In March 2020, my small church pressed the pause button on several ministries. Even as some groups stopped gathering, other ministries adapted, evolved and even grew.
We spend a LOT of time on output. We say a lot, post a lot, create a lot, do a lot, lecture our kids a lot (just me?), email a lot, text a lot, help a lot… but what is our input like?
It’s late to be writing a post about Lent, but I’m of the modest opinion that the practices you take on in Lent aren’t just seasonal.
Lately I’ve been praying through my spiritual past, letting memory guide me through how I became a Christian in a non-Christian family, how I traversed fundamentalism to later become Episcopalian, and how the Episcopal Church dared to ordain me both deacon and priest
Instead of reaching for my phone to document or share the moment, I just stood there. I noticed everything I could about that particular horizon including the way the shaggy underbelly of clouds faded to a delicate pink, like short fuzzy tentacles of a jelly fish.
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 pandemic has highlighted what I’ve known for years: faith formation happens at home not exclusively during a 45-minute period on Sunday morning.
Today we celebrate the feast day of Saint Sam Shoemaker, Episcopal priest and deeply influential voice within the Alcoholics Anonymous community.
The Good Book Club is wrapping up its fourth week today with the conclusion of chapter 10. Our household is participating once again this year, albeit more slowly. So rather than reading about blind Bartimaeus over dinner tonight, we’ll be back in chapter 8 discussing the costs of following Jesus.
Like everything else during coronatide, Thanksgiving is a day filled with tough choices.