The Light SHINES IN THE DARKNESS

December 29, 2025 | ladyelogos

First Sunday of Christmas, Year A – December 28, 2025

A light unlike any other brightly shines this morning.

It isn’t a beam of winter sunlight like those crossing a floor, or broken rainbows shining through prisms or stained-glass windows, or the last hours of colored lights dangling from windows and porches, and off of trees.

A spark has been ignited, and an ember smolders within you, and me, and all of Creation.

The kindling comes from verse 5 in this morning’s gospel from John:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

The Christ has come to us through the power of God.

We are invited to carry the spark during the rest of the year, let it grow, to move out of the dark spaces and corners in our lives towards the light that embraces and offers grace.

John’s poetic language tells us that God wanted to lift us out of darkness so very much that he did something deities and monarchs rarely do – God climbed off whatever throne we frail humans planted him on, and came down to our level. What’s even more amazing is that when God arrived, it was in the form of a helpless infant, born to common people, and as he grew into manhood, he experienced the joys, sorrows, and delights of your average first-century Galilean — and inconceivable pain.

Why?

Why did this extraordinary incarnation happen?

It was, as theologians have taught, atonement for humanity’s imperfect nature and actions, to bring us closer to God.

It was also for Love.

God loves us and went to a great deal of trouble to show us how it is to love perfectly and completely, and it was done in the form of Jesus, who is our light dispelling darkness.

It is a time of light; it started with the story of a child born to a teenaged mother and her faithful and loving husband. It continues with healing, of power beyond belief, a fullness of being, of humanity receiving grace upon grace, and to be blessed with the gifts God has bestowed upon us through Jesus.

Unfortunately, there were and are those who, for whatever reason, cannot recognize that Jesus is the light of the world and rejected the man and the message, as the author of the gospel writes, “He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.” But to those who accept him, and that is to say, put their trust in him, and make a commitment to the Word, a deeper relationship is formed with Jesus; he becomes our brother, and therefore, we become children of God.

Whatever darkness may envelop the world, whatever gloomy clouds may hang over us in our own lives, it cannot dim the light. We have grace from God to keep the light going. The smallest gesture of kindness, an act of compassion, or a work of mercy will light up the life of someone else, and in turn, will light up the world. All that’s required is fanning the flame with love, trust, and belief.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

With the Christmas season, we embark on a journey in light towards a light unlike any other. I invite you, my friends, to keep the candle burning in your hearts and souls after the decorations and goodwill toward all are packed away, and carols are silenced for another year, dried-out and sad trees are kicked to the curb. Let every day be Christmas in our hearts.

We have before us a new year with new possibilities, new hopes, and dreams. As with every New Year, there is a fresh canvas before us, waiting for us to apply the first brush stroke. A clean, smooth page in a journal waiting for our ink. What will we write for future generations? What colors will appear on the canvas? Do we want to live in light and experience the love and grace offered to us, follow a path of endless possibilities in a life in Christ, or is it going to be business as usual with grim, set faces, preoccupied with matters that we have no control over, and live in a dark time?

Come, let’s dispel the darkness and walk in the light that is our brother, the infant in the manager, the man walking on the beach in Capernaum, in the Temple, in the Garden, and our savior on the Cross.

C 2025, Rev. Dn. Ellen L. Ekstrom

Do Not grow weary

November 16, 2025 | ladyelogos

November 16, 2025 (Year C, I, Proper 28)
Luke 21:5-19
2 Thess. 3:16-13
Canticle 9
Malachi 4:1-2a

May I ask you something?
Do you wake in the morning and think, “What new crisis is coming at us today,” or something like it, but can’t be repeated here?
Well, there’s a remedy for that.
The Good News!
Yes, there’s good news in this morning’s gospel text. You just have to carefully review the bad news to find it.
Luke’s story of Jesus in the Temple at Jerusalem is full of reasons to be terrified, but we have the promise of God in Christ to pause, take a breath, and know we are loved and not alone. To be equal to all challenges.
The instructions given to the disciples apply to us.
Jesus tells us to be on guard and not be led astray by impostors. In the first century, many failed prophets claimed to be the Messiah and were either executed by authorities or disappeared. Today, you may have come across them on television, the radio, social media posts, or street corners. Occasionally, you might run into someone who says they are a prophet bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to the world, but that’s all they say. Nothing to back up that argument.

