This past Tuesday, I attended the annual meeting of Episcopal City Mission a group that works for social justice in partnership with parishes and in funding new projects in local communities. Each year, ECM gives out awards for groups or individuals who have done notable work over the year to promote justice. One award was given to the outgoing chair of Morville house, an affordable housing complex that ECM owns for seniors in Boston. Another went to Marisa Egerstrom, one of the first organizers of the "Protest Chaplains," a faith presence at the Occupy movement for income equality that began last September. She’s a PhD student in religion at Harvard and in discernment for the priesthood and goes to the parish that sponsored me for the priesthood, St John the Evangelist, Boston.
Both here in Boston and in the original Occupy Wall Street site in New York, Marisa was instrumental in telling the story about how Christians care about inequality (in all honesty, this should not be news). In her acceptance speech, she talked about how we long for the Kingdom of God--how it is an almost physical, palpable longing. She also thanked ECM for acknowledging the Spirit in people who look different from the way church people often do, and in places where the Church often does not go. The Protest Chaplains had the opportunity to communicate the Gospel in a new way to people who, perhaps, had given up on the Church. That felt, physical longing for justice that buzzed in the air at Zuccoti Park and on the Greenway was a refusal to settle for the status quo as we have become accustomed to it. It was a declaration that we as a society can do better than homelessness and better than billionaires. That longing, the Protest Chaplains offered, is a longing for God--a longing many of the people there would not have labeled as such because religion as they have seen it has been about telling people that they are insufficient, not that they are blessed. It was evangelism as well as activism.
At the same time, I've been getting ready for our screening of Love Free or Die. In preparing to write this morning, I had this background buzz in my mind--"Really, Sara? Really? Do we have to talk about sexuality AGAIN?" It's an excellent movie, but maybe you are feeling the same in wondering whether you will attend tonight. The thing is, as I sit here behind my computer on my suburban couch before leisurely driving into work, the fact is that I have the luxury to even ask that question. A teenager whose parents have kicked him out of the house for being gay, a mother whose ex-husband is trying to take away shared custody of their children because she's a lesbian, service members who are finally, finally able to be honest about who the are--they don't have the choice. And, so, it falls to each of us to tell the story, again and again, of God's love for everyone--everyone, yes, even those who disagree about the issue in the first place.
In a video I posted recently on our facebook page, a seminary friend of mine talks about how the Church needs to be a sanctuary, but a particular kind of sanctuary, one of safety, not avoidance. Michele is currently embroiled in the debate over a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota. She and her partner have been together for more than ten years, and she has a clear stake in the conversation. But she also is advocating for church to be a place where people can love each other across their differences, to respect one another deeply and even, still, be able to disagree. Church is a sanctuary, but not away from the "dirty" things of the world like politics. It's a sanctuary from the dirty things of the world like contempt and fear. We are in dialogue not so much to change each other but to hear each other.
So hopefully I’ll see you tonight—whether you’re all settled on the question of sexuality and the church or whether you’re still discerning—and I hope that you’ll pray for Marisa, and Gene Robinson, and all those people who pose hard questions to easy comfort.
I’ll close with this Franciscan blessing:
May God bless us with discomfort, At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger, At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears, To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness, To believe that you can make a difference in this world, So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
From June 7: The Trinity: More Than One Way of Being
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning I was with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington, where I go to celebrate the Eucharist with the sisters every other month. As often happens, I became aware of a feast day I hadn’t known we had! Today is the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ)—a celebration of the Eucharist. Given its early-June date, I have (happily if perplexedly) been wrapped up in the celebration of the feast twice before while traveling—once in Poland, where a black-clad elderly lady hissed at me (I think for wearing a tank top) and once in Honduras. Both had music, marvelous liturgical processions, and extreme festivity—my enthusiasm was not dampened due to my inappropriate attire.
