This Easter I am practicing resurrection. I am practicing hope. I am practicing knowing that no matter how bad it gets there is redemption, even after death.
As we enter into our third Lent of the pandemic, I’m grateful for the muscle memory and predictable patterns I have created for this season. T
Sandwiched between its higher status siblings Christmas and Lent, Epiphany sometimes feels like the middle child of liturgical seasons.
When I think of The Feast of the Presentation of our Lord, I can’t help recalling the offertories I have witnessed in Haiti.
My exploration continued into Seaport Village.
My younger daughter was being particular for Christmas: Mandarin skin cream from Aesop, a small facial boutique shop on Lido Isle.
John, for me, is the apostle of light, the apostle who shines the light on the true nature of our God and our Lord and Savior.
Worship has been much on my mind recently, not necessarily the liturgy or the music or whether to be online or in person for Christmas services, but mostly I’ve been pondering the innate human need to worship, and its various manifestations.
As if on cue, every second Sunday of Advent my husband and I get into an argument about the correct type of lights to hang in order to welcome baby Jesus, the incarnate God, into the world.
I recently had a literal “come to Jesus” moment while saying goodbye to a fellow parishioner leaving our Sunday service.