Then we are told that wars and insurrections are necessary. “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places, famines and plagues . . . dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.” (Lk. 21: 7-11) In God’s time, Kairos, it could be tomorrow, next week, we don’t know. We know that we must keep our eyes open.
How prescient for the first century of the common era and the twenty-first.
In our time, we’ve managed to survive two world wars, two major wars in Asia, several in the Middle East, and many others around the globe. We had a pandemic at the turn of the 20th century, and we’re now making it through one that hasn’t truly gone away. It’s still lurking. People around the world are without food and clean water, life-saving medicines, and shelter; here in the United States, we have those without medical insurance, affordable housing, or food on their table, meal programs at schools, and food assistance being curtailed or subject to new policies to receive it.
I’ve been tempted to crawl under my bed and drag the comforter with me, stick my fingers in my ears and shut my eyes really tight, and stay there until it all goes away.
But that’s not what Jesus wants me, wants us, to do.
We’re not subjected to the persecution of the early Christians, but we have other dangers to our freedoms, and we’ve seen it. People in our cities and towns, people who have permission to live and work here taken away and locked up, people who are citizens but were grabbed because they had a surname or political view that offended some, or they looked a certain way. Members of the LGBTQ
and transgender communities still cannot feel safe on our streets, black citizens and others of color are threatened with the loss of their right to vote. Women’s reproductive rights are being taken away or challenged. Who’s next?

I’ll jump off the doom train now and tell you what I think are the comfortable words this morning.
In the most clear and concise words, we are assured that we are not left to fend for ourselves.
Jesus will give the opening and closing arguments in “words and a wisdom that none of [our] opponents will be able to withstand or contradict” (Lk.21:15) when the time comes to offer a defense for others and ourselves in open court or at a town hall meeting. We breathe, pray, and then speak.
We must hold fast to the teachings and gospel of Jesus of Nazareth, who is Christ. Personally, I’ve never felt more Christian and part of the Body of Christ than now. I’ve felt God’s love as I walked in marches, joined in round table discussions about what we, the people, can do to pull democracy back from false prophets, assist my friends in Christ with simple acts of love and kindness that Jesus asks us to undertake so that we live out the New Commandment, loving one another as he loves us.
I believe that we’ve got a long road before us; what will keep us going are Paul’s words to the Thessalonians.
“Do not be weary in doing what is right.” (2 Thess. 3:13)
My friends, shall we start on that road?

Never Lose Heart

October 27, 2025 | ladyelogos

October 19, 2025 (Year C, I, Proper 24)

Luke 18:1-8

2 Timothy, 3:14 – 4:5

Psalm 121

Genesis 32:22-31

My daughter and I have many things in common, but the question we both asked in our catechism classes at the same age has always stood out in family memories.

The question: “If women aren’t important to the church, then why did Jesus appear to them first?”

The response: We were both asked to leave the class.

My mother and I both said, “Good question!” upon hearing it.

Women were and are important to God and our church.

If you go through the Bible, you will find widows who are tenacious and passionate. Tamar, Ruth, Bathsheba, Anna, the Widow of Nain, to name a few.

And the woman in this morning’s gospel, a widow who repeatedly goes before a Judge with one request: “Grant me justice against my opponent.”

As for the judge, he’s no honorable jurist. We heard that he neither fear God nor has respect for people. The widow keeps appearing in his court with this same request, “Grant me justice against my opponent.”

Over and over.

And over.

Until he can’t take it anymore.

He finally grants her justice. Not because it’s the right action, but because of her insistence, not out of a sense of compassion or justice, but simply to get rid of her. She’s worn him out.

He wants her to go away.

At the end of the parable, Jesus tells the disciples that if an unjust judge listens to the persistent pleas of a widow, how much more will God listen to His chosen ones who cry to him day and night and will quickly grant justice to them?

Wait. Are we being told that the Judge and God are alike in that, if we pray enough, our prayers are eventually answered?

No. What Jesus tells us is that God, who is loving and not unfeeling, will respond promptly, and will not delay. I take that to mean we may not get what we prayed for, but often we get the answer we need, or one that leads us in the right direction.

