may be in Washington D.C. or in New York or in the state capitol. In Silicon Valley, or on Wall Street, or in the offices of Big Pharma. Perhaps in the office upstairs or in a mass-detention-center uniform.
Grundy’s song is compelling for me, not so much for his calling his hearers to draw on their courage and determination to confront injustice. Instead, I find most empowering his hope-filled vision of the realization of God’s reign, bringing God’s flowing grace, burning truth, flowering peace, and the commonwealth of God. And most of all, his call to wield the weapon of truth. “Go and speak the truth in love to them.”
Together, may we set our faces toward Jerusalem, wherever it shows up. May we find God’s peace and power in courage to speak the truth. And may that carry us through anger, fear, and despair, closer each day to the Spirit of Life that animates all.
O set your face toward Jerusalem toward the powers that are ranged against all those long suffering go and speak the truth in love to them that the flowing grace of God will never end.
O set your face toward Jerusalem toward the powers that are ranged against all those long suffering go and speak the truth in love to them that the burning love of God will never end.
O set your face toward Jerusalem toward the powers that are ranged against all those long suffering go and speak the truth in love to them that the flowering peace of God will never end.
O set your face toward Jerusalem toward the powers that are ranged against all those long suffering go and speak the truth in love to them that the commonwealth of God will never end….
A Resolution on “Believing into Christ” for the Flourishing of Queer Christians:
Dr. Natalya Cherry, in Believing into Christ: Relational Faith and Human Flourishing (2021), asks, “What does it mean to flourish?”[1] I urge Christians who covenant in Baptism to “believe into Christ,”[2] as we affirm our Niceno-Constantinopolitan creedal statement, to listen deeply to Queer[3] Christians at the intersection of identity and faith.
WhereasThe International Standard Bible Encyclopedia gives three terms that have been translated as “to flourish:” the Hebrew Parach (פָּרַח) and Tsuts (צוּץ) and the Greek Anathallo (ἀναθάλλω), referencing human likenesses to plants in growth potential, need for nurture, renewal, vitality, etc, especially in the Psalms;[4]
Whereas Merriam-Webster offers this definition of “to flourish”:
intransitive 1. :to grow luxuriantly: THRIVE 2. a:to achieve success: PROSPER b:to be in a state of activity or production c:to reach a height of development or influence 3. :to make bold and sweeping gestures
transitive :to wield with dramatic gestures: BRANDISH;[5]
Whereas the people of The Episcopal Church covenant in Baptism to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being;”[6]
Whereas the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed begins, “when rendered in Latin, Credimus in Deum, literally mean[ing] ‘We believe into God;’”[7]
Whereas credere in Deum, according to Cherry, is “technically translated into English as ‘believing into God;’”[8]
Whereas “it’s one thing to believe God exists, another to believe God’s promises come true, and still a whole other thing to do what translates as ‘believing into God,’”[9] as per Cherry;
Whereas Cherry suggests that human flourishing, especially Christian flourishing, is defined by our credal statement to believe into God, and, by extension, into Christ;[10]
Whereas surveys underreport numbers of people who are [Queer];[11]
Whereas 8% of U.S. adults identify as [Queer] according to a 2024 Pew Research Center survey;[12]
Whereas The Williams Institute, in 2020, reports 5.3 million religious [Queer] adults, of whom 1.5 million are Protestant, 1.3 million are Roman Catholic, 1.3 million are another Christian religion;[13]
Whereas, “our religious narratives have contributed to the unlivability of life for [Queer] people, resulting in suicide;”[14]
Whereas The Episcopal Church, The United Methodist Church, and The Evangelical Lutheran Church have a short but vibrant and public history of out clergy serving, including in episcopal roles, including figures such as Bishop Gene Robinson, Bishop Karen Oliveto, and Bishop Megan Rohrer;[15]
Whereas Jesus says:
I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener…
I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing…You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit–fruit that will last–and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love each other. (John 15:1-17 NRSVUE); and
Whereas Paul proclaims the Way of Jesus following the botanical metaphor of vines and branches, encouraging the grafting in of Gentiles (Romans 11), the cultivating of the fruits of the Spirit (Galatians 5), and the co-laboring in God’s garden of the Church (1 Corinthians 3);
Therefore be it resolved, that because Christians have covenanted in Baptism to “believe into Christ”[16] as we affirm our Niceno-Constantinopolitan credal statement of belief in God, we must listen deeply to Queer[17] Christians at the intersection of identity and faith;
Be it further resolved that the “flourishing” witnessed in Queer Christians depends on our “believ[ing] into Christ; and
