May 10, 2020 During the Pandemic Isolation

Acts of the Apostles 6, 1-7 + Psalm 33 + 1 Peter 2, 4-9 + John 14, 1-12

3:30pm at Saint Peter the Apostle Church in Naples, FL

We are nearing the end of the Easter Season, and John’s Gospel has been our guide into this profound experience of the Resurrection as we have celebrated it like never before, away from our church, distanced from those who pray and worship with us faithfully week after week. John’s Gospel gives us a different Jesus than Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In some ways, they try to dazzle us with persuasive miracles, but John has no miracles, only “signs”, that are more symbolic than physical. John makes no effort to inspire hero worship. John gives us intimacy and the tenderness of love.

            The relationships that Jesus talks of at the Last Supper are John’s substitute for what the other Gospel writers call the “Kingdom of God.” John wants to avoid any thought or confusion that might suggest an institution or structure. The Jesus of John’s Gospel offers a WAY of life made up of an ever-expanding web of relationships that binds us together with and in God which is exactly what we are as a Church and the People of God. Our faithfulness, care, and love for each other almost without our knowing it, binds us to God for we express and reveal God’s love as we love one another.

What Jesus offers is not a life free of suffering, not a life free of worry and trouble, not a life of ease and privilege either. He offers us a “way” a “way of life”, a way of facing suffering, a way of confronting fear, a way to handle worry, and always a way of being together in this world as we are right now even though physically separated. It is way of being in communion and a way of being in God’s world and at home with ourselves and everything in creation.

            Throughout these long days of confinement many have found it difficult to be alone. I suspect that for some, this is evidence that they are not comfortable with themselves. The need to keep busy, run around and shop and be entertained every day is very inadequate way of hiding or denying the truth that we are good, we are loved, and we are special in God’s sight. We are nearing the end of a season that has invited us to reflect upon the love of God for us, an extraordinary love that moved God to send his only Son to reveal and restore the goodness with which we were created. This love is not given to make us feel special, privileged, or exceptional. It is a love given to us for life, a love that awakens us to the needs of others and empowers us to care for them.

            What we proclaim today are the parting words of Jesus Christ. “Do not let your hearts be troubled” is a wonderful sentiment, but we have to realize that they don’t mean much to young couple with three little children who can’t buy groceries by their relationship with God. A widow can’t rely on her piety and prayers to provide the long-term care she needs. There is a mission that comes to us with these words. “Trust in God and trust in me” is what we hear today. It is a reminder about the ultimate victory of love. A love that turns us toward each other in compassion, commitment, service and hope. What we do is always the first expression of what we genuinely believe. Today we hear the astounding promise made to that young family and that widow, a promise that becomes for us a command. Love one another. Telling that young couple or that widow not to be afraid is useless. We are the ones who need to hear and believe that there should be no fear in us; no fear that we don’t have enough, no fear that we can’t do what is needed to bring Justice and Peace to this world, no fear or worry that we shall fail, because, with God all things are possible. The only reason that couple or that widow have to set aside their fears, is God’s promise made real in our relationship with them. They could be without fear because of us, because we know the way, and because we know the truth about who we are and what we are called to become.

May 3, 2020 During the Pandemic Isolation St. Peter the Apostle Naples,FL

Acts of the Apostles 2, 36-42 + Psalm 23 + 1 Peter 2, 20-25 + John 10, 1-10

We are teased by the Word of God to wonder what is it that attracted people to these Apostles and to Peter in the first place. We might even take a step further back to wonder or ask what attracted those apostles to Jesus causing them to leave the security of their homes and jobs and follow this man about whom they seem to have known nothing. These apostles we read about today were not teaching dogma or giving catechism lessons. They were, to use the language of this season, contagious with joy and grace. They found themselves in a relationship with a real person whose life drew them into the very life of God. The consequence of that relationship was “metanoia”. That is the word Peter used, and it is a powerful Greek word that means revolutionizing your way of thinking, acting, and being.