I believe Jesus told his disciples to pray and not lose heart because their times were of uncertainty and fear. If they were persistent in asking for strength and guidance to continue the work given to them, they would be vindicated. Just keep at it.

We must do the same.

This parable is not about praying for things we want – it is not about being given a fortune as the result of insistent prayer. It is not about being successful or getting the corner office on the tenth floor. It is inviting us in these, our times of fear and uncertainty, to be like the widow – tenacious, passionate, and fearless, in calling out the unethical and unjust. We must make our voices heard.

We must keep the faith, so that when Jesus makes His triumphant return to Earth, he will find it. Perhaps he had a glimpse of it in the crowds of seven million and then some strong that marched yesterday as we shouted, “Grant us justice, give us our democracy!”

Be persistent, Children of God.

We need to pray always and to not lose heart.

The Cost of discipleship

September 7, 2025 | ladyelogos

September 7, 2025

Year C-I, Proper 18

Luke 14:25-33

[Philemon 1:21, Psalm 139; Deuteronomy 30:15-20]

My sister in Christ and colleague, the Reverend Deacon Catherine Costas, once opened a Good Friday sermon with the observation, “It’s hard being a Christian.”

I must agree with that. But why is it?

What makes it difficult, when we have the baby in the manager, the rabbi on the mountain top telling us who are blessed – all of us – who heals, and teaches, and tells us of a better world that is here and now? Why, when some of us as children, had the blue-eyed, blond hair Jesus looking down at us from our bedroom walls with the sacred heart glowing in his chest, protecting us while we slept?

Why?

It is how we respond to Christ that can make it difficult.

Hate life, your family, and friends, if you want to follow Jesus? Give up all your possessions?

Now, indulge me for a moment for the Christian Mythos geek that I am as I pick apart the back story.

The author of Luke, it is believed, wrote this gospel between the years 80 to 85 CE, some fifty years or so after the resurrection, and ten years, give or take a year, after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. It is also believed that this work was a Christian-to-Christian endeavor. These scripture sentences may have been cautionary advice to the author’s contemporary Christians: to follow Jesus was going to be, and at times, difficult, and against what their society expected. It was going to throw everything they knew on their head, and it was deadly. They must recognize that the true cost of discipleship was expensive – not in terms of coin, but in what one must give up; you just don’t leap into something that cannot be pursued to its end. Jesus tells his contemporary followers that such rash action puts one in a position of ridicule, like someone who doesn’t do the research for building a tower or realistically consider what resources it would take to lead an army. They had better be prepared for the coming reality—resistance, backlash, and persecutions. Death.

Back to that word, “hate.”

How do you reconcile “hate” with the central aspect of Jesus’ teaching and message, that of loving one another as ourselves and as Christ loves us, to love God, to love our enemies?

The use of the word “hate” may be one of two things, or both. First, it could be Semitic exaggeration—an idiom that means “love less than.” It could very well be hyperbole for the uncompromising dedication and loyalty Jesus requires of his followers. This was a crowd of people who came to him and were enthusiastic, and probably had no idea what would transpire in Jerusalem. His response to them is, “think about what you’re about to do and decide if you’re going to stay with me.”

How should we respond today? Consider this: if you were to make a list of all those you loved, God and Jesus should be at the top. Loving them makes all else possible. What possessions should we give up? Our need to acquire, to be the first at everything, the most successful, give up our prejudices and hatred, are a start.

Loving God and Jesus makes all else possible.

Who else should we love? Our enemies. Now more than ever.

Another response is obvious: giving to those in need – those coats, sweaters and rain boots in the back of the hall closet that haven’t been touched since the kids moved out, a sack of groceries from the produce store, reading to someone, listening to someone. Speaking up for those without voices. Speaking out against tyranny. Let our voices be heard. And here’s the best – praying with someone.

Yes. It is hard to be a Christian on most days of the week that end in ‘day.’ When it seems to be too much, when your inner voice says, “I can’t do this today,” or “I’m too tired of this,” take a breath and remember that what we’ve been called to do is a gift. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “The call to discipleship is a gift of grace and that call is inseparable from grace.”

That grace comes from God and Jesus and nothing will take that away from us.