Be it further resolved that I call on the Church, especially the progressive Protestant Churches in the United States, to “believe into Christ” and to “believe into God” in order to nurture the flourishing of Queer people in specific ways including, but certainly not limited to these:
Listen to the needs of all current members (not only Queer members) of your church to find the “grace margin” between comfort and fear because this is where growth can and will occur toward greater diversity and cultural awareness;[18]
Listen to Queer members of your church to build awareness of their lived experiences of your church culture’s practices (or lack thereof) of welcoming and inclusion toward them, recognizing that each individual experience is unique;
Express and celebrate Queer lives in worship, religious education, and social events by “welcoming not only [Queer people’s] presence but the unique gifts and particularities of their lives as well;”[19]
Learn, continually, through research, direct listening, and educational opportunities language of inclusivity and use what your learn;[20]
Speak through dialogue with local Queer organizations, critical conversations with Queer members of your church, outspoken allyship and advocacy, and outward and visible print and social media publishing your inclusive policies and practices which continually change reflecting your ongoing learning;[21] and
“Believe into Christ” by living out the radical love of Jesus toward every person, recognizing that Jesus’ radical love is Queer and is embodied in Queer Christians, who are a model for flourishing[22] living between fear from marginalization and possibly death and comfort in being a branch of Jesus.
Bibliography
Beck, Brandon. “Keep Your Eyes Ablaze: Living Our Core Values in the Grace Margin.” Sermon. Presented at the Lent 1 11:00 AM Holy Eucharist, February 22, 2026. https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1GZqN6AG2v/.
Episcopal Church. The Book of Common Prayer, and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church, Together with the Psalter or Psalms of David, according to the Use of the Episcopal Church. New York ; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979.
Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Evangelical Lutheran Worship. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006.
[3] Queer remains a controversial term. I use the term with what I hope is bold caution, acknowledged via footnote and continued sous rature of other identifiers such as LGBT or LGBTQ in quoted material. My decision to do so is both personal and political, it is one of “flourishing” and “believing into Christ.” I am Queer, and I do theology in a Queer way. In his foundational text Fear of a Queer Planet (1993), on page xiii, which introduced us to the term “heteronormativity,” Michael Warner says, “Every person who comes to a queer self-understanding knows in one way or another that [their] stigmatization is connected with gender, the family, notions of individual freedom, the state, public speech, consumption and desire, nature and culture, maturation, reproductive politics, racial and national fantasy, class identity, truth and trust, censorship, intimate life and social display, terror and violence, health care, and deep cultural norms about the bearing of the body. Being queer means fighting about these issues all the time, locally and piecemeal but always with consequences. It means being able, more or less articulately, to challenge the common understanding of what gender difference means, or what the state is for, or what ‘health’ entails, or what would define fairness, or what a good relationship to the planet’s environment would be.” Sometimes, the words we give ourselves matter. My use of Queer to identify the population about which I talk in this paper is simply that–my word because it speaks to my experience as a person marginalized by my sexuality and gender identity. Some people like me love this word; others prefer terms of their own. In 2014, in my doctoral dissertation, on page 20, I wrote “Even the progressive Handbook of Research on Educational Leadership for Equity and Diversity in the chapter ‘Creating Inclusive Schools for LGBTIQ Youth, Staff, and Families’ acknowledges [that] ‘Various acronyms associated with identifying queer populations can admittedly be confusing’ and recommends ‘using either LGBTIQ or queer as appropriate descriptors’” (my emphasis now). Because Queer is a noun, adjective, and verb, I use it, as I said, with bold caution. I am a Queer; I am a Queer Person, and I Queer the way I do things in the world. Let all three meanings be heard in the spaces where I use the word. Let all three meanings stand for justice among all people who might find themselves part of communities marginalized because of sexuality or gender identity.
[6] Episcopal Church, The Book of Common Prayer, and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church, Together with the Psalter or Psalms of David, according to the Use of the Episcopal Church. (New York ; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 305.
