small points of light

Homily for Good Friday

April 3, 2026

St. Mark’s Episcopal Church

Jesus said:

For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” 

Pilate asked him, “What is truth?”

We are living in a world, friends, where it is harder and harder to tell what is truth.  How we understand the truth of this world in which we live can be entirely dependent upon which news source pulls us in, which social media platforms we follow, which algorithms direct us to which content, which sources of image and video we consider to be “real” when so much is generated by machine learning models or artificial “intelligence” content.  Entire companies rise and fall based on feeding the public demand for content and images that people might believe to be real, even if they are entirely fabricated.  Truth is manipulated by authorities and questions are regarded as threats. People turn to chatbots for counsel; look to search engines to answer their religious and spiritual questions; we grow accustomed to seeing the massive, sprawling warehouses for computing systems that line our highways, sucking up energy and displacing land where forests once grew or future communities might emerge.

What is truth?  Pilate asks Jesus. 

This question is even more provocative today than it might have been centuries ago.  

And I believe Jesus would answer the question in the exact same way: not with words, but with his whole life.

In the Passion of Good Friday and in all the days leading up to it, Jesus has shown us Truth.

What if we could ask those present at the foot of the cross how Jesus had testified to the truth in their own lives?

Perhaps Mary, Jesus’ holy mother, might share memories of childhood filled with moments of wonder and awe she observed in young Jesus, treasuring moments where humanity and divinity surely intersected as she pondered them in her heart.  The prophetic words spoken as she and Joseph presented Jesus in the temple surely rang true on that day: a sword will pierce your own soul, too.

Perhaps Mary Magdalene might recount the clarity and restoration she experienced at the healing hands of Jesus, removing the evil forces that had constrained her, freeing her to follow Jesus fully in steadfast discipleship, even to this place – standing at the foot of the cross.

Perhaps John would quote lyrically from the depths of his heart recalling the moment at that last supper they shared when Jesus blessed, broke and shared bread, washed their feet and spoke the new commandment: Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.

Perhaps Nicodemus had a vivid recollection of sneaking through the streets by night to see Jesus the teacher who gave him a mind-bending metaphor of being born again which he continued to ponder, even when his discipleship was overshadowed by his fear of recognition…until this very moment.

And perhaps Joseph of Arimathea, present in those all-too-real moments of Jesus’ suffering and agony, recognized the truth of why he had already spent the money to have a newly hewn tomb prepared.  He knew the truth of his power and influence to ask for, and to be granted, Jesus’ body for burial.  He knew the truth of his wealth, privilege and authority which gave him a responsibility to act and care for Jesus’ human body.  And, he did.

These, friends, are the truths of the Good Friday Passion evident at the foot of the cross. And each of them reveals to us some holy and heart-wrenching about the nature of Jesus’ life, Jesus’ teaching, Jesus’ healing, and Jesus’ profound love, even in the hour of his death.

Perhaps we have known the truth of Jesus in our lives, too, which are with us even in this most barren hour.

Perhaps we have encountered wonders through the eyes of a child and we have intuitively given thanks to God for the gift of divine grace and belovedness reflected in the young people in our lives, even as we worry for their future in the world in which we live.  

We know the truth of Jesus like his holy mother, Mary.

Perhaps we have struggled with our bodily health, our mental health, our emotional well-being, our spiritual angst; perhaps we have experienced a release from that confinement during a time of prayer, a holy connection with a friend-in-Christ, a holy Peace in the Presence of Christ upon receiving communion.  Perhaps some of us are still yearning for that release.

We know the truth of Jesus like Mary Magdalene.

Perhaps we have had times when we are serving out of love and we are caught up in a whole new wave of experiencing the love of Christ ourselves…or times when we ourselves have had a need…perhaps even one we hadn’t spoken out loud or wanted to admit to…and found ourselves receiving exactly what we needed in that moment, out of Christ’s love.

We know the truth of Jesus like the beloved disciple, John.  