Accept it with all your heart, mind, and soul.

Are you A mary, or a martha?

July 20, 2025July 21, 2025 | ladyelogos

July 20, 2025

Season After Pentecost, Year I/C

Pentecost 6

Luke 10:38-42

Does the conversation in Mary and Martha’s home sound familiar? Guests arrive for dinner, perhaps a holiday meal, and one family member is rushing around cleaning the house: they’re in the kitchen preparing the meal, setting the table, making room for the inevitable surprise guests that show up, getting the cat and dog out of way, while another is talking to the guests, catching up, being welcoming.

And then the family member working themselves into a stroke blows up.

“Why. Aren’t. You. Helping????”

So. Are you a Mary or a Martha?

I was raised in a house full of strong women and one brother. They were always doing something, always in motion, competitive in everything.

So, guess who wasn’t a Martha?

I used to get “why aren’t you helping??” a lot.

Of course I knew what was good for me; I helped with the household chores, but I did them as quickly as possible so I could get back to whatever I was doing, which usually was reading one of the ten-allowed books I checked out of the Rodeo Library, or drawing castles and princesses in a giant newsprint tablet and eventually disappear into the EllenSphere. My mother loved baseball. On most Saturdays and holidays, the family would go down to the baseball field to play a couple of innings, but I would just want to stay home and read or draw. On several outings, I tagged along– not by choice, as we were short a fielder. My mother drew the line at carrying books and paper tablets out to left field. She took the book and paper, handed me a mitt, and off I went.

Few, if any, fly or ground balls were caught. But we won.

Societal norms were quite different in first-century Galilee. Women were expected to take care of the children, the house, do the laundry, shop for food, fetch water from the well, and prepare the meals. They just didn’t sit down at the visiting rabbi’s feet. Come to think of it, that was the norm for women’s work until the last century, but throw a nine-to-five job onto the pile.

Yet, when we hear Martha’s complaint and Jesus’ response, are we, given the teaching and actions in the season’s previous gospel lessons, getting conflicting messages regarding listening and service? Is Mary’s place at the feet of Jesus more important than Martha’s attention to the meal? Is a contemplative focus superior to an active one?

I don’t believe so.

In a recap of what happened before Jesus arrived at Mary and Martha’s, he shows us that the two are not mutually exclusive: Jesus sent out the Seventy with specific instructions on what how they were to act and what to say as they enter a service of proclaiming the gospel, he answers the lawyer’s question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” with a definitive response that requires listening to what he’s saying and thinking, and tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, to illustrate how one serves Jesus by serving others. He healed, and he taught, and he expected his students to listen to his words.

Imagine Peter listening. He did. Eventually.

It is this deacon’s opinion that the story of Mary and Martha is an illustration of the types of ministry we are called to through Christ.

One is “go and do,” the other is “sit down and listen.”

The Word is not the same for everyone in every situation or need.

Sometimes we are just so busy and caught up in daily life as we know it that we don’t hear the Word. It is when we realize what we’re doing that we’re given the opportunity to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen and learn; we should take it. It is never too late. And when the call comes, we take action. We feed the hungry, clothe the needy among us, offer assistance required by the moment and immediacy, and make good trouble to speak to all kinds of social injustice, as so many millions of Americans have been doing.

Mary and Martha were doing exactly what they should have been at the time. Mary, in an act unknown for women in her society, sits at the feet of Jesus to listen and learn. This is the act of a disciple. Martha, for her part, demonstrates discipleship through her numerous tasks, including the offer of hospitality. Perhaps on another day, their roles would be reversed, or they do a bit of both.

Remarkable women.

I close by commending to you the extraordinary women honored in today’s Episcopal calendar: Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Amelia Jenks Bloomer, Isabella Sojourner Truth, and Harriet Ross Tubman. Each of these women listened and served. They risked their lives and the condemnation of their society to work for women’s rights, freed slaves, began programs to assist the poor, educate children, spoke against inequality, preached, and lived out the gospel.

Whether you’re a Mary or a Martha doesn’t matter. What matters is that you go and do, and sit down and listen.

