Musings Sermon Starter

Dreams, Visions, Hope, and New Life

During my years as a psychiatric chaplain, I frequently had very vivid dreams that would entangle my every day with my love for urban fantasy novels (and tv shows) and with my theological pursuits. In these dreams I would have to solve some unsolvable puzzle or complete some heroic act which would result in the world being rid of all evil. Were these dreams influenced by providing spiritual care to people in the midst of psychiatric crisis and my frequent feelings of helplessness? Yes. On the other hand, I found hope in them as well. No matter what monsters or demons I fought in my dreams, failure was never a possibility nor was giving up. In my dreams I found the courage, strength, and ingenuity I needed. My dreaming self was always tenacious and often triumphant, though it was not unusual for me to wake up before evil was contained.

Why talk about these dreams now? For the last several nights, I’ve had similar kinds of vivid dreams. One I had to coach an army of Sisyphean-like people on how to keep moving the stones even when they rolled back or the mountain peak seemed no closer. In another my task was to stand at the mouth of a cave and call all faith-filled people to come out, that their time to hide in the Platonic cave had come to end. Last night I had to find a way to unite a million people who had never met without them ever meeting. If I accomplished this task, a million more people would not die and the earth would enter a new age.

Once again these dreams are an odd blend of life, urban fantasy, and theology. The response to COVID-19 ranges from willful ignorance to preparing for the apocalypse. While some are able to ignore all signs of crisis, most of us are dreading the likelihood of illness and more death than we have seen in recent history. Apocalyptic language makes a degree of sense. However, I am a dreamer of dreams and receiver of visions. I see hope when most people speak of despair and desperation. I think of Ezekiel and his visionary valley and of Lazarus walking out of a tomb and the promise of God’s steadfast love allows me to take a deep breath. Preparation is helpful; panic is not. New life is the birthright of the people of God. This is not to say that faithful people have not or will not be included in the millions who will die from COVID-19. Faith is no protection against any virus. The promise of new life is lived out in community.

It’s rare that we witness a true turning point in society or in church and are aware that it is indeed a turning point. Nearly every aspect of life will be different after COVID-19. Church life will be different after this crisis. No matter how we resist the changes necessary to remain in community while “sheltering in place” or in a “lockdown,” church needs to adapt to what is faster than church has ever adapted to anything. I believe the church universal has been in serious danger of being the dry bones in Ezekiel’s vision. Our reluctance to change enough to meet the needs of the world around us meant that we were dying, slowly, but dying nonetheless. And, yet, the breath of God is still capable of creating new sinews and flesh on our bones.

I have had an inescapable vision haunting my waking hours and influencing my dreams. In the midst of this crisis, I hear Jesus calling the church out of the tomb we have inhabited. I hear Jesus calling us to let go of so much that has unnecessarily defined us and enter into new life. God’s steadfast love for the whole of Creation cannot be undone by a virus. Even though many of us may die, the church will yet live. However, we must not be tied to worshiping in buildings or in familiar sanctuaries. We must not think that the story of Holy Week and Easter only has power in sanctuaries crowded with visitors and lilies. The story of God’s amazing love, love that can overcome any destruction and devastation humanity can dish out or experience, can be told online by virtual connection. In the middle of world-changing crisis it is possible for the church to be transformed and brought to new life.

In these days and weeks where we are physically distancing from one another, we have an excellent opportunity to bridge the communal and spiritual gap. We can respond to Jesus call and come out of the valley with new sinew and new flesh on our old, dry bones. We can move out of the tomb of traditions and experience transformation and resurrection into a Body of Christ as yet unknown and unrecognized.

In these fear-filled and uncertain days may we all be dreamers of dreams and receivers of visions powerful enough to bring life in response to death. May we find hope in the steadfast love of God. Wherever you are be safe, be well, be church.

More sermon help here.

RCL – Year A – Fifth Sunday in Lent – March 29, 2020
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

Photo: CC0image by AKS


Come Away…


Last night I had one of those dreams that is more than a dream. It began with me standing in a crowd waiting for a subway train. The train station was both familiar and odd. My subconscious created a blend of a modern station in Boston or New York and something that would be more at home in Harry Potter or Star Wars. The crowd pushing in on me from all directions was made up of every kind of person and more than a few who were not exactly human.

