Letting go and getting behind Jesus. February 25, 2018 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Mark 8:31-38

In the spirit of the season I have a confession to make.  Conflict makes me uncomfortable.  So when I hear about Peter rebuking Jesus and then Jesus firing back and rebuking Peter I don’t like it.  What is all this rebuking about?  In fact, what does it even mean to rebuke?  It’s not a word we use very often.  Conflict avoidant or not, we may scold our kids or lecture our significant other, only on rare occasions, of course.  But rebuke?  We probably don’t think what we’re doing is rebuking because it sounds so harsh and it can be, but perhaps a more helpful way to think about it is to consider that “to rebuke” really means to put someone in their place. 

So with that in mind, I don’t know about you but I certainly feel more comfortable turning our attention to today’s reading from the gospel of Mark.  Now what’s going on here is a continuation of what just happened right before our reading began.  Jesus has just asked his disciples who they think he is and Peter declares, “You are the Messiah.”  And with that confession the disciples finally know Jesus’ proper place as God’s Messiah.   So now that “the cat is out of the bag,” so to speak, Jesus takes this opportunity to teach the disciples what being the Messiah actually means.  The Son of Man, Jesus explains, must undergo great suffering and rejection and even be killed. 

My guess is that it is Peter now who is feeling rather uncomfortable because he, along with all the other disciples, know that the Messiah’s proper place is in triumph not in suffering, rejection, and execution.  So Peter being Peter takes it upon himself to pull Jesus aside to inform him that he’s got it all wrong.  Peter is determined to put Jesus the Messiah in the place that he thinks is most proper, a place of glory and triumph and so he rebukes him. 

However, in doing so Peter, a disciple, someone who signed on to follow Jesus, is now suddenly trying to reverse roles and take the lead by telling Jesus what to do.  But Jesus is having none of that.  In response - for Peter’s own good - Jesus is quick to put him back in his proper place, that is, behind him.  “Get behind me, Satan!” rebukes Jesus. 

Poor Peter.  Just moments before he had been totally in sync with Jesus, seeing what many couldn’t see - that Jesus was the long awaited Messiah.  And Peter was more than ready to follow, follow that is, until it became clear that God’s Messiah wasn’t leading where Peter thought he should go and that’s what led to all this rebuking.  But Peter’s story is not unique.  Aren’t there times when we feel as right and as bold as Peter and ask God to just move on over and let us take the lead in our lives or the lives of others?  Circumstances where we feel pretty confident that we know what’s best and just wish that God would follow our instructions?   But there are other times when we do want to follow Jesus yet without even realizing it we do things to take control of a situation instead of letting go and getting behind Jesus so that we can follow and he can take the lead in our lives. 

Which brings me back to my years in high school, when for a few weeks in P.E. class we were taught social dance.   We learned how to do the foxtrot, the waltz, the swing, and for those who were really advanced, the polka.  Although it wasn’t cool to say so back then, and perhaps it’s still true today, I loved it.  Not only did it save me from changing in and out athletic clothes in the middle of the school day which was such a pain, but learning how to dance like “old people” turned out to be quite fun.  Who knew?  But there was a problem.  It wasn’t the dance steps that came relatively easy to me.  My problem was that I couldn’t stop leading my partner.  And as you may know, tradition has it that in social dance the boy leads and the girl follows.  I can’t tell you how many times I heard my teacher shout across the gym for all to hear, “Kathleen, stop leading!”  With that rebuke I was reminded to pay more attention and let my partner lead - which usually lasted for a few steps - until it completely slipped my mind and I went right back to leading once again.

It’s not easy for any of us to surrender control and follow someone else’s lead - and you know I’m not just talking about social dance here.  Jesus certainly knew this about us because after putting Peter in his place Jesus gathers the entire crowd, not just the disciples, but everyone who was around so that he can tell them something really important, where their proper place is - where our proper place is: Behind Jesus.  If any want to become my followers, Jesus says, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.