Rev. Deacon Ellen L. Ekström

ALL ARE ONE

June 23, 2025 | ladyelogos

Luke 8:26-39

Year C/I

Pentecost 2

June 22, 2025

‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’

How do we reconcile Paul’s words with one of the signs and wonders that Jesus performs in Luke’s gospel?

A lot of unpacking here.

What’s Jesus doing in Gentile territory? Well, He wanted his message to reach the Gentiles. So he healed and preached in an area known as Gadara or Gerasa a ways from the Sea of Galilee. His act of healing didn’t go over too well with the locals, and they asked him to leave – no one wants their source of income destroyed, or their daily routine upset. The Gadarenes knew how to handle the demoniac living in their tombs; they learned over time how to coexist with him and the evil forces that kept him a prisoner. The herd of swine was most probably a source of income. So, rather than rejoice as it may have happened in Capernaum, the people in this Gentile territory reacted in fear. A legion of demons was cast out, and someone coming to their right mind could rejoin society. Displayed here was a power greater than the power of evil spirits. Who was wielding that power? God, through Jesus. It was always God. Jesus was here, and elsewhere, when he taught and healed, pointing people to God, not to himself.

This was where the ministry of Jesus was leading – to Jerusalem, to all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. He said that God welcomed all people to the Kingdom of Heaven. Those who heard Jesus or were recipients of his healing powers were welcomed. All were welcome. All.

Which brings us to Paul’s letter to the Galatians. I again say his words: ‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’

All of us, here, today, are one in Christ Jesus.

There is a hymn I sang in my youth with the stanza “and they’ll know we are Christians by our love,” but I think appropriate in these dark times, that we might consider substituting the word “Christians” with “God’s Children” to welcome into our circles others of different faiths, especially when marching in protest.

I never thought that in America I would have to worry for my family and many of my neighbors because of our Spanish surnames – sure this is California, but you never know. That once again I would have just cause to say to the sitting government, this isn’t right. This isn’t who we are. We sent a message in the summer of 2020 that was loud and heard across America but here we are. So last weekend I was one of the five million plus who peacefully protested against the current administration and I will most undoubtedly do it again. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking around and greeting one another, some of us singing, some of us praying. All of us, as one man said, ‘look like we got the memo from God.’

Indeed.

Because it didn’t matter what we did for living, who we voted for, what house of worship we visited, the color of our skin didn’t matter, if we lived in the hills or in the flatlands. We were one in our desire to live in harmony and to love and help one another. Support those who do not have voices and those demonized by some in the current administration. We stand up together for freedom, against injustice, and, as the late Representative John Lewis said, find a way to get in the way of tyranny, injustice and hatred.

We’re beset by demons right now. I’m not going to read out a list of the demons keeping us up at night – it would take days, weeks, months . . . .

As we age, we stop looking under the bed and in closets for the demons who try to possess us and make our lives miserable, distracting us from our relationship with God and God’s unconditional love. At those times, like the healed man from the Gadarenes, we are welcome to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to his teaching, be wrapped in his love, because it is God’s power through Jesus that is greater than that of any king on earth.

On the Third day

April 20, 2025 | ladyelogos

Darkness surrounds me; it’s too dark.

I know it is dawn, for ever since I could remember, I’ve opened my eyes at first light to watch the horizon turn color as the sun rose and burned away the mists over the village. At this moment, I remember one morning in particular – waking in my mother’s arms and listening to her heartbeat as she continued to sleep, though I grew restless and wanted to be free of her embrace, to go out and play in the stream, to watch the cattle and chase the hens. I would think it a blessing to hear her voice now, to be caught in that embrace. I relax and pull images from my memory, piecing together our house and shop, hearing the sounds of morning. It doesn’t help, for suddenly I am afraid, and it is so very dark.

I feel… strangely – something does not belong, does not fit.

I feel as if I’m suffocating.

Something is caught around my nose and mouth, choking me. There is a glazing over my eyes – I see, but I do not see, everything is in a fog. My hands feel cold; I can’t move my feet. I remember, and yet I do not. The comforting images from home are replaced with more disturbing things. I see people, and hear their voices; I see the streets crowded with people, soldiers. There is heaviness and lightness. My heart beats frantically with every breath I try to take, and I see… things. They are those I do not wish to see, but I see them nevertheless.

I remember now.

It is the third day.

“Thank you, Father!”