This crowd was anxious and grumbling and wanted me to explain why the train was late and how I expected everyone to fit on said train when it arrived. While they expected me to answer them, they didn’t give me an opportunity. The pushed and shoved and spoke in more languages than I could imagine. There was nothing between them and me, and I started to be concerned about safety, mine and some other smaller creatures within this straining group.

Out of nowhere (as can only happen in dreams), someone strong grabbed my hand and said, “Come away with me to a quiet place.” Not liking the crowd and not knowing what train I was waiting for or why, I happily allowed this stranger to pull me through the crowd. It seemed that I was guided through the unhappy crowd for hours. And then it was gone.

My companion had brought us to a beach that stretched for miles to our left and to our right. Out in front of us the ocean reached to the horizon with Caribbean blue waters. I took a breath so deep that I floated up off the ground, tethered only by the hand that still held mine. Letting out the breath, I slowly sank back down to the sand, like a leaf fluttering in a gentle breeze.

“Breathe,” said a voice that was in my head and all around me. “Breathe in and out and be still. You know that I am and you are and all shall be well.” This strange statement seemed perfectly normal and I did what I was told. I kept breathing deeply, floating up and down to the rhythm of the waves.

As I breathed, tears flowed down my cheeks in tiny rivers to the sea. “Why am I crying?” I asked in bewilderment.

“You cry because you know we are all one. You know what others do not. More importantly, you care. You want to change the world to be as beautiful and peaceful and just as it was intended to be. You cry because you cannot change what doesn’t know it needs to be changed. You cannot change fear into love. You cannot convince anyone that there is enough of all that is to meet the needs of all. You see what is meant to be, what yearns to be, what might never be. You cry because you are tired and in need of rest. You cry because there is so little time for rest. You cry because you forget to come here, come to me, come away when the crowd pushes in on you.”

The next thing I knew we were flying high above the earth and hearing the cries of all the people who needed food, shelter, medical attention, safety, hope, help, community, faith, and so much more. The voices were both distant and insistent. I turned to my companion only to find myself alone in the sky with the earth growing closer. Before fear could take root, I heard the voice call in me and around me once again.

“They are you. You are them. I am with you. I am with them. I am with all. You are mine. They are mine. They are yours. Find your place in the crowd. Do all that you can.”

I felt exhaustion reaching for me as the clamoring of the earth grew louder. “Remember to breathe. I am the Breath of Life. I am enough to sustain life, even yours. And remember to come away with me every now and then. Come away and be still and remember what you know. I am in the crowd but I am easier to find in the deserted places.”

The whispers of “Come away” became the cries of sea birds as I came to myself in the sun-warmed sand where I stayed to watch the ocean flow and breathe… just breathe.

RCL – Year B – Ninth Sunday after Pentecost – July 22, 2018
2 Samuel 7:1-14a with Psalm 89:20-37 or
Jeremiah 23:1-6 with Psalm 23
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Photo: CC0 image by Public Co

Musings Sermon Starter

Envisioning a Holy Balance


Several years ago, I had a vision of a self-sustaining community that I often think about. On the Tuesday of Holy Week that year, I was alone in my room, praying, or trying to pray. It was a particularly difficult time in my life after my second marriage ended. I struggled with depression, a sense of hopelessness, and an overwhelming sense of failure. The vision I had that day gave me hope for a future different from my past.

The vision itself was powerful. In it, I had created a community of people committed to living together, pooling resources, and serving God. There was a working farm, an outdoor chapel, dormitory-style rooms, small cabins, indoor meeting space, and a steady flow of people. Some came for short periods of time for retreats, spiritual direction, and healing. Others stayed for months or years, finding peace and wholeness in the community. There was a balance of giving and receiving of resources, time, talent, visitors, residents, income, and expenses. The community was a place of peace, of healing, of wholeness. When the vision ended, I yearned for it to be real–a place I could go and belong and be welcomed.

It’s been years since I had the vision, and it has not come to be in quite the way it was in the vision. However, pieces of it have. I have found healing and wholeness. I have found a community where I belong and can use the fullness of my gifts. Maybe someday, the vision will come to be in a more literal way. But it doesn’t matter as much as it once did, because the lessons of that vision have stayed with me. I am often reminded that balance is necessary in all things. As Paul indicates in 2 Corinthians, our abundance should be shared to meet our neighbors’ need, not to create inequity but to ensure all have enough.