There is something absolutely revolutionary about our faith when it is rooted in a relationship with the risen Christ, and I want to make clear that I’m speaking about “The Risen Christ”, the “Corner Stone rejected by the Builders.” A sentimental attraction to the historical Jesus of Nazareth might be nice and sometimes comforting, but that is not where our faith rests. Our sense of and our relationship is not with some nice looking white-man with flowing auburn hair with a lamb resting on his shoulders. That image has to take you to an agonizing moment in an olive garden, a betrayal, a flogging, abandonment, and a crucifixion before he has anything to offer. What that Christ offers is Hope. Our faith must spring from Christ risen in glory. This is a Christ who still bore the wounds of his death. It is the Christ who is there one minute and gone the next. It is the Christ who can be mistaken for a gardener or a companion on a journey. When Christian faith is a relationship with Christ, it is no philosophy of life or some moral code that encourages people to be nice. When Jesus speaks of himself as a gate, he is giving us, his disciples a most important insight into his relationship with the one he calls his “father.” In some ways, I think it is a privileged insight that we Christians receive. It is a gift that leaves me wondering how others who do not know Christ find their way home. I’m sure they do, but I suspect it might be a lot more difficult.

What the living Word of God says to us today is that the only way to the Father is through Jesus Christ, the gate, which means that our salvation comes from and in our relationship to the Son of God which begins at our Baptism and is sustained within Christ whose life is accessible to us at this altar in this assembly. He proclaims in the clearest terms possible that abundant life is gained through Christ alone. That “abundant” life does not mean lots of it, or a long life. It means very life of God is ours to live when we have put on Christ in whom we have been Baptized. What we find and have offered to us is not available any place else.

On this Fourth Sunday of Easter, we are invited to allow the resurrection of Jesus Christ to make a real difference in who we are, not just what we think or do. We who grew up surrounded by Catholicism’s saints and angels probably think of the Resurrection as the promise of eternal life: “If I should die before I wake” many of us were taught to say every night. Peter would call that hopeful insurance, but that falls short of Christian life. He would say, “When you catch on, you get caught up. Nothing is the same, and there’s nothing to fear.”

April 26, 2020 at St. Peter & St. William Churches in Naples, Fl

Acts of the Apostles 2, 14, 22-33 + Psalm 16 + 1 Peter 1, 17-21 + Luke 24, 13-36

It is a good guess that the people in this Gospel were fleeing the death and danger they had witnessed in Jerusalem. It was a violent and bloodthirsty mob that had roamed the streets and shouted for Barabbas. After filling in this stranger who joins them on the road, Cleopas, who is doing the talking, says something very important: “Him they did not see.” It is a summary line that fairly well describes what has been going on since Jesus came from the desert and was baptized. Through all the time he was among us, even on that short walk from Jerusalem, no one really recognized who he was except a lone centurion at the foot of the cross and a criminal hanging beside him. Everyone else kept hanging on to their hopes that an omnipotent messiah was going to come and restore Israel to its former glory. In their minds, and therefore in their eyes, there was no room for the God Jesus revealed: a God of self-giving and suffering love.

Perhaps their hearts had to be broken before they could give up that narrow idea of God who would punish and condemn those who oppressed God’s people. With the breaking of their hearts, their closed and limited ideas broke open as well allowing a different perception of God’s ways that was more inclusive, more merciful and loving, and more present to them than they had been expecting.

All of us who have suffered broken hearts can learn something from these broken-hearted pilgrims. We can learn to listen. It is a skill in short supply these days, but they did it well. They listened to Jesus. Luke tells us that Jesus “opened the Scriptures” to them, which means that he broke open their closed minds trapped by society’s ideas about power and victory. He explained to them God’s choice for an alternative that was more about service than power, more about mercy than revenge, more about other than self, more about love than pleasure, and more about life than death.

Perhaps when dreams are broken and our lives are shattered by tragedies we can become more open to discovering the truth that God’s ways are not ours, that there is, even in suffering, always the hope we that we, disciples of Jesus, have in discovering that the one who suffered for us suffers with us, and those who are one with him in a blood spilled broken body will rise with him. Luke preserved this story for us to tell on this day to assure us that even when we try to flee from suffering or evil someone is with us along the way; and that even though the tomb is empty, our hearts and our lives are never empty when stay with each other and discover that when the scriptures are broken and the bread of Christ’s body is broken, our brokenness shall be healed, and it will never be said that we did not see and recognize him in each other.