Sobering words, which at first may sound just as appealing as an invitation to a death march. But really it’s quite the opposite, it’s a call to dance with God.  To dance the dance of abundant life with the first step of this dance, starts with denying ourselves.  Now just to be clear, denying ourselves is not about hating ourselves because we are called to love ourselves as Christ loves us - and that’s a whole lot of love.  Nor does denying ourselves mean deciding to make life hard - to give up things that bring comfort, joy or pleasure - doing that is just a different way of trying to control which in this dance leads to a lot of stepping on toes and nothing feels right.  Rather, denying ourselves is about letting go, letting go of the idea that it’s our right to be in charge of our lives, that we should be the ones to dictate what steps to take and when to take them.  Denying ourselves is surrendering our claim to be in charge so that Jesus is able to take the lead.  For when we are willing to follow his lead, responding to the gentle guidance and prompting of God’s Spirit, then we are able to pick up the cross of Christ.  Jesus’ cross that is all about giving in a world that takes, loving in a world that hates, offering mercy when others seek vengeance, forgiveness when others condemn, compassion when others are simply indifferent.  This is God’s dance that we are invited to join in.  This dance of denying ourselves and taking up our cross which leads to abundant life.

Now we are all pretty clumsy when it comes to this dance.  We may even feel like all we have to offer are two left feet.  No matter, God in Christ desires to dance with each and every one of us.   But if you’re like me, you’ll need lots of reminders and sometimes even a loving rebuke.  Yet keep in mind that it is always good news when Jesus speaks to us and says, Get behind me and follow my lead.

One of us. February 18, 2018 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Mark 1:9-15

What if God was one of us? In a few breathtaking verses, Mark brings us right there. Jesus is baptized, the Spirit descends on him as a dove, and a voice from heaven proclaims him the Son of God. But then that same Spirit does something remarkable: She drives him out into the wilderness where Jesus has to be human and vulnerable. He battles with temptations; experiences fear and terror — he’s with the “wild beasts” as Mark describes it. And he is out there for a long time, no doubt feeling lonely, certainly struggling with the relentless tedium of difficult days without any distractions, getting just what he needs to survive. And then, when that ordeal is over, he begins his public ministry right as John the Baptist is arrested, soon to be executed on a whim from Herod. Having faced his own human nature, Jesus goes out into a dangerous world where human beings both suffer and cause suffering. And it is to human beings in that broken world that Jesus proclaims the message: The kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.

Jesus doesn’t float above the ground, preaching only in the rarefied precincts of the Temple to respectable and outwardly perfect people. He hangs out with whores and traitors, spends time with disreputable women, touches lepers, embraces outcasts, and eats and drinks with anyone because the Kingdom he proclaims has come near to everyone, and breaks into all situations and circumstances. “What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us. Just a stranger on the bus tryin’ to make his way home.” (from "One of Us" by Joan Osborne) That’s the whole point: God has become one of us, and there is no human condition alien to God. And that message needs to penetrate into every corner of creation: into doctor’s offices where people learn they have cancer, into twelve step meetings where people struggle with addiction, into Parkland, Florida where they are reeling from a senseless slaughter, into the midst of racial discord and glaring inequalities, into the grind of our daily lives, and into the fear and loneliness of sleepless nights. It’s right where we most need God to be that God wants to come.

So the question is not whether God is present: the real question is will we accept that God is present, no matter what? Which leads to the great exhortation on this first Sunday in Lent: Repent. But that doesn’t mean “feel bad about the wrong things you have done.” The Greek verb is metanoiete, which means, literally, “change your mind.” How? Accept that God loves you and holds you close as you are, in all your flawed and wonderful humanity. Let that love in, so that you can be forgiven and renewed and set free to love in return.

No other message will do. If the Church says to the world, “You better shape up! You better behave! If you do, then maybe God will love you and bless you, and if not, go to hell.” There’s no good news in that, and it’s not the message of Jesus, who constantly shows broken and sinful people that God’s love is close, that the Kingdom of God, where that love is fully realized, is being revealed all the time. And we can be part of it. God wants us to be part of it, and there is no barrier other our willingness. People cannot be coerced into the Kingdom. They cannot be scared into the Kingdom. They will not be guilted into the Kingdom. People can only be loved into the Kingdom. That is the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

But that Gospel can only be authentically proclaimed by people actually living it. I can preach the love of God until I am blue in the face, but if you don’t see God’s love at work in my very imperfect life, why would you listen to me? We as a church can talk all we want about sharing Christ’s love with the world, but if the world looks at us and doesn’t see God’s love at work in our very imperfect community, then our message is empty: it means nothing.