This is why I’m having trouble getting excited over celebrating Independence Day this year. Our forebearers might have ensured our independence from Great Britain, but they did nothing to prevent us from replicating the destructive ways of colonialism. We have done nothing to ensure any kind of balance. All our social systems tend to empower those who already have power and prevent those who are oppressed and marginalized from attaining justice or freedom.

I’m horrified by the Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the Travel Ban. Xenophobia should have no place in U.S. policy and practice. Outside of First Nations peoples, all our ancestors (recent or distant) came to this country bringing with them foreign weapons, strange gods, devastating diseases, new languages, or odd customs. Now, after we have claimed land that wasn’t ours to claim, all but destroyed native cultures, and enslaved others, we think it’s okay to discriminate against people who may not have white skin, may not speak English, may not be Christian, and may not live as we do? How is it that so many people have bought into the social myth of a white, Christian United States? Where is the justice and liberty for all people that we claim to value?

As human beings, we tend to be self-protective to the point of often being egocentric. We often react to fear by hunkering down and protecting what is ours. However, if we are Christians (if we follow any religious tradition at all), we are called to love our neighbor as ourselves. This means we have a mandate to care for the widow, the poor, the orphan, the stranger, the vulnerable among us. We are called to share our abundance so that the needs of our neighbors are met. You know, it’s all about the Golden Rule–treat others as you wish to be treated.

We aren’t meant to be independent. Left to our devises we tend to be fearful, stubborn, self-serving creatures. God invites us to be interdependent, giving and receiving according to abundance and need to create systems of balance. In God’s Realm all are whole, all are valued, all have purpose, and all share in God’s abundance. Love, not fear or scarcity, rules the day. Imagine how much better off the world would be if each country shared resources to balance abundance and need. How about each city and town doing the same? Each faith community? Each person? Our idolatrous worship of independence would come to an end as would our enslavement to the false gods of our social mythology. Xenophobia would end. Fear-mongering politicians would have no power. Immigrants and refugees would be welcomed and encouraged. There would be no hunger or poverty. No racism or corrupt systems of power.

Maybe this Independence Day you will join me in dreaming ways of making us independent from fear and interdependent on each other. Maybe this Independence Day we can work toward making manifest the Realm of God where our abundance will meet our neighbors’ need, creating a holy balance…

If you are looking for more sermon help, try here.

RCL – Year B – Sixth Sunday after Pentecost – July 1, 2018
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27 with Psalm 130 or
Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15, 2:23-24 or Lamentations 3:23-33 with Psalm 30
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Mark 5:21-43

Photo: CC0 image by Sylvia & Frank

Musings Sermon Starter

Set Apart for Unity

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As the sky darkens with an approaching spring storm, I am looking around my office at the salmagundi (I love this word!) of more than 25 years of ministry. The accumulation of items on my wall cover such a span of years and memories. I have “The Child’s Creed” from my third grade Sunday school class, cards, crosses, and pictures from each place I have served, receipts waiting to be handed in, pictures of my wife, and even my CREDO covenant. If this wall could tell stories, it would tell you of people and places who have touched my life. It might even tell you about those who served here before me and what it held then. It would tell you of sadness and joy, hopes and heartbreaks. Mostly, it would speak of love and service, the core of any ministry.

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Next to the wall with all its tacks and pins, are the shelves. They hold everything from books to palms, duct tape to dolls, and an assortment of other things, like the duck nativity set collected at the last Synod. I’ve read these books and written a few of them. There’s an old picture of Jesus and the children that I have loved since it was given to me in junior high. Memories stack these shelves, too. They whisper of youthful hopes and wisdom’s dreams. Together they tell the story of where I have been, and point toward where I might be heading next. They hold onto the ideas for children’s sermons (some better than others) and leftovers from Pentecost and Christmas celebrations. These shelves hold the possibility and promise born of years of gathering and learning and trying new things, knowing the resources will be needed again.