April 19, 2020 During the Pandemic Isolation in Naples, FL

Acts of the Apostles 2, 42-47 + Psalm 118 + 1 Peter 1, 3-9 + John 20, 19-31

The locked doors of that room are probably as important as the story John tells about Thomas and his apostolic friends. Fear often does that to people, so does anger. They lock themselves up. They hide. They build walls. What is revealed here by the living Word of God is that locked doors, walls, minds and hearts closed up are nothing to Christ Jesus. He comes in anyway, and if we read this carefully, he comes more than once until he has everyone’s attention, trust, and faith. There comes a point when hearing this Gospel at which we can no longer talk about “them”, or those apostles, because we’ve all been there maybe more than once. Perhaps, some in this assembly are still there: locked up, closed up, sealed up, and maybe even, fed up. We shut people out because they hurt us, talk about us, and somehow offend us. We shut God out because something happens we don’t like or we don’t get what we want. We close our ears and shut our eyes so that we do not hear or see God asking something of us that is too much, and not in our plan.

That is what was happening in that upper room. God had asked something of them, and they were afraid, not of the Jews, and not even were they afraid of Jesus, but they were afraid that God was asking them to become believers, to trust that even though they did not understand, they could believe and could live as they had been taught to live without any fear of death. God was asking them to abandon their old ideas about power and privilege that came with their mistaken expectations of a Messiah. What Thomas and his friends discovered in that room they had turned into a prison is that faith is an either-or. It is either God or – the rest does not matter. They had to choose, and the choice was frightening. Choose anything other than God or you lose out; both them and their choices are lost. Jesus broke into their presence inviting them to live life as he did, to the fullest.

There is something radical, political, social, and personal going on here. Being a Christian is not some assigned label that we are stuck with forever. For too many people, that claim is an excuse for mediocrity. It takes a whole life to claim that name. It means making a choice day in and day out, a choice to be real, an authentic person who has a relationship with God. That relationship may very well mean leaving the safety of a calculated way of life for a reckless, wholehearted life of faith in Christ which very well may mean standing up and speaking up when something political, social, or personal is wrong.

These people pray, and they know that the function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.  They have an on-going conversation with God. They talk about their sorrows, their joys, doubts and pains, and inevitably they arrive at gratitude. They do not just read the bible. They live it, and sooner or later they come to understand that empty tomb, and with that understanding, all fear is gone, anger is silenced, and they become open to grace, open to life, open to others for that’s the way it is in the Kingdom of God.

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April 12, 2020 at 10:00am St. Peter the Apostle in Naples, FL Live-Streamed

Acts of the Apostles 10, 34-43 + Psalm 118 + 1 Corinthians 5, 6-8

John 20, 1-9

It is a story we have heard and shared in this holy place many times, but perhaps never with more hope than we do today. As John tells it, there is not a lot of Joy being shared, and certainly not much excitement except for the all running around. If you sit with this Gospel for very long, there are a lot of inconsistencies, and if we put ourselves right into the scene, there are way more questions than answers: like, “who rolled back the stone? Why is the cloth that covered his head in a separate place? Why did John tell us it was still dark? How could she see anything in the darkness? Why did John wait for Peter? Now anyone who has read John’s Gospel up to this twentieth chapter knows that logic is not John’s strong suit, and nothing is ever as it appears to be.

One thing is sure, John is leading us deeper into this mystery with ever deeper questions than the ones I just came up with. If we’re going into this mystery, we have to go with Mary into the darkness, because that’s where everything has happened that matters over the last three days. It all happens at night, and even when Jesus is crucified, the sun goes dark, and its night again. If we let our scripture filled minds work with this image, we might end up back in Genesis when darkness covered the earth and creation began, because that is exactly where John wants us to be, at the dawn of a new creation.

Understanding that this Gospel is proclaiming a new creation is what we find in this mystery. That empty tomb is where we belong. That empty tomb is what gives us an identity and a reason for our existence as church. Believing that we belong to the new creation is the hope we proclaim with the news that Christ has Risen. That Spirit the Creator breathed into creation at the beginning comes again to breathe new and eternal life into us and into all for this new creation. This news could not come at a better time for us as we are driven into our homes with some fear and confusion about what this all means. Yet, we are much like the three in this Gospel, people of “little faith” – but maybe that’s just enough, because a little gives us something to grow on, and grow we must.

It seems to me that right now, all scattered about, hiding in our homes, away from the company and communion we share as a church, we must grow in wisdom and grace. I have always liked to imagine what went on inside that tomb before the stone moved. I like to think that God the Father shook his son awake, looked at him and said. “Enough rest. Get up now. There is more to do. We’re not finished yet.” With that, a son obedient unto death was also obedient unto life, and so, he got up returning to get us up, to wake us up, to stir us up so that unlike that first man and woman, we might get it right this time here in the new creation.