The words of the prophets came to me in that moment; the dampness of tears soaks the shroud. “So now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you? Only to fear the LORD your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul!”

It is with difficulty I unwind the shroud; it is like peeling an apple — the linen bands spiral and weave as they slide onto the bier.

Sitting up, I reach for the cloth someone has left on the ground and I wrap myself in it, for suddenly I am cold and shivering.

A pale light slides under a crack in the opening of this place. Jumping down, my feet ache a bit and I notice the wounds. Looking at the marks, I remember all of it now. As I reach out to find the opening in the place, I notice the ragged sore on my right hand. How the dim light shines through it! In my mind’s eye, I see the soldier’s face as he plies hammer and nail. For a moment, I feel sick and am near to fainting.

“Hear O, Israel! The Lord is your God!”

I summon strength from the Father and push away the stone blocking the entrance to Joseph’s tomb. The daylight startles me and I stagger a bit, shielding my eyes. It is only a moment until I can focus and look upon the garden. Someone had started to till the soil, for a rake leans against the tomb and new plants are set out in neat rows, waiting. In time, they would yield much fruit.

My presence does not startle the laborers in the garden; they merely turn and nod a good morning. They expect me; they are the Father’s messengers. One of them offers a smile, and I remember his face from my childhood – a serene look with dark eyes that were merry, knowing. I take in a long breath of good morning air tinged with earth and flower scent, and look about again, running a hand along my arm, just to be sure.

A tunic dangles from the handle of the rake, and I take the garment and draw it over my head. It smells freshly washed, of the wind and wildflowers, like those at home. I pick up the rake and begin tilling the soil, humming a song from childhood. It is all so natural, so right, to do this.

The sun has barely moved over the horizon when I see her open the garden gate.

She is draped in mourning weeds, which I think strange at first, and again, I remember. The friend of my childhood and sister in my work, the widow of my friend, she had seen what happened three days ago. She was a witness to the humiliation, the suffering, all that I did because the Father asked me. I am ready to call her name, but the laborers turn as if they know what I am about and shake their heads, smiling.

Mary comes to the tomb and stops short. She drops the jar of spices she balances on a neatly folded stack of linens in her arms, and chokes back a sob.

“My Lord, where have they taken you?” she weeps. “The Romans! Peter was right! Oh why is he always right?”

One of the laborers leans on his shovel and asks, “Woman, why do you weep?”

Mary looks up, frightened. Yet I know Mary; that fear won’t last, just as that day when the wolf came into the town and she alone chased it out; when her husband took the plague and she alone nursed him to his last breath, and everyone had fled. When people told her she was a fool to give her inheritance to us to support our work, to leave her husband’s people in Magdala to follow me.

Time passes before she gathers herself and says, “They’ve taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve laid him!” She dries her tears with the hem of her shawl. “Please sir, if you know, you will tell me. He was my friend.”

“Why do you seek him among the dead, when he is among the living?”

The laborer’s question distresses her even more, and she glances about frantically, bringing a new flood of tears, and I think it is too much for anyone to bear. I shake my head at the laborer and step forward.

“Mary!”

She looks up, and her face is transformed. The grayness of mourning is replaced by radiance. She stumbles on her robes as she comes at me, arms extended for an embrace. I don’t know what to do. As much as I want to return an embrace from a friend, something deep within me says, ‘No! Not yet.’

I was… yet I… wasn’t.

“Rabbouni!” she exclaims.

I step back and kneel so that we are eye to eye. “Touch me not, Mary; for I have not returned to my Father.”

“The prophecies are fulfilled. I did not dare hope – and yet, it has all been brought about as you said! You kept your promise!”

“Mary, go to my brothers and the disciples, to Peter and John, and tell them what you have seen,” I say.

“They won’t believe me! I can hear them now….”

“I’ve given you a mustard seed. Just go, and see what happens. Tell them that I am ascending to my Father, your Father, to my God and your God. I will see all of you in Jerusalem.”