The feast is always after Trinity Sunday, another slightly haphazard day of celebration. In my sermon with the kids on Sunday we talked about the Trinity, but I had no hope of precisely explaining it. The metaphor I offered came from St Augustine; God our Creator, our father, is the Lover; Jesus is the beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the love that goes between them. I tried to explain it by use of a basketball (for the earth, for God our creator), a figure of Jesus, and a heart—you can ask your kids if that made sense at the time. One of the commentators I read in preparation for Sunday advised clergy not to preach as though their seminary professors were seated in the congregation—a temptation, to be sure, when faced with Doctrine with a capital “D” as we have in the Trinity. Instead, she counseled, celebrate Trinity Sunday as a day just to celebrate God. That God is so present, so abundant, so big, that one way of being isn’t enough.
And, so, today, the invitation is to be thankful for the Eucharist; don’t agonize over how Christ is present, just celebrate. The official Anglican stance is the “real presence”—Christ is, for sure, present as blood and body in the bread and wine, but we have a healthy enough respect for mystery not to get dogmatic about how exactly that is. Questioning is still important—theology isn’t just for the professionals—but when we’re given a day to rejoice, let’s take it! The prayer for the Eucharist asks that we venerate the mystery of Christ’s Body and Blood, but it doesn’t stop there—it also asks God to give us the grace to “perceive within ourselves the fruit” of this intimacy with God we’re given. Give thanks to God for the food we are given in Christ, and see what wonderful things happen in your heart in response. Be fed.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning I was with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington, where I go to celebrate the Eucharist with the sisters every other month. As often happens, I became aware of a feast day I hadn’t known we had! Today is the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ)—a celebration of the Eucharist. Given its early-June date, I have (happily if perplexedly) been wrapped up in the celebration of the feast twice before while traveling—once in Poland, where a black-clad elderly lady hissed at me (I think for wearing a tank top) and once in Honduras. Both had music, marvelous liturgical processions, and extreme festivity—my enthusiasm was not dampened due to my inappropriate attire.
The feast is always after Trinity Sunday, another slightly haphazard day of celebration. In my sermon with the kids on Sunday we talked about the Trinity, but I had no hope of precisely explaining it. The metaphor I offered came from St Augustine; God our Creator, our father, is the Lover; Jesus is the beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the love that goes between them. I tried to explain it by use of a basketball (for the earth, for God our creator), a figure of Jesus, and a heart—you can ask your kids if that made sense at the time. One of the commentators I read in preparation for Sunday advised clergy not to preach as though their seminary professors were seated in the congregation—a temptation, to be sure, when faced with Doctrine with a capital “D” as we have in the Trinity. Instead, she counseled, celebrate Trinity Sunday as a day just to celebrate God. That God is so present, so abundant, so big, that one way of being isn’t enough.
And, so, today, the invitation is to be thankful for the Eucharist; don’t agonize over how Christ is present, just celebrate. The official Anglican stance is the “real presence”—Christ is, for sure, present as blood and body in the bread and wine, but we have a healthy enough respect for mystery not to get dogmatic about how exactly that is. Questioning is still important—theology isn’t just for the professionals—but when we’re given a day to rejoice, let’s take it! The prayer for the Eucharist asks that we venerate the mystery of Christ’s Body and Blood, but it doesn’t stop there—it also asks God to give us the grace to “perceive within ourselves the fruit” of this intimacy with God we’re given. Give thanks to God for the food we are given in Christ, and see what wonderful things happen in your heart in response. Be fed.
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 31: On grieving...a wordless space
Dear people of Christ Church,
This morning, I'm back at work after having spent the last week with my family in Sweden. I cried when I read the piece I wrote in this space last week; what I didn't know, writing that on Tuesday night, was that, contrary to my comment about her living "six days or six weeks," it turned out to be more like six hours. Meanwhile, I was stranded in Toronto after my flight was cancelled so I got the news of her death in an anonymous hotel room near the airport. It was, as they say, a "good death," with her daughter and sister each holding a hand, but given that I would have made it if my flight had not been cancelled, there was, along with my own grief, a level of very mundane fury at Air Canada for not having its planes in order.
The writer Elaine Scarry, I think, said somewhere that pain takes away our words. In some ways, grief does this, too, because there's such a wide net of loss when someone dies. When we grieve, we don't just grieve the person who has died, but the whole constellation of realities and associations that that person held for us. In our meeting with the pastor who would do the service for Barbro, we all talked about how she had always been "in charge," that she was the big sister, the mother, the one who could do anything. From a leaking washing machine hose to a piece of broken jewelry, she was a fixer. "So who takes that role now?" Pastor Olaf asked. As if anyone could!