So, I urge all of us to follow Jesus this Lent and change our minds. Let’s confess our sins so we can know God’s forgiveness and accept God’s love for us as we are, without having to earn it or deserve it. And then let’s go out and live it and share it, each one of us, in the particular circumstances of our lives. That’s what the world needs: to see people who know the love of God is coming into the world all the time and who show that in their own lives. In a world where people sing songs wishing God was one of us, they can look at you and me and all who believe in the Good News, see Christ, and realize God is one of us and God is with us. Always and everywhere.

Between Dust and Dust... A Reflection from Emily Rutledge

On this, the second day of Lent, I am beginning to think about what I want to focus on for this season. 

I am a pre-planner like that. 

I have had years that my Lent has been about giving up: chocolate, self-doubt, social media.  I have had other years where my Lent has been about taking on: reading, contemplative prayer, making time for others. 

To be honest, sometimes when Lent rolls around it feels like a chance for New Year's Resolution 2.0, a re-do, a second chance because somehow the unrealistic expectation I set for myself a month ago is going to suddenly become realistic.  Magic God will show up and my resolve will be stronger.  This usually just ends with further disappointment and a reminder that God isn't in the business of mind control... She's far more concerned with our hearts. 

Preparing our hearts for something doesn't often mean we need to live in a black and white world of no ____________ till Easter but rather the infinity more difficult existence of wresting with our own humanity and mortality.  The gray space of life.  When we are told on Ash Wednesday that, we are but dust and to dust we shall return, it's no mistake that our kick-off to the season is a reminder that we are mortal.  You and I and every person we encounter will someday die.  That is a truth our culture works incredibly hard to cover up.  It is counter-cultural to live as though we are going to die.  We live in a world that tells us we can be and do anything but constantly leaves out the universal truth that we are all going to die.  We begin and end made up of the same stuff.  At this moment we are in between dust and dust.

Lent is our chance to enter that space as Christ did before his death. 

I know deep in my soul that eternity is ahead for each of us but I have no earthly understanding of it.  I'm fairly sure it's not fairy wings and cloud jumping but I could be wrong about that, too.  For much of my young life I put a lot of energy into trying to figure out what was next to ease the fear I had of death.  As I have worked to accept my own mortality the strong grip I had on unlocking the mystery of eternity has released and I long more to be present in the Kingdom of God I am currently a part of. 

Last month there was a missile scare in Hawaii.  An alert went out informing residents that a ballistic missile was headed to the islands.  I was born and raised in Hawaii and most of my family and friends still live there.  The stories that have unfolded regarding the half and hour before the alert was deemed a mistake have rooted deep within me.

Declarations of love, apologies, words of affirmation.  Parents fighting like hell to be with their children and strangers helping each other in selfless ways. 

People were not calling others to remind them how much they hated them.  People were not concerned about another's immigration status or gender or orientation or voting history.  There were not lines of people at ATMs withdrawing all their money. 

In a moment when an entire state's mortality was suddenly thrown in their faces reactions were that of love, connection, and caring. 

This Lent, what if we threw caution to the wind and lived as if we were going to die? 

The glory of God who is. February 11, 2018 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Mark 9:2-9

Remember Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz?  At the beginning of her story she's in Kansas and rather unhappy with her circumstances.  The loneliness and boredom of small farm life are getting to her.  She’s restless, wanting something more or something different.  Perhaps if she were somewhere else, somewhere, say, over the rainbow then all would be well and her dreams really would come true.   

But Dorothy's not the only one who longs for change when the current situation isn’t what one would hope for.  So often we look at the circumstances of our lives and judge them.  If they all add up to what we like and find pleasing then we say God is good and life is at as it should be.  However, when we don't like what we see, when life isn’t so satisfying in one way or another we may blame God and be desperate to seek something new.  Maybe a change of scenery, or some other kind of change - a new car, a new job, a new relationship, a new something might solve the problem.   Sometimes that works.  But more often than not that restless desire for something different or the longing for something more isn't so much about the circumstances of life that are happening around us, but the depth of life that exists within us. 