Mary reaches out to take my hands, and from the look on her face, I know she has seen the wounds. They hold her attention for some time, until a peaceful understanding settles on her and she draws back her hands, nodding. When she looks at me, it is the Mary of our childhood, the Mary who fed and clothed my friends and me. She wipes her tears on her sleeve; a smile forms on her lips, and she nods again. Slowly, meticulously, she picks up the shards from the pottery jar and pushes the costly spices to the side of the path, then takes the linens and folds them, setting them aside, knowing they would be of no use here.

“This is the Lord’s doing, and marvelous in our eyes!” she whispers.

When at last she gets to her feet, she walks to the tomb and goes in, as if to make sure, then returns, smiling. She hurries away, and as she closes the garden gate behind her, she turns, looking back. I raise my hand and watch as she disappears between the olive trees, going down the hill to Jerusalem.

The laborers, who have watched all with great interest, now return to their work. It is some time before I move, for I delight in taking in the warm rays of the sun on my face, the sound of a bird greeting the new day. There is still much I have to do, but the garden is compelling. I take up the plants one by one and carefully place them in the rows I have tilled, patting soil about them and offering a trickle of water. Yes, in a year, perhaps less, each of these will yield good fruit.

When I am done with this work, I will go to Jerusalem.

the poor are always with us

April 6, 2025 | ladyelogos

April 6, 2025

Lent 5, Year C/II

John 12:1-8

“You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

So Jesus said to Judas after he asked why the perfumed ointment Mary used to anoint Jesus was not sold for three hundred denarii.

Judas was thinking in terms of the circumstances of his time. Putting aside the commentary by the author of John, using the sale of the nard to help the poor would be something of which Jesus would approve because that is what the Kingdom of Heaven is about.

However, Mary was enacting a sign of things to come: preparing Jesus for burial.

Jesus’ rebuke echoes the eleventh verse of the fifteenth chapter of Deuteronomy: “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’”

The disciples would have many opportunities to help the poor, but they wouldn’t always have Jesus present with them. They needed to understand what would happen at the end of the week, what Jesus had been talking about all along, and in John’s Gospel, Jesus gave them seven signs and miracles, such as raising Lazarus from the dead, that pointed to and culminated in the cross and resurrection. Reasons for they, you, and I, all of us, to be here. It’s why we proclaim ourselves Christians.

The poor are with us.

A nation that once invited the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free now deports first and doesn’t bother to ask about citizenship. Jobs are cut, people are fired, agencies gutted, and a great many of our elected leaders ignore our cries for justice and mercy; in spite of having the space and the means to convert empty buildings for housing, people are still sleeping on the streets, under freeways, in camper vans parked in rows against curbs, and here in Berkeley, not far from here, down on the western end of Virginia Street. Families who are housed line up at food banks because it takes most of their paycheck to pay the rent, leaving little for groceries. Some individuals work two low-paying jobs to cover the costs of prescriptions, food, and rent.

Justice. Mercy. And love.

A trinity Jesus would expect us to proclaim and show. Further along in John’s gospel, Jesus says to his friends, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”

What better way to show our love for one another and Christ than by serving the poor, sick, and marginalized? I’m preaching to the choir, aren’t I? What keeps me returning to Good Shepherd Berkeley is how we serve. Pan de Cielo is a gift.

I know about being poor.

I grew up in a housing project north of here, and my mother was one of the first in our building to receive what was called food stamps. Nowadays, people don’t bat an eyelash about food assistance, but in the mid-sixties . . . ? I used to beg my mother not to make me use the stamps at the grocery store in case one of the kids from school saw me. On Christmas Eve, one of us would quickly grab the six plain-wrapped packages left on our doorstep by a local agency. And then there were the summons to the school office, where shoes and coats were left for one of us by a PTA member.

I’ve since thanked those who sought to help my mother during those dark times and thanked God for sending them to her. What I experienced made me acutely aware of the need to assist those who require it. That includes showing love and giving respect.

Finally, yesterday, my youngest son Nicolas and I walked up to the North Berkeley BART station and stood in solidarity on Sacramento Street near Delaware with the thousands and thousands of people who are concerned, if not downright frightened, about what is happening to our country. I heard similar stories – that people were motivated to speak up and protest by what’s going on in Washington, DC, and finding encouragement from the AOC/Sanders tour and Cory Booker’s astounding 25-hour call to right action. Calls to save Social Security, Medicaid, Medicare, stop the deportations, end the DOGE, and rehire those who have lost their jobs were on our lips and written on the signs many carried. I think the best one read, “Today is what HOPE looks like!”