It's easy to trust in God's providence for her. I can paint beautiful and sentimental pictures of the wholeness and grace that envelops her in death, the clarity of a sunset on the Angerman river in Northern Sweden where we always went on vacation. Trusting God's providence for *myself* is quite a bit more difficult, and I find myself back in the wordless space (or, when there are words, the ones that come to mind are not printable here!). So there is a certain silence at the center of the experience, but being home, the work of living marches on.
That was the other strange, but wonderful, thing about my trip; in addition to bursts of tears, there was also some very pleasant tourism, beautiful weather, and yummy Swedish food (yes, it actually IS a lot like the cafeteria at Ikea). My cousin and my mother and I did not only sit around crying: there was the startling blue of the Baltic Sea, the spinning of wind turbines (eat your heart out, Cape Wind), and the brilliant yellow of rapeseed fields. I can't imagine it, but I think the kingdom of God must be in color, too.
So thanks for reading--what a wonder to come home to such an inviting space for reflection and prayer.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning, I'm back at work after having spent the last week with my family in Sweden. I cried when I read the piece I wrote in this space last week; what I didn't know, writing that on Tuesday night, was that, contrary to my comment about her living "six days or six weeks," it turned out to be more like six hours. Meanwhile, I was stranded in Toronto after my flight was cancelled so I got the news of her death in an anonymous hotel room near the airport. It was, as they say, a "good death," with her daughter and sister each holding a hand, but given that I would have made it if my flight had not been cancelled, there was, along with my own grief, a level of very mundane fury at Air Canada for not having its planes in order.
The writer Elaine Scarry, I think, said somewhere that pain takes away our words. In some ways, grief does this, too, because there's such a wide net of loss when someone dies. When we grieve, we don't just grieve the person who has died, but the whole constellation of realities and associations that that person held for us. In our meeting with the pastor who would do the service for Barbro, we all talked about how she had always been "in charge," that she was the big sister, the mother, the one who could do anything. From a leaking washing machine hose to a piece of broken jewelry, she was a fixer. "So who takes that role now?" Pastor Olaf asked. As if anyone could!
It's easy to trust in God's providence for her. I can paint beautiful and sentimental pictures of the wholeness and grace that envelops her in death, the clarity of a sunset on the Angerman river in Northern Sweden where we always went on vacation. Trusting God's providence for *myself* is quite a bit more difficult, and I find myself back in the wordless space (or, when there are words, the ones that come to mind are not printable here!). So there is a certain silence at the center of the experience, but being home, the work of living marches on.
That was the other strange, but wonderful, thing about my trip; in addition to bursts of tears, there was also some very pleasant tourism, beautiful weather, and yummy Swedish food (yes, it actually IS a lot like the cafeteria at Ikea). My cousin and my mother and I did not only sit around crying: there was the startling blue of the Baltic Sea, the spinning of wind turbines (eat your heart out, Cape Wind), and the brilliant yellow of rapeseed fields. I can't imagine it, but I think the kingdom of God must be in color, too.
So thanks for reading--what a wonder to come home to such an inviting space for reflection and prayer.
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 23: Most Kind and Gentle Death
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm writing early, getting ready to fly to Sweden to be with my aunt Barbro. She was diagnosed with lung cancer this spring and has taken a turn for the worse. I should only be gone for a week, but I do regret that I'll miss our festive joint Pentecost service with St Peter's, this Sunday at 11. Matt is preaching and Rev. Mary will celebrate, so it will still be a great celebration! Norm Faramelli has graciously agreed to take the 8:30 service so there will be Eucharist then as well. Please come!
Meanwhile, I've been trying to justify my time away to my children, who are not too pleased about it. Explaining things to them so often is another way of explaining things to myself; in the midst of creating their own worlds, they ask all the hard questions that help me to consider why I really do believe what I do. Most powerfully, they also keep me accountable, pushing me to re-evaluate the half-truths I'm sometimes willing to settle for. Still, talking about death with a five year old is something else altogether (my 2 ½ year old doesn't get it at all, which is fine!).