It’s a bit ironic that when we seek to nurture the life within us, our spiritual lives, we often look on the outside to our circumstances in order to find God.   We seek to know God through our blessings - an amazing job opportunity, the long-awaited birth of a child,  a doctor’s report of good news from a test result, or in my case just a few days ago not slamming into the car that stopped right in front of me when I was going 50 miles an hour.  When good things like that happen, we thank God and feel like all is right in the world.  And when our outside world is good then our inside world is good as well. 

That must have been how the disciples felt as they witnessed Jesus doing all this amazing stuff.  Casting out demons, healing the sick, feeding the 5,000 and calming the storm.  In Jesus they were seeing God show up and doing marvelous things - a God who does.  And who, no doubt, would have gotten plenty of likes and shares on Facebook if had been around during the day!  

However, there comes a time in most of our lives when we are called to know God more fully and more deeply.  To know not only the God who does, but the God who is.  The God who is - regardless of circumstances.   This is who Peter, James, and John are invited to know when Jesus leads them up on a high mountain apart, by themselves, to experience the Transfiguration.  Mark’s gospel explains that Jesus’ “clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.”  The gospel of Matthew says that in addition to his clothes Jesus’ face shone like the sun.  In this transformation Jesus didn’t just reveal a God who does, but the glory of God who is - a God who is light, who is love, who is life - no matter what.

Yet as amazing as that experience must have been, nothing really changed.  It’s not like Jesus suddenly lit up and became someone new or different.  The disciples were given a glimpse of what was true all along that whether Jesus was literally shining or not he always embodied God’s glory.  And just as quickly as all of this happened it suddenly disappeared and everything seemed to go back to the way things were -  all except for those three disciples, Peter, James, and John.  Their eyes were now open to a new way of seeing Jesus, a new way of experiencing the ordinary world, a new way of knowing God as ever present and near.   

But let’s remember Peter, James, and John were real people.  Yes, they’d seen God’s glory in Jesus.  They knew it was real.  But still, as Jesus heads down the mountain and begins his journey to the cross, it becomes more and more difficult to hold onto this new vision.  No longer does Jesus wow the crowds with big, bold miracles.  Instead he submits to the people and forces that seek his bodily destruction.  And when the time comes when Jesus is arrested Mark records that all the disciples flee - including Peter, James, and John.  Yet even in the brutal reality of Jesus on the cross, even then, though not apparent to the natural eye, the glory of God - the God who is light and love and life regardless of circumstances - still shone in and through Jesus.  Now it took a while, but eventually the disciples were able to see this glory as well.   

We are invited each and every day to know more fully our God who is, to connect with the Holy One who fills the world with divine light and love that brings life to all situations.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the God who does.  I love when prayers are answered in ways that we can see God’s goodness at work in obvious ways.  But what the Transfiguration offers us is the promise that in all things there is so much more going on than what our human eyes can see - the glory of God is truly everywhere.   

As you may recall, towards the end of The Wizard of Oz Dorothy has a change of heart.  She now sees Kansas with new eyes and she longs to go home, but her chances seem lost.  Lost until Gilda, the Good Witch of the North, appears and explains to Dorothy that she has always had the power to go back home.  “Then why didn’t you tell her?” asks the scarecrow.  “Because,” Gilda answers, “she wouldn’t have believed me.  She had to learn it for herself.”  We, like Dorothy, often must follow our own paths, experience our own journeys in order to gain new vision and learn for ourselves over and over again more deeply and fully each time the reality of the Transfiguration in our own lives  - that no matter what our circumstances look like, God’s light, God’s love, God’s life is always present, always with us.  So take a close, hard look and see the glory of God shining right in front of you in your life today.    

It's only Holy if it has holes in it.

At a recent WAC (Wednesdays at COOS), the program was simple: "Ask a Priest." Mo. Kathleen and I sat on stools after dinner and let people ask us . . . well, anything. And the questions ranged from sartorial to deeply theological. But one question that stood out for me was this: "What does the liturgy mean to you?" I could have rambled on for hours about that, but the essence of my answer was simple: the liturgy is profoundly sacramental. And by that I don't just mean that during the Holy Eucharist we believe that the bread and wine mystically become the Body and Blood of Christ (though it includes that). I meant that our worship is sacramental in the broadest sense of that word. As the Book of Common Prayer describes it, a sacrament is an "outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual grace." And everything in our worship is sacramental because everything conveys the presence and love of God: the colors we adorn the altar with, the music we sing, the peace we exchange, the meal we share. In all these physical manifestations we can discern the living God. But — and here's what's most significant to me — in doing so, our liturgy reminds us that all of creation and all of life is sacramental. All that we do when we celebrate the Eucharist forms us to see the whole world in a renewed way, as the setting and the means for God's love to be fully realized and embodied.