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Behind me hangs a quilt given to me when I left my first call. The blessings and prayers written on it have faded over the years, but there is joy in it still, and company. This quilt reminds me that I am truly surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. I need that reminder. I need to be reminded that I am not alone in this calling. I need to remember all the places I have served, all the people whose lives are linked with mine. I need to hear that being set apart for sacred purpose means being united to others in love and joy. That’s what this chaotic collection of tangible memories does for me; it reminds me that I am deeply connected to the Body of Christ.

You see, I’ve spent so much of my life feeling apart, different, unwelcome that the idea of being sanctified was not a comfort. I didn’t want to spend more of my life apart from others, even if it meant a life of service. Let’s face it, ministry can be a lonely job. How many times have I told people who express feeling lonely and isolated to go to church to be connected to community? How many times have I suggested that people can find ways to volunteer or find kinship in church? I tell people all the time that church can be a place of healing and a place to claim one’s value. But for a pastor, one’s congregation can’t do these things. And for someone like me who grew up always feeling the outsider, I’ve often felt lonely in ministry.

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As I read Jesus’ prayer for his disciples, assuring them that they are sanctified, something new opened up in me. As followers of Christ we are sanctified in love for the sake of creating unity. We aren’t meant to create unity in thought or practice or creed, but unity of purpose. The purpose is, of course, to make manifest the Realm of God, to incarnate Divine Love for our neighbors. We are sanctified, set apart for sacred purpose. And that purpose is to love others with a godly kind of love. If it were as easy to do as it is to say, then I wouldn’t have this office full of ministry miscellany. We’d all just be out there doing it.

My friends, we are all sanctified in God’s eyes. We are all set apart for the purpose of loving God, loving ourselves, loving our neighbors, and loving Creation. And we are all united as we try to live into God’s vision of and for us. This is the good news of this Easter season. May we all fully claim our identity as God’s sanctified people and have the courage to live this truth out loud.

RCL – Year B – Seventh Sunday of Easter – May 13, 2018
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
Psalm 1
1 John 5:9-13
John 17:6-19

Photos CC-BY-NC image by Rachael Keefe

Musings Sermon Starter

Dreaming Desert Dreams


I’m sitting in my office just six miles from where Justine Damond was shot and killed by police late Saturday night. Turmoil’s slick fingers have grabbed hold of the city. Some see clearly the issues of fear-based policing and inadequate training for officers. Others feel conflicted because the officer is a Somali Muslim and the victim a white Australian. Few want to admit that the system is corrupt and built on issues of power and control aimed at keeping white supremacy alive and well. It’s a mess. The angry, pain-filled cries for justice are met with angry, fear-filled assertions of terrorism or still more angry endorsement of  fear-based policing. There’s no easy, simple solution. I am desperately searching the texts for a word of hope.

If I had my way, Jacob’s ladder would encompass the whole of creation and everyone would see angels ascending and descending, going about holy business. We would also hear God’s promise that our descendants would inhabit this world for a long time to come and God will continue to be present everywhere we go. While I wholeheartedly believe these are messages God would like for us to hear and live by, the whole of creation isn’t likely to have this dream. This doesn’t negate the validity of the message, though. We are to be caretakers, stewards of the land (all of it) and trust that God is present everywhere we go. God is present even in the turmoil, the grief, and the fear. There are no depths deep enough to blot out the light of God.

In the meantime, there’s a whole lot of groaning going on. Paul speaks of creation’s groaning while waiting for redemption. Those of us who claim Christ, ought not to be groaning quite so much. Are we not the redeemed? Are we not the ones who have entered into a life in the Spirit so that we might live in loving relationship with God, self, neighbors, and creation? Then why is it so hard for us to acknowledge that we are not living into God’s dream for creation? Why are we unable to acknowledge how the United States is full of racist systems built by our white supremacist ancestors and maintained by the silence of so many citizens who fear change? People are dying and Christians silently or vocally continue to support murderous systems. Surely this is not the way of Christ any more than it is the redemption for which Paul hoped.

While I’m on the subject of redemption, let’s be careful with our interpretations of Jesus’ parable about the wheat and the weeds. We are often so sure who the weeds are, that we forget that it is not necessarily our job to judge. It is true that actual weeds in a field remain weeds throughout their growth cycle; they don’t miraculously change into grain. However, we need to remember that when it comes to human beings, God can transform the most stubborn, invasive weeds into bountiful harvest. Our job is to tend ourselves, to ensure that we are not weeds. In addition we are to care for the whole field – nurture it, water it, love and tend all that grows in it. Weed plucking is not our job because in the end it will be God who determines which are the causes of sin and which are doing evil. Justice means tending the field, the whole field, weeds and all.