Isaiah is quite aware that his Saturday playground plans get put on hold for burials, but trying to explain the matrix of faith and sadness that comes together when one of "our own" is dying is another story. We haven't been to Sweden since 2008-when Isaiah was barely 1 ½--so he has no memory of our family there (my mother's whole side of the family, of whom there are not many more). I have been trying to explain to him how I want to go before my aunt dies, to see her before I can't see her anymore. At the same time, I am also explaining that she will be with God, and that everyone dies eventually, so even though I'm sad, it's not necessarily such a terrible thing because we trust in God's love. I really do believe all the alleluias we throw around at burials in the Episcopal Church.
Still, I'm trying to explain it to him with the background of my own grief; the reason I'm going tomorrow and not waiting until "later" (as I've been putting it off since she was diagnosed) is that her needs are such that she is not going home again, whether she lives for another six days or six weeks. This is the time, and I am incredibly blessed/fortunate/just plain lucky to be able to have a flexible job and a credit card that make it possible. There are not many Johannsons or Irwins, so it's not like I can catch the next family heartbreak at a more convenient time.
Meanwhile, there is that perplexity of "my sorrow" vs. "cosmic joy," not to mention the work my aunt herself is doing. Dying is a verb. Going to be with her is witnessing that. Witnessing, in both senses of the word-to see it, to witness, but also to give witness, to affirm it and show that it is important. Gene Burkart and I were talking about this the other day; in our culture death is somehow left to the experts to "fight." Death is often is seen as happening to us, as though our souls and bodies were not on the same team. I think, though, that death has a lot in common with giving birth-when else are we working so closely with God's work on earth? Both are like standing beside a volcano, both with complexity and grace and risk and wonder.
So thank you for your prayers-especially the wardens, Jonathan and Victoria, who fix everything when I'm away! I'll close with the last verse of the wonderful hymn from St Francis, "All Creatures of our God and King." which we sang a few weeks ago. You can listen to some English children with frilly collars singing it, though unfortunately not all the verses--Click here
And thou, most kind and gentle death,
waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise him, Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
and Christ our Lord the way hath trod
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I'm writing early, getting ready to fly to Sweden to be with my aunt Barbro. She was diagnosed with lung cancer this spring and has taken a turn for the worse. I should only be gone for a week, but I do regret that I'll miss our festive joint Pentecost service with St Peter's, this Sunday at 11. Matt is preaching and Rev. Mary will celebrate, so it will still be a great celebration! Norm Faramelli has graciously agreed to take the 8:30 service so there will be Eucharist then as well. Please come!
Meanwhile, I've been trying to justify my time away to my children, who are not too pleased about it. Explaining things to them so often is another way of explaining things to myself; in the midst of creating their own worlds, they ask all the hard questions that help me to consider why I really do believe what I do. Most powerfully, they also keep me accountable, pushing me to re-evaluate the half-truths I'm sometimes willing to settle for. Still, talking about death with a five year old is something else altogether (my 2 ½ year old doesn't get it at all, which is fine!).
Isaiah is quite aware that his Saturday playground plans get put on hold for burials, but trying to explain the matrix of faith and sadness that comes together when one of "our own" is dying is another story. We haven't been to Sweden since 2008-when Isaiah was barely 1 ½--so he has no memory of our family there (my mother's whole side of the family, of whom there are not many more). I have been trying to explain to him how I want to go before my aunt dies, to see her before I can't see her anymore. At the same time, I am also explaining that she will be with God, and that everyone dies eventually, so even though I'm sad, it's not necessarily such a terrible thing because we trust in God's love. I really do believe all the alleluias we throw around at burials in the Episcopal Church.
Still, I'm trying to explain it to him with the background of my own grief; the reason I'm going tomorrow and not waiting until "later" (as I've been putting it off since she was diagnosed) is that her needs are such that she is not going home again, whether she lives for another six days or six weeks. This is the time, and I am incredibly blessed/fortunate/just plain lucky to be able to have a flexible job and a credit card that make it possible. There are not many Johannsons or Irwins, so it's not like I can catch the next family heartbreak at a more convenient time.