Christ is Risen. In spite of our “little faith, our sometimes-timid witness, our confusion and doubts, so shall we.

Ezekiel 37, 12-14 + Psalm 130 + Romeans 8, 8-11 + John 11, 1-45

Prepared during a time of self-isolation during the pandemic.

The three men invited to the Garden by Jesus are the same three who just, weeks before, went with him up a mountain to witness his glory. They like what they see on that mountain, and Peter says: “It is good for us to be here.” The next time Jesus climbs a hill, they will be nowhere in sight. Those disciples who once argued over who gets to sit on his right or his left are all gone somewhere, replaced by two thieves on his right and on his left. That crowd shouting, “Hosanna” has changed its tune now crying out: “Crucify him.” With these scenes and thoughts in mind, we enter into a week we call, Holy to celebrate and observe the Passover.

That solemn yet joyful entry into Jerusalem is for the sake of Passover. At first it is for the sake of a Passover past and remembered, but it becomes a new Passover for the present and the future. They fast. They sacrifice a lamb. They eat the flesh of that lamb never alone, but with friends and family. They tell the amazing story of the Covenant to which they were invited by a God who loved them first with a love that knew no limit to forgiveness. That Passover celebration was never finished that night. Before the fourth and final cup of wine, Jesus leaves the room, and there begins a new Passover. He prays first with his Father about that last cup which will finish and seal the covenant while the three who were so anxious to be with him before now sleep. They are gone as the sacrifice begins. When the Lamb is sacrificed and its blood poured out for the new covenant, they are hiding almost dead like Lazarus until they are called out with news too good to be true except that it is true. “I thirst” says the Lamb of God, and with some wine on a stick, he drinks the last cup and says, “It is finished.” The Covenant of love and mercy is sealed.

With this Passion proclaimed, and our remembrance of that Passover Supper in an upper room, yet to come, one Lent comes to an end this week, but another has just begun. What we began on February 26 of this year was our annual fast calling us to give up, give away, and refresh our relationship with God. What we may have given up for Lent in our seasonal fasting seems insignificant when compared to what we are giving up now. Some call it “Social distancing”. Others, like me, call it “Physical distancing”. Regardless of the word, there is a very real experience of distance that finds us calling each other by phone, texts, and email waiting and watching for all of this to pass over. While we wait and watch, a hunger stirs in our hearts for companions, for neighbors, friends, and the community of faith where we are fed by the Word of God and the Bread of Life. It will do us no harm to experience this fasting if we remember who we fast with and what we fast for. The Covenant we share gives us an identity as God’s people. It means we are a people formed through sacrifice and love even though we often leave the “sacrifice” part up to others. Many in this Covenant with us have suffered and fasted before, and they still do today out of our sight. Christians in refugee camps, our brothers and sisters in the parts of this world where Mass is forbidden, and those who have gone before us in concentration camps and prisons have suffered this hunger before and remained faithful and hopeful. While we fast from the Flesh of the Lamb of God, and while we long for him to come under our roof again, we wait in confident hope that like those people who once followed Jesus into the wilderness, we will be fed again and with abundance. In that hope, we keep a vigil now and watch and wait for that day when we may rise up together to sing Hosanna and shout Alleluia.

Ezekiel 37, 12-14 + Psalm 130 + Romans 8, 8-11 + John 11, 1-45

Prepared during a time of self-isolation during the pandemic.

The last of the seven signs that make up John’s Gospel is proclaimed today. Looking up and looking at the other six would be a good assignment as we all stay home this weekend hoping to remain healthy. For now, as often for me, it’s the verbs in this text that can lead us deeper in this mystery. “Take” “Come” and “Untie.” With those three words, the mission of Jesus, the will of his Father, and hope within us all is laid out for our contemplation. Perhaps, in these three commands there is for us mission given and the order is given for what we must do in the name of Jesus.

He tells us, in a sense, to “Take Away” a stone, a stone that is a barrier or for some, perhaps a burden. We are a people commanded to lift or remove the stones that keep others from living, that keep others away from their loved ones, that keep others away from Jesus himself. If this Gospel is real, and if God is speaking to us right now, as we believe happens when the assembly is together, then God commands again that we Take away something, anything, that keeps someone away from love, life, or perhaps lonely, in the darkness of a tomb of resentment or shame. Take Away God says to us.

