by Brandon Beck

My four-year-old friend and I, along with his mother who is the Director of Children and Family Ministries here, went to the local Christian bookstore yesterday to look for craft supplies for the upcoming Palm Sunday children’s formation lesson.

The mother and I were chatting as we walked from the parking lot to the store when the child cried out, “I don’t want to walk all the way to Jerusalem!”

She and I stopped and laughed and hugged him. We reassured him that we were walking to the store in plain-sight in front of us, the one he’d been to with us many times before. I asked, “What do you know about Jerusalem from stories we tell?”

He said, “It’s too far away to go because Jesus was there, and we don’t have a time machine,” with big tears in his eyes.

“Is Jesus far away now?” I asked.

“No,” he said, perking up a little bit.

“How do you know?” (This is a question I’ve started asking him because he asks me most of the time when I say something, especially if it’s an answer to a question he asked me.)

He made the Sign of the Cross and said, “God loves me, so I can love everybody.”

“So where’s Jesus?”

“Everywhere!”

With his rediscovered joy, he assisted his mother and me in selecting craft objects for the church busy bags with an Easter theme – scratch art crosses and eggs, sticker craft scenes of the tomb, little coloring books of Jesus’ last week – and while we gathered supplies for the art response to the Palm Sunday teaching, he got more and more excited about walking to Jerusalem. His understanding of metaphor grows more each day. As we gathered different colors of felt to make “cloaks” to lay along a cardboard “road” and told him the story of Jesus coming into Jerusalem, he found a donkey craft to contribute. He found some pieces of fur and asked if there were other animals on the way to Jerusalem. He wanted to know if there were rocks and how we would put rocks on the road with the cloaks.

When we left the store with our supplies, he asked me to tell the story about Jesus and the apple. “The one that the owl tells,” he said.

It took me a minute, but then I caught up with him.

He has a Cuddle Barn (™) Bible Story Talking Owl. One of the Stories the mama owl tells her baby is from Genesis. After our “walk to Jerusalem,” my little four-year-old friend wanted to hear me tell the story of Genesis, and he so aptly aligned the Christ with the Father and the Spirit.

My telling of Genesis differed a little from the Owl’s, included some liberation and feminist and queer interpretation, and had a sillier serpent than that to which most people are probably accustomed. I also included a little lesson especially for him about why we keep our clothes on at school linked to the nakedness Adam and Eve learned when they ate the apple and how it wasn’t so much about being naked as it was about listening, trusting, and loving God.

As the disciples walked with Jesus to Jerusalem, in support of his subtle-yet-not-so-subtle protest of corruption and injustice, they listened to and retold his stories/parables. They talked with each other about the metaphor and meaning of all that he said and did. May our Passover remembrance this year, our reenactment of his Palm Sunday journey, our celebration of his Empty Tomb, be signs of Justice moreso now than ever before.

by Demi Prentiss

We’re just two weeks into Lent. Whether we’ve given something up or taken something on, the discipline is just beginning to pinch. Or maybe we haven’t yet settled on a Lenten discipline. Br. Jim Woodrum of the Society of St. John the Evangelist offers this advice:

It may be that there is a laundry list you have prayerfully assembled to tackle this Lent. You are not going to get to everything. Pick one or two things and then stick with those. Hold these intentions as a focus of your prayer with Jesus and ask him to heal and transfigure them. In this way we can turn a season of discipline into a lifetime of discipleship.

Lent as a season of healing and transfiguration seems almost counter-intuitive. Many of us have been taught to look at Lent through the purple lens of sacrifice, mortification of the flesh, fasting, and self-denial. Though all of those practices are intended to be life-giving, the word “transfiguration” calls up images of Mt. Tabor and Jesus’s radiance, not the sackcloth and ashes of Lent.

For engineers, “roadwork” means tearing up what’s damaged and re-laying a serviceable road – healing the highway. For athletes, “roadwork” means conditioning, putting in hours and miles to build stamina and strength. It’s a discipline that prevents injury and imbeds essentials of movement.