Perhaps we have had a verse from our Holy Scriptures, or a parable, or a story of healing or an interpretation of the Good News of Jesus Christ as presented in a book or a sermon that gets into our minds and that will not let us go, in the best possible way, even if sometimes we are afraid to acknowledge it.

We know the truth of Jesus like Nicodemus.

And perhaps we have been at the bedside of a beloved, in the thin place between this world and the next.  And a calm comes over us and we knew exactly what to do, or what to say, or simply that we need to be right there, at that place and at that time, sharing in the sacredness of that hard and holy present moment together.

We know the truth of Jesus like Joseph of Arimathea.

Jesus says to us:

“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice”

As we stand together at the foot of the cross today, I invite you to stand in the truth of Jesus as you have received it.  Feel it.  Hear it.  Honor it.  Act upon it.

Pilate asks, “What is truth?”

Jesus answers with his whole life.

And we, who bear witness, allow that truth to transform our lives and our hearts to share that truth…that love beyond all loves…with the world.

Homily for the Third Sunday in Lent, Year A

March 8, 2026

St. Francis Great Falls – Icon Sunday

I am grateful for the opportunity to be present with you all on this day we are calling Icon Sunday.  I’m especially grateful to Weston and to Marilee for their inspiration and work to bring this together.  I hope that as your guest preacher today, I can begin our foray together into this particular sacred, devotional art by drawing a line…or perhaps better said, painting a connection…between this sacred devotional art and our Gospel lessons..  

As we begin, I think it is fitting to ask you to come on a journey with me.

We begin our journey on the other coast, in San Francisco, moving through the industrial-becoming-residential mission district.  We are passing warehouses and lofts, and a large industrial brewery.  As we pull up Potrero Hill, we begin to see a unique building in the midst of this urban landscape, complete with a steepled dome peeking from among multi-story housing and warehouse spaces.  We approach the front steps half way up the slope of the hill, approach two large wooden doors, painted red and carved with swimming fish, opening up to the street.  I’m eager to draw you inside, to show you this most unique Episcopal Church called St. Gregory of Nyssa.  Whenever I bring people with me, I am filled with the same wonder and awe I had when I first encountered this space and its community.  

As we move through the open doors, we first see two icons on cloth-draped stands greeting us, set out for this Sunday.  The first shows Jesus in the desert, the weariness of his fast event on his gaunt frame during this time of wandering and temptation; but we see his eyes filled with love, his expression beckoning us to continue to journey with Jesus through our Lenten season.  Next to it is a lively image, depicting the Samaritan Woman at the Well.  The well she stands next to reminds us of an ancient baptismal font. She is holding a large jar in one hand and the rope for the well in the other.  She is looking eye-to-eye with Jesus, engaging in animated conversation. Jesus sits on the other side of the well from her, reclining on a large stone, fully engaged in conversion.  We can practically hear the words that we can sense are passing between then; the scene may be painted on a flat surface but the story seems to come alive, revealing the Gospel lesson we just heard with a renewed clarity.  As our eyes shift from the entry icons to the worship space, we notice sunlight streaming through the windows of the dome revealing what looks like a whole circular heaven of brightly painted dancing saints, led by dancing Jesus!  Saints old and young, dressed in ancient clothes as well modern dresses and suits, as fitting for their lives of faith. We walk inside, still taking in the wonder of the display as we approach the round, wooden altar table sitting in the center of this light-filled rotunda.  We stand at that altar and look up towards heaven, surrounded by the icons of our great cloud of witnesses.  There, we notice the inscription written on the inside of that rotunda, a quote from St. Gregory of Nyssa: “The one thing truly worthwhile is becoming God’s friend.”

I am transported, just thinking myself into that thin place.  

My time began as a seminarian, and I am grateful whenever I can go back to visit. For me, it is a place where the veil between heaven and earth feels thin, like I might take one step and suddenly be caught up in the joyful dance of the saints praising God, dancing to Jesus’ lead.