Yes, it certainly does when it begins and continues with loving one another as Christ loves us.

Lord, thy will be done.

Uncomfortable words

February 11, 2025 | ladyelogos

Fourth Sunday After The Epiphany

Year C/I

Luke 4:21-30

February 2, 2025

Scripture source: The Jewish Annotated New Testament, Oxford University Press.

Last week, the Lectionary left us leaning forward in our seats, holding our breath.

The author of the Gospel of Luke tell us that Jesus read from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah:[1]

“ The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

Because he has anointed me to bring

Good news to the poor.

“He has sent me to proclaim release

To the captives and recovery of sight

To the blind, to let the oppressed

Go free,

To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

He sits down. Everyone in the synagogue is watching Jesus. This is Joseph the carpenter’s son. He grew up in Nazareth. Everyone knew him. He’d gone away to prepare for the ministry God gave him, and now he was back. The townspeople were impressed by the reports they heard of his teaching in local synagogues.

They waited expectantly.

Finally Jesus says, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”[2]

What did he just say?

Did he say what I think he said? Jesus is calling himself the messiah?

What? Shut the front door!

“Is this not Joseph’s son?”[3] the people asked one another, and we can imagine in not-so-subtle whispers among themselves.

The people were amazed. After all, Jesus was the son of a carpenter. Joseph, as far as we know, wasn’t a scribe, rabbi, or someone high up in the ranks of first-century Judean society, government, and politics. He was just a carpenter. Carpenters apply the hammer and lathe, a saw and make furniture and build houses; they don’t teach or prophesy.

Now, imagine after you’ve announced your plans to your family and friends, what you would say to an “Oh, you’re just a – fill in the blank” type of comment made by someone who knew you. What would your response be?

I can think of a few replies, but they’re not suitable for general audiences.

Jesus spoke with authority.

He was ready for the naysayers who would want the things in Nazareth that Jesus did in Capernaum. They wanted Jesus to show them what he could do and what he was made of. After all, he was the carpenter’s son.

In a manner typical of Jesus – to use scripture to not only teach, but silence – he reminds them that in the time of Elijah God sent him to a widow at Zarephath, and no one else. And despite the number of lepers during the prophet Elisha’s time, he only cured Naaman the Syrian. Jesus prefaced this lesson by saying “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.[4]”

I mentioned last week that Jesus had a way of rattling peoples’ cages. His discourse on this sabbath day in the synagogue upset everyone in attendance and they drove him out of Nazareth, to the cliff outside the town with the purpose of throwing him off.[5] They weren’t going to put up with Jesus.

There’s no place like home.

You’ve been in this situation, haven’t you? I have – like when I told my mother I wanted to go into the performing arts. Her plan for me was the church. The convent. This was before women were ordained in Protestant denominations. We argued for hours and came to an impasse. Unfortunately, she died unexpectedly the following week. We never finished the conversation.

But I did enter the church. That also brought up questions and arguments for my surviving family members, but that’s a story for another day.

There are times in life when our family and friends don’t want to hear what we have to say. In our nation the table at Thanksgiving bears this out. They don’t want the uncomfortable words that take them out of their comfort zones. The words that envision something new and revolutionary like Jesus taught. But they must be said. And they must be heard.

There are times like now when we must all speak truth and stand up against hatred, racism, injustice and tyranny. Yes, tyranny, because that is where our society is headed if we sit back and think someone with better qualifications will speak out, because after all, we’re not politicians, legislators, or judges.

Or president.

Our baptismal vows gives us the authority.

At page 305 in the Book of Common Prayer we are asked “Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?” “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” And finally, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” And the people respond, “I will, with God’s help.”

These are basic tenets of the Christian faith; they are what Christ compels us to do. Is it so much to ask, considering what Jesus of Nazareth gave to us?

Jesus told his family and community at Nazareth what he was called to do.

Now we must follow in his footsteps.

God, thy will be done!

[1] Luke 4:18-19

[2] Luke 4:21

[3] Luke 4:22

[4] Luke 4:24

[5] Luke 4:29

The Urban Anchoress

Called to Stillness