[17] Queer remains a controversial term. I use the term with what I hope is bold caution, acknowledged via footnote and continued sous rature of other identifiers such as LGBT or LGBTQ in quoted material. My decision to do so is both personal and political, it is one of “flourishing” and “believing into Christ.” I am Queer, and I do theology in a Queer way. In his foundational text Fear of a Queer Planet (1993), on page xiii, which introduced us to the term “heteronormativity,” Michael Warner says, “Every person who comes to a queer self-understanding knows in one way or another that [their] stigmatization is connected with gender, the family, notions of individual freedom, the state, public speech, consumption and desire, nature and culture, maturation, reproductive politics, racial and national fantasy, class identity, truth and trust, censorship, intimate life and social display, terror and violence, health care, and deep cultural norms about the bearing of the body. Being queer means fighting about these issues all the time, locally and piecemeal but always with consequences. It means being able, more or less articulately, to challenge the common understanding of what gender difference means, or what the state is for, or what ‘health’ entails, or what would define fairness, or what a good relationship to the planet’s environment would be.” Sometimes, the words we give ourselves matter. My use of Queer to identify the population about which I talk in this paper is simply that–my word because it speaks to my experience as a person marginalized by my sexuality and gender identity. Some people like me love this word; others prefer terms of their own. In 2014, in my doctoral dissertation, on page 20, I wrote “Even the progressive Handbook of Research on Educational Leadership for Equity and Diversity in the chapter ‘Creating Inclusive Schools for LGBTIQ Youth, Staff, and Families’ acknowledges [that] ‘Various acronyms associated with identifying queer populations can admittedly be confusing’ and recommends ‘using either LGBTIQ or queer as appropriate descriptors’” (my emphasis now). Because Queer is a noun, adjective, and verb, I use it, as I said, with bold caution. I am a Queer; I am a Queer Person, and I Queer the way I do things in the world. Let all three meanings be heard in the spaces where I use the word. Let all three meanings stand for justice among all people who might find themselves part of communities marginalized because of sexuality or gender identity.
Did you send a valentine to anyone this year? Did you receive a valentine? I hope it warmed your heart, and that it came to you from someone special.
This year, Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday were only days apart. And in the midst of all that, as the Sunday Gospel, we read Matthew’s story of the Transfiguration of Jesus (Mt 17:1-9). That intersection of holy days and holidays and God-at-work over the centuries struck me as special.
Do you know how you shine with my radiance? Can you hear my name for you? “My beloved, my delight.”
I said it to you at your baptism; I whisper it to you every day. You were born of light.
Sometimes it’s only a mountaintop experience that reveals it clearly, but once you’ve seen, you know.
No one can build a monument to it, no one can capture it, but it’s there, as secret as the sun.
Do you realize the ancients walk with you, murmur to you, cheer you on?
It’s true, from the mountain you see the cross, but also the horizon beyond.
Will you go there? Will you walk in love? My dearest, I want you with me.
Will you be my Valentine? Will you take my love to an uncertain world?
Will you carry my love like a little red candy heart, to a world needing to know?
I’m with you. I love you. Will you be mine?
Then Gail L. Miller, in Luther Seminary’s “God Pause,” chimed in with words of her own, adding a grace note to Pastor Steve’s “Transfiguration Valentine”:
“…Interestingly, it was [God’s] voice and not the vision that knocked the disciples to the ground and filled them with fear. But just as they were overcome by fear upon hearing God’s voice, they were comforted and encouraged by Jesus’ words to “get up and not be afraid.” “Get up!” Interestingly, in Greek it is the same word as Resurrection! Jesus gently resurrects the disciples this side of the grave, so that they can travel with him down into the valley, into the way things really are….”
So even when we come down from the mountain and wear the ashes of repentance and mortality – when we’re surrounded, in the valley, with “the way things really are” – we can claim our identity as children of God, beloved and called, equipped by Christ’s gentle call to “Get up!” and go down into the valley, perceiving all around us the presence of Christ.
May you walk your path during Lent with God’s Transfiguration valentine in your pocket. “I’m with you. I love you. Will you be mine?”