Then again, God speaks to us and says: “Come out.” Perhaps at no better time does this command prepare us to “Come out” of this time of isolation or quarantine. Come out he says to us to give glory to God and give thanks. “Come out” is the command to people hiding in fear. More broadly he says, “Come out” to anyone who, like Lazarus, has been given up for dead. “Come out” he says to those have lost the Spirit of life, of joy, and peace.

Finally, there is one more command, “Untie”, which echoes in the last instruction Jesus gives to us, his disciples. We will hear it again after Easter as he departs and commissions us to forgive. “Untie” is what we are told to do. Set people free. Cut away whatever keeps our brothers and sisters from really living in the joy of our faith. The baggage of our past so often keeps us from the fullness of life and destroys relationships that could wrap us love. Resentments, grudges, and shame wrap and tangle too many of us, and keep us from living the life we have been promised and hope for.

1 Sm 16:1, 6-13+ Psalm 23 + Ephesians 5:8-14 + John 9:1-41

At St. Peter the Apostle Church in Naples. FL Live Streamed

It was March 21, 1748. From the age of 11, he had been involved in slave trading. He was so coarse and cruel that he earned the name, “The Great Blasphemer.” His ship was being slammed by a raging storm, and he had lashed himself to the helm of that battered ship. In fear and desperation, he remembered the prayers of his Christian mother, and a prayer for deliverance was sucked out of him. Surviving the tempest, he abandoned the lucrative slave-trade and at age 39 and became a minister for the next 43 years. At the age of 82, writing in his diary on the anniversary of that stormy day, John Newton wrote a poem that years later would be set to music becoming the best-known Christian hymn, “Amazing Grace”. While some struggle with that harsh word, “wretch” in the text, I feel sure that John Newton chose it to describe himself in terms of his past. While some may never choose to describe themselves as “wretches” everyone of us formed by this Gospel today might well admit that we have been blind and we long to see, and the world we live in is blind as well.

There are such fascinating details and contrasts in this wonderful chapter of John’s Gospel. There are those Pharisees and leaders of the people who think they can see, but they don’t. They can’t see what is right in front them. They can’t see who it is that works theses signs and wonders much less, what they mean. They live in darkness preferring it to the Light of Christ. There are the man’s parents, who see what has happened, but do not understand. They just don’t want to get involved like so many in this world. Then there is a blind who can see, and like the woman in last Sunday’s Gospel, a personal encounter with Jesus Christ awakens in him more than just sight. He begins to understand, and John tells that he “worshiped” Jesus. In other words, the man born blind suddenly realizes he has been visited by God.

The woman at the well, this blind man, and all of us come to God by different paths, and we all struggle with some kind of blindness that keeps us from seeing as clearly as we may think. It is a kind of Spiritual Blindness that requires a great deal of humility that would allow us to understand and accept that we do not see as clearly as we might think. This kind of blindness affects our ability to address social issues and injustice, because we just don’t see the poor and fail to understand a system that keeps them that way. So, we become like the parents of the blind man. We just can’t be bothered, or we decide that getting involved may require some danger or risks. This spiritual blindness can sour personal relationships, and even affect the way we see a stranger or someone at the border fleeing violence and danger. We just don’t see the Christ in our midst. We can never presume that we have clear sight, and so we must always strive to gaze into the heart of people and things to see as God sees.

In this day, connections are important to us. We go crazy when the internet connection is bad or fails, this very connection that connects us right now. We are all feeling the strain of isolation, that is testing our connections with one another. Yet, in the end, it will be our connection with God that matters, and this disconnect we feel now right now might be for some a lot worse if the connection with God has been broken or ignored. Now, from home rather than from Church we continue our journey through Lent, and like the Hebrew people in the desert, we are hungry and long to eat the Bread of Life. For now, we must feed ourselves on the Word of God until that day when we will assemble here in thanksgiving to rejoice in the fullness of life and share the cup of salvation. For now, we pray, “Lord, heal our blindness so that we may see your guiding hand in these anxious times of fear and darkness. Lead us into the light of faith to rejoice even now in your goodness with a blessed hope that does not fail.”

Exodus 17, 3-7 + Psalm 95 + Romans 5, 2, 5-8 + John 4, 5-42

March 15, 2020 Never delivered at Mass

This weekend is a Maronite Parish Weekend

As I said in the column I write for some parish bulletins last week, I am not so sure that I would run into town and invite everyone to come out and meet someone who had just told me everything I ever did. Why would anyone do such a thing? Who would want everything they have ever done announced publicly? None the less, that’s what she did. Perhaps she felt as though she had nothing to lose since everyone probably knew it all anyway; or perhaps there was something else, and here is where we are drawn into this Gospel and drawn to this who knows everything we have ever done.