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of cries for justice going unheard. I’m tired of the excuses that come when a police officer shoots an unarmed person. I’m tired of POC victims being criminalized while white victims are canonized. Jesus was not a white blue-eyed, blond-haired, U.S. citizen and would be horrified by the conflation of nationalism and religion that allows white supremacy to thrive in this country. The truth is that Jesus was brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired Palestinian Jew who confronted the power-hungry, oppression-supporting people of his day. Jesus sought to empower people through the love of God, self, and neighbor. Isn’t it time we actually follow as Jesus taught and love as Jesus loved?

Jacob had a beautiful dream out there in the desert. God has the same dream for us and racism, fear, hatred, and violence have no place in it. We are those whom God has redeemed and we are the ones who are supposed to be engaging in the holy business of justice for the whole of creation. Let’s stop worrying about weeds vs. grain and start worrying about why the crops are failing and what we can do to change this. Creation is indeed groaning under the weight of our sins. Isn’t it time we put an end to these needless deaths? Too much blood flows in our streets and too many heads turn away. Paul had hope for things unseen. May we join together to be that hope.

RCL – Year A – Seventh Sunday after Pentecost – July 23, 2017
Genesis 28:10-19a with Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24 or
Wisdom of Solomon 12:13, 16-19 or
Isaiah 44:6-8 with Psalm 86:11-17
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Photo: CC0 image by Michael Gaida

Musings Story

More than a Dream


Some of you know that I have this deal with God about angels and visions and such things. Most of the time God keeps God’s end of the deal. I agree to firmly believe that angels and visions are real and God agrees to communicate with me when I dream so that I can say, “It was just a dream.” As I said, God usually keeps the bargain and last night was one of those times when I dreamed of being in God’s presence.

As is typical for me, I found myself on a deserted stretch of beach early in the morning. Only a hint of sunrise tinted the dark horizon red. Out of the darkness, a voice said, “I really wish you wouldn’t resist so much.” In the dream, I knew exactly what the person was talking about.

“Well,” I said after brief reflection, “I really wish you wouldn’t make it so hard.”

Laughter mingled with the cries of the gulls. “I’m rather used to all night wrestling matches and I don’t get to engage in them as often as I once did.”

“So why are you complaining about my resistance? I don’t particularly enjoy wrestling with you. It’s exhausting and you have a way of getting what you want, anyway.”

More laughter. “If you know I get what I want, then why struggle so much?”

I’m a bit exasperated at this point. “Because I don’t always recognize it’s you I’m wrestling with and then I don’t always know what you want. If you could be a little more clear…”

There’s silence as the deep crimson line of sunrise expands. Then the voice whose presence I can feel but cannot see says, “I’m as clear as I can be. We both know that my ways are not your ways.”

“Your mistake,” I say. “You could have made it easier on yourself if you had made it so that human ways were holy ways.”

“True. But how hideously boring for all of us!” I heard the smile.

“So, why did you keep me up all night this time?”

Silence mingles with the fading night as orange tints spill into the red and gulls call out their morning greetings.

“I have something I want to write on your heart.”

“Seriously? No wonder I was wrestling with you. Can’t you just tell me since we’re talking now? Instead of, you know, scribbling something on my heart.”

Laughter swells with the waves rolling onto the shore. “You couldn’t hear me if I said it ten thousand times. It needs to be written on your heart so you can find it in the silence after the storms or when despair has a grip on you or when you feel completely lost. I have to write the word I have for you on your heart so you will always know where to find it.”

“Crap.” I take a breath of salt air into my lungs and hold it for a moment. As I let it out, I recognize the truth in what I’ve been told. The word really does need to be written on my heart. I take another long, slow breath before I consent. “Okay, then. Will it hurt?”

“Probably, it’ll hurt often and for as long as you have breath.”

“Wait!” I say with force. “Are you telling me that this is like what you did to Jacob? He limped for the rest of his life and I’m guessing everyone knew why.”

