For years, when I thought of Palm Sunday, I envisioned Jesus riding into Jerusalem with fanfare, celebration, and glory.
Little did I know that Zoom was soon to be a household word. The world around us changed quickly, so I adjusted my ministry as the Director of Christian Education.
This year, Ash Wednesday looked like parking in a 12-minute spot on the corner of Bay and Montecito and walking up to the front step of our church building.
With each new day, the weight of the world seems to rest on our shoulders. There is new hope, but with it comes fresh exhaustion.
The origin of one of my most beloved Ash Wednesday traditions can be traced back to Game 7 of the 1988 NBA finals between Isaiah Thomas’s Detroit Pistons, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Magic Johnson’s Los Angeles Lakers.
I love thinking about Simeon holding Jesus in the temple singing about how his eyes have finally seen God that light to enlighten the nations.
I’m making another king cake for the Conversion of Saint Paul. The epiphanies will keep coming, whether by guiding star or blinding light or daily bread.
The end of Christmas crashes the promised healing of the manger scene into the wounded world and the terror cultivated by those who fear the loss of power. Christ is already active in the world, but everything is not yet well.
“Oh! There are gifts on the mantel!” She says as she drops her backpack and coat on the way in from school.
Merry Christmas, friends. For our household, this morning feels like we’ve finally reached the finish line of the most grueling ultramarathon race in history. Today we are putting aside the hallmarks of our 2020: anxiety, despair, and decision fatigue, so we can make room for twelve full days of joy and Jesus.