Reprinted from “Living God’s Mission,” Jan. 24, 2025
by Pam Tinsley
During this past two weeks, we have collectively remembered two individuals who dedicated their lives to seeking and serving Christ in each person they met. One was a pastor – Martin Luther King, Jr. – who dedicated his short life to civil rights and racial justice. The other was a statesman – President Jimmy Carter – who dedicated his long life to improving innumerable lives through his geopolitical and humanitarian work, in addition to his faithful support of Habitat for Humanity.
As I was reflecting on these two individuals and the many challenges facing our nation and the Church today, the following reflection from Forward Day by Day landed in my inbox:
Ephesians 4:6 One God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.
The Message adds another sentence to this verse that helps me see the implication of Paul’s words: “Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness.” Imagine what our lives, and what the world, would be like if we truly believed this, knew this to be true, and lived this truth out every day.
If those of us who say we know and love God acted as though God was Father of all, above, through, and in all – all people, every living thing on earth, the very earth itself – and that we are permeated with Oneness, how would things change? I think we can begin living this out by offering everyone kindness and compassion. This, then, grows into dignity and respect, which eventually evolves into harmony and peace and ultimately becomes simply Love. This is a world I want to inhabit. It begins with me, now and in each moment. May I live into the Oneness I know exists with God, my neighbor, and all things, and may you, too.
MOVING FORWARD: What step can you take today to living into this Oneness?
I’m reminded that – even in the most challenging of times – each of us is an instrument of God, called to reveal God’s love for all despite the many obstacles. We have voice, and we have agency because we serve the God of love, justice, and peace – and love will cast out fear.
Isaiah 60:1-6 Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.
For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples;
but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you
In a sermon “for dark times,” sub-titled “Why Bullies Fear the Dark,” Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber points out that this passage from the Book of Isaiah, a reading for the Feast of the Epiphany, speaks to her of the Magi, the kings who visited the infant Jesus in Bethlehem. She contemplates whether Isaiah the prophet was reminding his Jewish hearers of “Let there be light” from the Biblical creation story, or perhaps of the pillar of fire that led them out of slavery in Egypt toward liberation. She wonders, “Maybe Isaiah’s audience needed reminding as we do, that those who walk in darkness can still see great light.” She adds, “I think maybe The Magi carried the light of Christ within them because they had been close enough for it to soak in. And that is what lit their path [on their way home].” She’s thinking, “Phosphorescence.”
She continues:
“Phosphorescence in case like me, you forgot, works like this: the energy goes in quietly. The transformation happens unseen. And only later—often much later—does the light begin to show, but it’s only visible in the dark. Which is frustrating, frankly, for those of us who prefer immediate results or visible proof….
Phosphorescence.
Maybe this is how a life of faith actually works.
We tend to think of faith as something we work for. A virtue we strive to inhabit. A spiritual New Year’s resolution we keep.
We in the West are very determined people. We set a goal, determine the steps, take action, work hard, and achieve the thing. And look—that works great if you’re training for a 10K or trying to get your real estate license.
But the life of faith operates within a different order of reality. You do not, in fact have to create, muster, manufacture, or maintain your own light. I promise you have been absorbing enough of it for long enough to shine with it.
You have been absorbing God’s light all along—even when you don’t believe it, even when you aren’t paying attention, even when you are phoning it in, even when you are pious as all get out.
Because that is just what gently happens when we get to do things like baptize babies while renouncing evil in the process. This is what quietly happens when we light candles and say prayers, and read Scripture aloud and sing hymns… even when we don’t really “feel it”.
So if you too don’t feel particularly radiant right now—if it feels like Isaiah describes, that darkness covers the earth and thick darkness the peoples—and you are convinced you cannot possibly rub two sticks together to somehow create a spark, just know this:
Maybe you don’t have to. In fact, I wonder if manufacturing our own brightness can obscure a gentler light that God has provided for the path ahead.
And so when things get dark—and they will—the light of God’s word, shines enough to be a lamp unto our feet. Stumbling, maybe. Dancing, sometimes. But always the next step is lit. Not because you have made yourself dazzling.
But because the Light has already found you.
And no. I still do not know what the future holds.
All I know is that in Christ, in prayer, in word, in sacrament, we have quietly, unsuspectingly been absorbing everything we need to phosphorescently light the path before us wherever that leads.