Meanwhile, there is that perplexity of "my sorrow" vs. "cosmic joy," not to mention the work my aunt herself is doing. Dying is a verb. Going to be with her is witnessing that. Witnessing, in both senses of the word-to see it, to witness, but also to give witness, to affirm it and show that it is important. Gene Burkart and I were talking about this the other day; in our culture death is somehow left to the experts to "fight." Death is often is seen as happening to us, as though our souls and bodies were not on the same team. I think, though, that death has a lot in common with giving birth-when else are we working so closely with God's work on earth? Both are like standing beside a volcano, both with complexity and grace and risk and wonder.
So thank you for your prayers-especially the wardens, Jonathan and Victoria, who fix everything when I'm away! I'll close with the last verse of the wonderful hymn from St Francis, "All Creatures of our God and King." which we sang a few weeks ago. You can listen to some English children with frilly collars singing it, though unfortunately not all the verses--Click here
And thou, most kind and gentle death,
waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise him, Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
and Christ our Lord the way hath trod
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 17: Beyond Language and Vision
Dear People of Christ Church,
There are times for me, as I’m sure there are for you, when we just sort of go through the motions. I was meeting with some newcomers yesterday whose church backgrounds are more, shall we say, lively, than our historic, rather staid worship. I asked one of them what they thought of it and he said, “Well, it can be boring sometimes.” As his wife protested he assured us both—“It’s not like she doesn’t know that already!” Indeed. I do know that our worship is not what anyone would call a raucous party. We say the same prayers, the hymns can start to sound the same, and we sit, stand, kneel in all the same places from week to week. If you’re looking for spontaneity or novelty, the Episcopal church is not for you.
Still, enough of us are here, week after week, trying to come near God—beyond language, beyond vision, just, generally beyond. One of the spiritual writer Annies (I’ve heard it attributed both to Annie Lamott and Annie Dillard) says that if we really understood what we were doing in church we’d wear crash helmets; it’s that big. We are trying to squeeze eternity into a silver cup and the ultimate nourishment of our souls onto a little plate. Just what do we think we are doing?
This is where--modern and progressive tattooed lady that I am—I look way, way backward. The poet WH Auden’s response notwithstanding (he inquired of the rector of St Mark’s in the Bowery whether he had “gone stark raving mad” at the changes that came about with
Church doesn’t happen in the words, it happens in us.
Here the mystery is
Are the Words of the Liturgy Worn Out?
not an enigma to be solved; it is reality that makes us live
the more we live from it, the more we experience its inexhaustible and surprising nature..
liturgy summons forth more than reason: it calls forth desire or the heart
Nonetheless, it is not first of all to the intellect that the liturgy is addressed
There are times for me, as I’m sure there are for you, when we just sort of go through the motions. I was meeting with some newcomers yesterday whose church backgrounds are more, shall we say, lively, than our historic, rather staid worship. I asked one of them what they thought of it and he said, “Well, it can be boring sometimes.” As his wife protested he assured us both—“It’s not like she doesn’t know that already!” Indeed. I do know that our worship is not what anyone would call a raucous party. We say the same prayers, the hymns can start to sound the same, and we sit, stand, kneel in all the same places from week to week. If you’re looking for spontaneity or novelty, the Episcopal church is not for you.
Still, enough of us are here, week after week, trying to come near God—beyond language, beyond vision, just, generally beyond. One of the spiritual writer Annies (I’ve heard it attributed both to Annie Lamott and Annie Dillard) says that if we really understood what we were doing in church we’d wear crash helmets; it’s that big. We are trying to squeeze eternity into a silver cup and the ultimate nourishment of our souls onto a little plate. Just what do we think we are doing?
This is where--modern and progressive tattooed lady that I am—I look way, way backward. The poet WH Auden’s response notwithstanding (he inquired of the rector of St Mark’s in the Bowery whether he had “gone stark raving mad” at the changes that came about with
Church doesn’t happen in the words, it happens in us.