Even as we stand there in awe, we hear the motion of water.  The doors across from the entry open onto the back of the property, an oasis of rock and greenery in the midst of the otherwise urban landscape.  Water flows from the fountain outside leading to the living, flowing water of the baptismal font. I can almost hear the words, “give me this water, so that I may never thirst.”

Those words from the Gospel re-ground us now and we slowly settle back into our Sunday morning here in Virginia. The vibrancy, the color, the light, the water…they remain with us, imprinting an invitation on our souls to come back any time.  Surely, the Lord is near to us, the words of God echoing in our hearts and on our lips.  Perhaps we feel transformed by the experience, eager to share the good news, to invite others into the depth of relationship and holy mystery that God desires to share with us.

Because the one thing truly worthwhile is becoming God’s friend.

This journey, this meditation is also the essence of the icon, a sacred art which has been part of our Chrtian tradition for centuries, and remains a core component of worshipping tradition, especially in the East, for our Orthodox siblings in Christ. Like our meditation that spanned distance and time, icons also transport us into a glimpse of God’s eternal connection and love for all people, in all places, at all times.  Icons as sacred art are layered with meaning, filled with symbolism and offer us thin spaces for prayer and worship unhindered by time and transcending space.  Heaven and earth seem to touch and allow us to see with the eyes of our heart, catching a glimpse of eternity.

This Sunday of the Samaritan Woman at the Well is perfect for Icon Sunday.  The Holy Spirit must have known that when it was the date the serendipitously worked for all of us.  The Gospel lesson itself is filled with symbolism and meaning: Jesus, In a city where he is an outsider, in the heat of mid-day, sitting and resting on a rock and encountering a woman….tradition has named her Photini, the enlightened one…who comes to the well to draw water.  She, too, is an outsider.  She js there alone, not with others; she is drawing water at an inopportune time perhaps to avoid the scornful gaze of others. She has known the pain of being cast aside. She is also, because it takes one to know one, an outspoken woman.

The Samaritan people were close cousins to the Jewish people, so like rival teams, their tension with each other was as much cultural as ideological.  They descended from the tribes of Israel, but they had intermarried and taken on customs that were more pagan than pure according to Jewish law.  To Jewish people, they were less than.  People went out of their way to avoid walking into the territory of Samaria.  And this Samaritan woman was carrying her own social shame in the midst of all those cultural dynamics as well.  

But in the midst of all that, there is Jesus. He travels of his own free will; he pauses to rest.  And then he speaks with this woman as if she is family, asking her to draw water for him so that he might drink.  Jesus stretches his embrace of love beyond the inner circle to welcome all.

In iconography, the symbolism typically drawn into the image of the Samaritan Women at the Well is that of Christ and the Church, drawn together in the waters of Baptism.  Mutually recognizing that each is essential to the other; wrapped together in conversation and relationship; the water drawn from the earth becoming the Living Water through which we are sustained and the nourishment of God’s reign being lived out in the lives of those who believe and share the Good News.  The whole image comes alive with possibility.

In our Gospel lesson, the woman at the well cannot wait to spread the Good News.  She returns to her village with exuberance and many come to hear, see, and believe in Jesus themselves not only through her words, but through their own experiences.  In tradition, Photini is regarded as the first Evangelist and in Orthodox tradition, Equal among the Apostles. She was transformed by that encounter and continued to tirelessly share the Good News of Jesus Christ throughout and beyond that region, until her own martyrdom.  

Photini lived her life by the words we hear in the Gospel lesson: The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.

I invite you into our worship and conversation today with a spirit of curiosity.  Like Photini, we are invited to have an encounter with Jesus Christ that changes and transforms us.  We celebrate Holy Eucharist with the elements of this life: bread, wine, water, ourselves being transformed to be the Body of Christ in the world. As you consider the sacred art that has been brought into this space, how does it help you deepen into your own relationship with Jesus Christ?  What are the images conveying to you?  What deeper conversations are you drawn to have with Jesus in your own encounter?  How does that inspire you own sharing of the Good News?  The icons that are here for you to gaze upon and pray with are incredible sacred images that hold so much holiness.  Enjoy them.  Rest in their presence.  Welcome whatever Jesus speaks to your soul.