For me, in my walk as a Christian, Lent is the season of “roadwork,” in both senses. I am grateful for several “mountain top” experiences along my life journey. And I have to admit that Jesus’s deflating “you have to leave the mountaintop” has proved, for me, more life-giving than the flash of revelation. Not just because “all good things must come to an end.” More because in the valley, on the journey, through the daily grind and the ebb and flow of everyday life, that is where the lessons become real, and the habits are formed. That is where the durable transformation happens.

The Rev. Erik Parker, “The Millennial Pastor,” puts it this way:

In the process of faith, in the journey of Lent, through our time spent in communities of faith, we are TRANSFORMED. In the waters of baptism, through the hearing of the Gospel alongside our siblings in faith, through the Bread and Wine made Body and Blood, we are changed to our very core. Transformed from sinners into God’s beloved, made holy and righteous by the One who meets us with forgiveness and grace. 

The mountaintops feel great; they are respite for the moment. But it is along the way of faith that God is making us into new creations, into the people that we were first created to be in Christ. 

May our faith communities, like the waters of baptism, immerse us in the discipline of Lent, marinating us in Jesus’s way of healing and transformation.

by Demi Prentiss

Odds are you’ve committed to memory – if not intentionally, then by massive culture-wide exposure – Disney’s anthem “Let It Go” from the movie Frozen.  The song captures the emotional turmoil of a young queen, afraid and in hiding, as she struggles to accept her distinctive gifts and overcome her shame.

Let it go, let it go –

I’m one with the wind and sky.

Let it go, let it go –

You’ll never see me cry.

Here I stand and here I stay.

Let the storm rage on.

The song’s message of determined independence and courageous authenticity speaks to the hearts of many women and girls. The song has been claimed as an anthem by marginalized groups across the spectrum – people who identify as LGBTQ+, people with eating disorders and chemical addictions, people in prison, people with a variety of disabilities, and many others. The song’s authors say they created the lyrics to speak especially to those under constant pressure to be perfect.

In some conservative Christian circles, the song is criticized for what some perceive as a purely permissive message of “anything goes.” In this autumn season of letting go and loss, thanks to a post by Br. Geoffrey Tristram, SSJE, I’m seeing a different side of that “Let it go” message:

Let Go

When Jesus looks at you and me, and longs to fill us with his life, what does he see? Does he see someone too full already? It could be too much stuff; we may be overwhelmed by busy-ness; maybe you are filled with anger, or an inability to forgive. Imagine Jesus looking at you and saying gently, “let it go, let it go.” Let it fall away like the autumn leaves.

What might be filling us, consuming all the free space within us – the space that would enable us to be more open, more creative, more generous, more loving? More free to be genuinely who we are created to be?  More free to let God set our agenda?

With God’s help, may we learn to let it go, whatever may be blocking our best, Christ-connected, co-creative selves. May we be liberated to see Christ at work, in ourselves and in others.

by Pam Tinsley

October 4 is the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, and many churches celebrate by blessing pets. In the spirit of St. Francis, we offer God thanks for the animals that share our homes. Our pets teach us to love other creatures through their love for us.

We also offer our prayers for those whose vocations involve caring for our animals. With their gifts of gentleness, wisdom, and healing, veterinarians and veterinarian techs minister to our injured and ill pets. Certainly, too, they help our animals remain healthy. We offer thanksgiving, too, for dogwalkers and pet sitters who care for our pets, while we are at work or away.

Yet, today, the Feast of St. Francis points beyond the love we have for our pets and how that love helps us to learn to better love one another. Our love for God’s creatures also reminds us of the importance of caring for all of God’s creation on “this fragile earth, our island home” (BCP, p. 370). Unprecedented temperatures along with the proliferation of raging wildfires and violent hurricanes with their impact on human life and wildlife underscore how imperative it is for us to heal our relationship to creation.

When we promise at baptism to strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being, we must consider all the created world, as well. As baptized Christians, we are called to be faithful stewards of our planet – to strive to heal the damage that we have done to all of God’s sacred creation.

So, on this year’s Feast of St. Francis, I invite you to consider what you might do to honor, protect, and restore the beauty and integrity of God’s creation – with God’s help?