Put another way, the liturgy matters because it has holes in it: the light from Sunday morning shines on us throughout the week and helps us see God "at work in the world about us" (Eucharistic Prayer C). And that is true for any "holy" activity. For example, along with a number of people in this parish, I regularly practice contemplative prayer, sitting with God in silence. But what makes such prayer transformative is not having a blissful prayer experience (mine generally feels remarkably mundane), but letting that prayer slowly shape the way I am in the world: learning to be more present in the moment, accepting myself as I am, accepting others as they are, finding my deepest identity Christ and not my ego, allowing the love of God to flow into me and through me. If contemplative prayer was hermetically sealed off from the rest of my life, it would be pointless. What makes it holy is that it has holes in it that let the light shine through into my daily life.

Ultimately, we are all called to embrace the counter-cultural truth that there is no such thing as "sacred" and "profane." Everything is sacred. All of creation is holy. Every object can convey the beauty of God; every act can manifest the love of God: sitting in prayer, going to the grocery store, holding hands, mopping the floor, eating the Body and Blood of Christ, having lunch with a friend. All of it embodies God's Presence. This is the heart of the Incarnation: God is born into this world as a baby to show that all of this world and all of humanity contain God and convey God. The entire universe is the wondrous arena in which God makes known the reality of Love.

The Celtic tradition speaks of "thin places," places where the the line between heaven and earth disappears and we can see that heavenly reality and earthy reality are the same. There was never supposed to be a dividing wall: it's only Holy if it has holes in it.

Do you not know? February 4, 2018 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Mark 1:29-39

A parishioner gave me a wonderful gift this week. She had written a spiritual autobiography to give her grandchildren, recounting the moments in her life when she has most experienced the love and power of God at work. And she came to my office and shared it with me. And I was quite moved by it. Over the years, God has blessed her in many ways, and I was especially struck by how often the Spirit shone through during the dark periods of her life: times of financial need, emotional distress, spiritual dryness, and loss. What a gift to be able to look back over your life and see all the ways God’s love has enfolded you and upheld you. But what especially touched me was that she wrote it down so that her grandchildren would know, and she came to share it with me so that I would know. And as I listened to her, the words of the prophet Isaiah, words which we just heard this morning, kept echoing in my mind: Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and grow weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Have you not known? Have you not heard? By definition, love wants to be known and seeks to be heard. If I say to a friend, “Hey, man, I really love you,” and he replies, “I would never have known it,” that’s a bad sign. We believe and affirm that God is love, and so God is. But that means it is the very nature of God to communicate that love to us in words and in actions. If we are not getting that message, something is awry. The whole Bible is essentially the story of God’s love affair with humanity. There are some rocky moments, but it always comes back to this: Have you not known? Have you not heard? God will strengthen you and God will bless you and God will raise you up because God loves you. We can feel the urgency of that message in Isaiah, and we can see it in the Gospel today. Jesus is showing love all over the place: healing a fever, curing various diseases, casting out demons, and proclaiming the Good News. The whole city of Capernaum is gathered at the door of the house where he is staying, and Jesus is caring for all of them. And there are no strings attached: he doesn’t demand they join his movement; there is no belief statement people have to sign; he’s not handing out pledge cards. He’s just loving them, because that’s what God does.

And that explains why he doesn’t stay there in Capernaum. That would be a sweet gig: people love him there, he could continue to heal and help people there, and and it would all be good and comfortable. But like Isaiah, Jesus feels urgent: he has come to show everyone that God loves them. That’s why he travels from town to town, preaching and healing and showing people that love. That’s why he commissions his followers to do the same. He’s not interested in church membership or setting up institutional structures. He wants people to experience God’s love, so that they can live in a new and better way, the way God always intended them to live.