Quiet laughter, like a gentle breeze, floated around me. “Well, I suppose it’ll kind of be like that. You won’t limp, exactly. You might not notice any difference since the word I’m going to write on your heart has been in it since before you were born. Others will see it, too, and they’ll know that you have spent time with me.”

“You know I’m not a fan of this mystery-type stuff.”

“I know. You’re a bigger fan than you allow yourself to acknowledge.”

“Maybe, but I’m okay with that.” I turned away from the beauty of the sunrise to face the direction I thought the voice was coming from. “So are you going to do this thing? Write a word on my heart?”

From a distance that could have been inside or outside of me, I heard more laughter which was strangely soothing. It was as if the owner of the voice took great delight in spending time with me. Mixed in with the laughter came the assurance, “I already have.”

The sun was up over the horizon now and the bright, fiery hues of sunrise were giving way to blue sky. I stood on the waters’ edge, feeling the coolness on my toes, and looked down into my heart. And, sure enough, there was a word there. Yet, as the light changed, the world appeared to be different. I watched this for a while. Compassion became love became kindness became grace became forgiveness became hope became joy… an unending turning of goodness was written on my heart. All I had to do was be still and I would notice. And then when I am active, others will notice.

I woke up still smelling the salt air and sure that God’s word is engraved on my heart.

RCL – Year C – Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost – October 16, 2016
Jeremiah 31:27-34 with Psalm 119:97-104 or
Genesis 32:22-31 with Psalm 121 and
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5 and
Luke 18:1-8

Photo: CC-BY-NC image by Rachael Keefe


A Dream of Change

Cape Trip May 2010 060As my Facebook friends know, I frequently have weird, vivid dreams. They are often entertaining and sometimes just symptomatic of my need for vacation. Dreams that would make a good sci-fi novel are nothing new for me. I remember them when I wake up and often make a brief FB post about them before they disappear. But today I’ve been kind of haunted by images from last night’s dream. Bits of it have come to me at different times of the day.           This is what I remember:

Social media exploded with a story about puzzle pieces being delivered to every existing faith community around the world with a simple note in the appropriate language. The note read, “Join this with the others to know the Truth.” At first, people believed this to mean that they should join their pieces with those who belonged to the same religion, sect, or denomination in a particular country. But when all the American UCC congregations put their pieces together, it resumed the size and shape of the original piece. This was true of Catholics, Presbyterians and Jews, Muslims, Wiccans, Buddhists—all faiths—the United States and everywhere else.

I kept saying that all the pieces had to be joined together around the world. For a long time no one listened. Faith leaders were distracted by the mystery of where the pieces came from and who had the “right” one, the one that would reveal this Truth. This search to understand the mystery seemed to go on for years until other voices joined my own. Together a group of us managed to convince all the religions of the world to send their pieces to a central meeting place to be assembled. And, predictably, there was a lot of argument about where this should happen. It was determined that it would happen on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean so no country could claim ownership. Delegates were sent to the ship with their puzzle pieces and those of us who had called for the gathering were also invited.

After much argument about who would go first and speculation on what the results would be, a time was set. In the grand ballroom of the cruise ship, the pieces began to be assembled by all the delegates of all the religions of the world. I was watching from a balcony as the pieces were assembled. Some saw nothing other than the gold of the original pieces. Some walked away in great sadness. Others watched and wept. In the end, there was a sphere about as large as my fist that became a mirror of sorts. The mirror reflected back to the viewer the image as seen by God.

When I was waiting for my turn to look at the sphere, I overheard an argument about the foolishness of those who believed in this hoax. There was no one God and this was all a joke to set up people dumb enough to think the world could be different. I woke up thinking that some people just cannot let go of the lies they tell themselves. Unfortunately, I woke up before I was able to get a close look at the sphere.

Now I think about this dream and the lectionary texts. I’m not sure if we aren’t still sitting in darkness talking about the light more than we’ve actually stepped out into it. I wonder if the world would be different if those first disciples couldn’t let go of their nets and their way of being in the world long enough to follow Jesus. I wonder if that isn’t what’s happening in the world today as the secular becomes far more prominent than the sacred. And I ask myself what I am clinging to, that if I were to let go, I could follow Jesus more immediately.


I also really want to know what the world looks like when viewed through Sacred eyes.

RCL – Year A – Third Sunday after Epiphany – January 26, 2014
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 4-9
I Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23