This woman is really the center-piece of this Gospel, and her experience itself is a Gospel. It is good news. For John in his Gospel, she is a model of a disciple’s experience of faith. In her encounter with Jesus, she confronts her own sinfulness and realizes her need for forgiveness. With that, she comes to realize the depth of God’s love for her, and with that, she changes from sinner to disciple who rushes to tell what she has found.

For years, I have my imagination has been stirred by a little detail that John puts in this Gospel when he tells us that she left her water-jar behind, I am fascinated and wonder about this and what it means. That water-jar was both something of her past, and part of her shame. Because of it and with it, she had keep coming back again and again to get more water, which was never enough. To me, it is also a kind of symbol of her position in live as a servant living without freedom and in a sense, enslaved to that water-jar, the well, and the need to keep coming every day after day. She left it. She had found freedom and “living water” from a new well, from the source if life-giving water, Jesus Christ. She not only found freedom, she found love that obviously she had not found with all the lovers that had come in and out of her life in her past. As with all of us who ever really find love, she found acceptance just as she was with all of her past known by the lover who didn’t shame her, pass judgement, or condemn.

Our best hope at this point in Lent is that we may have the same experience of standing before this one sent by God to set us free, to forgive, heal, and restore our dignity and our unity before the Father. For John, who is writing this Gospel after some time following the death of Jesus, he is surely reflecting upon what he has seen as the Gospel has been carried across all the boundaries of suspicion, distrust, hatred, and prejudice that the Jewish people had for Samaritans. All of that is over as John writes, telling us how this peaceful reconciliation of two so different peoples could and was accomplished. For Jesus, he is doing the will of the One who sent him sowing in Samaria a grain that will be harvested for eternal life. It all happened because Jesus was willing to sit and talk, eat and drink with someone who was perceived as an enemy.

This Gospel becomes then, an invitation to perhaps look differently upon those we consider enemies or those we would never think of sitting with and talking with much less eating and drinking. If it is the Father’s will that we all be one, God must be wondering when we are going to get started. John suggests that a good place to start would be to pay attention to and follow the example of Jesus Christ.

Genesis 12:1-4a + Psalm 33 + 2 Timothy 1:8b-10 + Matthew 17:1-9

7 March 2020

San Antonio Parish in Port Charlotte, FL Opening of Lenten Mission

This weekend opens a Parish Mission at San Antonio Parish in Port Charlotte

A lot of things happen on hills and mountains in the Gospels. We went up a mountain last week as Satan led Jesus to the high place. This week Jesus leads Peter, James and John up the same way. When Satan leads it is all about this world, it’s kingdoms and its glory. When Jesus leads it is not about this world, its power and its glory. It is about a vision of the kingdom to come after Jesus climbs another mountain. Those apostles will need to keep this vision when Jesus next climbs up a hill to die. These high places are for many peoples and cultures a place close to God, a meeting place. Think of Moses and remember what happened to him as his face became so bright that he had to wear a veil after meeting God there. Matthew surely did as he provides details intended to lead us to connect Moses with Jesus, the giver of the new law. And there is Elijah, the prophet of hope, who encountered God on a mountain as well.

All of this connects Jesus to the past, but Matthew would also have us connect Jesus to the future, the glory of the resurrection. When we get to Easter Sunday, Matthew will once again describe Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene with clothes that are white as snow. Listen for that, and remember.

Abraham leads us deeper and further into this season when we set aside things that distract us from what is to come. Abraham receives a divine call, and he abandons everything that keeps him from God, heading into the unknown, guided only by the God he has been searching for. My friends, this season is our time to assess everything that might be keeping us from God, keeping us from heading into the unknown, and everything we have tried as a substitute for the God of Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. In this place, in this church, we are again on a mountain, close to God. In this place, through the Sacrament we share, the vision of the Kingdom comes to us again as we look upon those around us. On this mountain we are nourished, strengthened and prepared for what is to come so that the disappointments, tragedies, and even the deaths we experience will not and cannot keep us from the Easter that awaits us all.

Like the apostles, we will come down, and all around us will be the suffering, the sick, the hungry and lonely. If we have seen the Lord in this place, and if we have listened to the Lord in this place, those who wait and long for the comfort only God can give will find it in us.