Actually, let me rephrase that. Jesus wants us to experience God’s love, so that we can live in a new and better way, the way God always intended us to live. Christ is risen: his Spirit fills the Church; his Spirit fills all of creation. And just as he urgently proclaimed the reality of God’s love in Galilee 2000 years ago, he continues to do so just as urgently in Charlottesville today. The heart of God has not changed, nor has God’s fervent desire: Have you not known? Have you not heard?

Love is a continuous flow of receiving and giving, and so there are two points I feel called to emphasize to you this morning. First: don’t ask for God’s love — assume it! Trust that you are receiving God’s love every moment. We can all live like God actually loves us. So, for example, when we pray, we don’t need to plead with God for help, because of course God is going to help us. We can rather give thanks for that and open ourselves up to that. I was just talking to a parishioner last week who is going through a difficult time, and her prayer was having the perverse effect of making God seem distant. She kept crying out to a God “out there,” begging for his help and feeling like God was far away. And as she described this, I could sense the Spirit trying to say to her, “I’m right here, in every breath you take. Trust me and let me love you.” So she started to pray differently, thanking God for being with her and giving her strength. She called me a few days later and said that it had made a huge difference for her. And of course it would. Whether we are just needing patience for the day or we’re dying from cancer, God’s love will be with us and will sustain us. Not even death can stop that. If we can allow ourselves to accept that, it will change the way we live. It has certainly changed the way I live. So that’s the first point I want you to remember: assume you are receiving God’s love every moment, because you are — and live accordingly.

But God’s love not only flows into us — it flows through us. We don’t  just receive it: we give it away. So here is the second point I want you to remember: assume that God’s love will flow through you to bless others. So urgent was Jesus to convey the Good News that not only did he go from town to town, he formed a community to carry on that same work. I shared with the Vestry a saying I think is true: the Church does not have a mission from God; the God of mission has a church. God is love and God is always seeking to convey that love through us. Doesn’t matter how flawed and imperfect we are: God will gladly use us anyway. Every act of kindness we offer, every word of witness we speak, can help someone else experience God’s love, both here on Sunday mornings and out in the world the rest of the week. I received a beautiful card at Christmas from someone telling me how this church has made him feel so welcomed and so loved. And I regularly hear similar sentiments from newcomers. That’s awesome, but it’s not because we’re so good — it’s because God is so good and so loving and so intent on reaching every human being, even through us. Assume that. Live that.

And know God’s purpose is clear. The kingdom will come in all its fullness when in response to those questions, Have you not known? Have you not heard?, the whole creation shouts as one, “Yes! I have known! I have heard!”

So be it. Amen.

Every Last Drop: A Reflection by Emily Rutledge

I felt a deep connection to the water droplets that clung to the branches surrounding my home on Monday morning.  The bus stop drop off had been a disaster, I had a full day of emails and planning ahead of me, and I am currently at a moment in time when it feels like whenever one fire is put out anther is lit.  And it's cold.  And for me being cold makes everything worse.

As I walked past branch upon branch freckled with these gorgeous and fragile droplets I was reminded of all of you, of all of us.  

At a young age I remember seeing an apartment building and having the paradigm shifting realization that each person in that large building was living a life of their own where they were the center of everything.  The way my life felt huge to me was the same way all of those people's lives felt huge to them.  I describe it as 'our own little worlds'.  This simple and universal truth still rattles me sometimes.  There are approximately 7.5 BILLION living each day on this planet experiencing their life; beautiful, horrible, exciting, beginning, ending, expecting, struggling, succeeding, lives.  I often find myself wondering if anyone else feels as broken, tired, happy, loved, or confused as I do... and I am able to answer my own question:  YES.  We are each holding on to something, clinging to hope- or the future- or the past- or a new way- or another choice- or the gift of a single moment.  

That's a lot of living happening all around us.  That's a whole lot of hanging on. Ministry has gifted me with the privilege of being present for others' most wonderful and most painful moments.  It's let me into so many 'little worlds' and revealed to me one universal truth... every single person is doing a hard thing.  We have this horribly human characteristic of wanting to rank our hard.  To make it bigger or smaller or dismiss it or hold it higher than others. The reality is; hard is hard is hard.  Hanging on is hanging on is hanging on. And thankfully; God is God is God.  There is enough love and hope and redemption for every 'little world', every struggle, every one of us.

Praying this this week your little world is graced with the beauty that lies in the hanging on.