Here the mystery is
Are the Words of the Liturgy Worn Out?
not an enigma to be solved; it is reality that makes us live
the more we live from it, the more we experience its inexhaustible and surprising nature..
liturgy summons forth more than reason: it calls forth desire or the heart
Nonetheless, it is not first of all to the intellect that the liturgy is addressed
From May 10: Parish Events
Dear People of Christ Church,
As you’ll see in our ample “save the date” section below, our church continues to hum with the joyful words and sounds of a community in motion! We’ve just set a date for a Lutheran-Episcopal softball game (June 24 after church—Michelle Hache is working on a location) and reserved the library auditorium to host a screening of the Gene Robinson film I mentioned in this space two weeks ago (June 14, 7pm). Early summer will also see the renewal of our several-years dormant young adult group. My calendar is filling up with coffee dates with newcomers, and it was an absolute joy to hear our brave, smart, reflective kids on Sunday talk about their pilgrimage to Costa Rica. Julia Wall’s grace-filled words about how she discovered that God really is always with her were a delight, and Emma’s wisdom about the co-existence of extremes she encountered painted a vivid picture of the joys and challenges of their journey. Thank you to them, to their St James Cambridge colleagues Ursula and Eli who also spoke, and thanks to all the Christ Churchers who offered prayer and financial support for the trip.
God is at work in the world and in the church. I watched sadly as North Carolina amended their constitution and watched happily as President Obama shared his support for same sex marriage (I may have a piece in the Tribune about it tomorrow if there’s room). In his message in response, Episcopal Bishop of NC Michael Curry urged the church to keep fighting for justice and quoted Ted Kennedy: “The dream will never die.” God is at work. When an Episcopal priest was murdered last week at her church in Elicott City, Maryland, the parish offered forgiveness and funeral services for the perpetrator (who killed himself after the murders). God is at work. A number of my friends on Facebook have shared the quote: Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice but I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.” God is at work. We are at work. Our monthly lunch at the Community Day Center continues. With the hard work of Mike B, our deanery rep, the Alewife Deanery granted us $1750 for Diaper Depot. Thanks be to God.
Where is God at work for you? What is God doing in your life? What is God asking you to do in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
A few links:
Bishop Michael Curryhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8hAgzPz7Y&feature=youtu.be
Forgiveness in Maryland: http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2012/05/10/update-maryland-diocese-practices-forgiveness-in-wake-of-shootings/
As you’ll see in our ample “save the date” section below, our church continues to hum with the joyful words and sounds of a community in motion! We’ve just set a date for a Lutheran-Episcopal softball game (June 24 after church—Michelle Hache is working on a location) and reserved the library auditorium to host a screening of the Gene Robinson film I mentioned in this space two weeks ago (June 14, 7pm). Early summer will also see the renewal of our several-years dormant young adult group. My calendar is filling up with coffee dates with newcomers, and it was an absolute joy to hear our brave, smart, reflective kids on Sunday talk about their pilgrimage to Costa Rica. Julia Wall’s grace-filled words about how she discovered that God really is always with her were a delight, and Emma’s wisdom about the co-existence of extremes she encountered painted a vivid picture of the joys and challenges of their journey. Thank you to them, to their St James Cambridge colleagues Ursula and Eli who also spoke, and thanks to all the Christ Churchers who offered prayer and financial support for the trip.
God is at work in the world and in the church. I watched sadly as North Carolina amended their constitution and watched happily as President Obama shared his support for same sex marriage (I may have a piece in the Tribune about it tomorrow if there’s room). In his message in response, Episcopal Bishop of NC Michael Curry urged the church to keep fighting for justice and quoted Ted Kennedy: “The dream will never die.” God is at work. When an Episcopal priest was murdered last week at her church in Elicott City, Maryland, the parish offered forgiveness and funeral services for the perpetrator (who killed himself after the murders). God is at work. A number of my friends on Facebook have shared the quote: Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice but I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.” God is at work. We are at work. Our monthly lunch at the Community Day Center continues. With the hard work of Mike B, our deanery rep, the Alewife Deanery granted us $1750 for Diaper Depot. Thanks be to God.
Where is God at work for you? What is God doing in your life? What is God asking you to do in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
A few links:
Bishop Michael Curryhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8hAgzPz7Y&feature=youtu.be
Forgiveness in Maryland: http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2012/05/10/update-maryland-diocese-practices-forgiveness-in-wake-of-shootings/
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