Because the light of Christ does not vanish when the world goes dark.
It lingers.
It lingers in those of us who have sat in the presence of forgiveness—and thought nothing was happening.
It lingers in the children in these pews who seem distracted by coloring, but who are absorbing Scripture without realizing it.
It lingers in all who have heard that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.
And then one day— when the power fails, when the star disappears, when certainty collapses—
there you are.
Glowing just a bit.Not because you are shining with your own goodness or faith. But because you were once close enough to the Light of the world that it soaked into you. And that kind of light has a way of leading people by another road.
I was struck by an essay, The Greater Good, which the Irish Jesuits posted last month on their Sacred Space website:
In an individualist culture, perhaps more than ever, we need to learn from the lesson placed before us by Christ the King. We are our brothers’ and our sisters’ keepers. ‘We live in each other’s shadow,’ as one Irish saying puts it. While independence is all fine and well, inter-dependence is the greater good – a kind heart and open hand. The plight of war refugees has been well documented, but there were and are disquieting voices raising opposition.
The Irish Rune on hospitality says: We saw a stranger yesterday. We put food in the eating place, Drink in the drinking place, Music in the listening place. And with the sacred name of the triune God We were blessed, and our house, Our cattle and our dear ones. As the lark says in her song: Often, often, often goes the Christ In the stranger’s guise.
It is not uniquely Irish, of course, for many cultures instinctively know that we need to honour the heart of the stranger; we need to recognise how much like us the person is; we need to remember the humanity of each and every person. Welcoming the stranger blesses us as well as it aids the recipient of our hospitality.
In God’s family, there are no strangers, only kin or clan, as we might say. Kinship is God’s dream come true. It’s about imagining a circle of compassion and then imagining no one standing outside that circle. For whatever you do with love has eternal value.
Today Christ the King says to us, ‘What you do for others, you do for me.’ – Tom Cox, The Sacred Heart Messenger, November 2023
During this past month, I’ve found myself being the recipient of love and care rather than being the giver – to which I’m much more accustomed. As I’ve begun preparation for a bone marrow transplant, the importance of community speaks deeply to me. Although I’m certainly embraced by family, friends, and parish communities, I’m now being embraced by an ever-expanding network of caregivers, i.e., a new community. Outpatient clinic and hospital providers come together to form a team, of which I’m also an integral part. It’s clear that we are all walking this journey together, step by step. We were strangers yet now we are a community, dependent upon and honoring the particular gifts each one offers to complete the whole and pointing toward something greater than any one of us. And I am blessed not only by their professionalism, but also the warmth and hope that each person radiates.
Photo by Benoît Deschasaux For Unsplash+Photo by Ka Ho Ng on Unsplash Photo by Brad Barmore on Unsplash
by Demi Prentiss
Jesus’s Beatitudes – known by some as the “be”-attitudes – help us recognize that, surprisingly, the marginalized, the despised, and the supposedly powerless hold a special relationship with God: the power of incarnating God’s relational power to transform a position of vulnerability to one of transcendence. Authenticity, single-heartedness, and humility are the hallmarks of the blessedness that Jesus celebrates as signaling “the kingdom of God.”
Christians mark Advent as the season of hopeful expectation of the in-breaking of God’s reign, anticipating the counter-intuitive blessedness of those who suffer – the poor in spirit, mournful, meek, seeking, merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers, persecuted. Advent reminds us that being equipped to proclaim the coming of the kingdom obliges us to cultivate another blessedness – being ready. Ready to perceive God at work. Ready to stand with those who suffer. Ready to be brave. Ready to be open.
Poet Steve Garnaas-Holmes joins Matthew in reminding us to be ready:
Be ready
You must be ready, for the Human One is coming at an hour you do not expect. —Matthew 24.44
Grace flits in, a butterfly in winter. Forgiveness dismantles gallows. A child, frightened, stands anyway.
The minds of the dulled are on other things. Heaven passes unnoticed.
The naive keep waiting for the white horse, the sword. Foggy opera glasses.
Cynics, fearing the mystery, can always prove otherwise. The lock snaps shut.
The faithful are not sure but open, watching for the luminous.
A spirit, wholly given, emerges like a song among many.
Blessed are the ready, watching, over and over, for the world made new.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve __________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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