And I’m eager to share about what it is like to pray an icon into becoming, using the elements of this world to slowly be transformed into a glimpse into the world beyond, like walking into that thin space at St. Gregory’s.  I brought materials with me that you can touch, feel and even paint some brush strokes with because sometimes we need that tractile contact to truly take in the experience. I am happy to talk about what it is like to immerse into multiple days of iconography on retreat as a total beginner, and I can tell you what it is like to open up to the learning, to keep following the yearning to learn more and to engage the slow and steady practice of iconography on my own time as I continue to grow, practice, learn and pray.  It has been and is such a holy practice for me, so I look forward to sharing time and conversation with you about that.

Led by the example of Jesus and Photini, let’s continue this holy conversation.

Because the one thing truly worthwhile is becoming God’s friend.

Homily for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

February 1, 2026

St. Mark’s Episcopal Church

The joy and danger of preaching at home on Zoom after a week of being ice-bound is that my sermon writing has been intermingled with (and influenced by) my winter pastimes.  I’ve been working on an Icon of Christ…that’s been good for my prayer life., I’ve also made three different kinds of soup with several iterations of bread and rolls to accompany them, digging in my pantry for the things I squirrel away for winter..  I was also using up more dishtowels than usual with all the cooking, so I dug a little deeper into the dish towel drawer.  Whether serendipity or the Holy Spirit, I pulled out a pretty blue towel, a gift from a friend that I’d forgotten all about. And much to my amusement, it delivered a prophetic message of inspiration…which I will paraphrase to keep this sermon at a G rating:  “Sometimes blessings look a lot like BS.”

I admit, I let out a good laugh!  But honestly, I think there might be some theological depth to that expression that goes far beyond what the design team at Blue Q intended.  We are quick to think we know what “blessings” are, but our interpretation might not be spot on.  In today’s lesson, blessings are refined through the revolutionary wisdom that Jesus the teacher was offering up to those who followed him as they listened to his teaching from the mountain.

I want to remind us here in the 21st century that there were no microphones or sound systems or remote Zoom links involved in Jesus’ teaching ministry.  One reason to have disciples…his close followers accompanying him up the mountain was so that the message that was preached could spread to others who had followed Jesus to take in the lessons and the learning. A large crowd was following Jesus along the shore of Galilee, eager to hear a message that would give them hope in the midst of the events of their lives and the world in which they lived. Their faith taught them to know and believe they were covenantal people, beloved by God.  This was a God who chose them and led them through the wilderness and exile to a promised land. This was a God who heard their cries through history and who reminded the Hebrew people through Prophets like Micah, as we heard in today’s lesson, what God required of them: 

He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

But in the land where they lived, God’s beloved people found themselves under Roman authority, which did not look or feel like a peaceable kingdom.  They were seeking a Messiah to liberate them, to put an end to the unjust laws and ungodly actions of Empire under which they lived every day. They followed Jesus, in hopes of hearing and seeing more about the teacher they heard might just be this Messiah.  Jesus would teach and word would spread from those closest to him through the crowds, from the mountain top through the messengers who shared and spread the words and wisdom.  The people of God were craving God’s blessing.

Sometimes we hear this passage read as if we were sitting at the feet of Jesus.  But I invite us to stand with the multitude who were gathered in the hope of a blessing of good news in their broken world.  We are also people who are craving good news to counter the daily dosing of the world’s brokenness that inundates our senses and overwhelms our sensibilities.  I think we feel today like the crowds who gathered then, knowing that the evil schemes of Empire were alive and well; that people were being mistreated; that bullies seemed intent on winning; that showing compassion was a mockery; that absolute power ruled absolutely.  God’s people were…and are…seeking divine hope in the midst of human struggles against oppression.  

Jesus’ message comes to us and up-ends what our human hearts expect to hear.  The blessing did not sound like victory, vengeance, retribution, individual prowess or political overthrow.  The blessing sounded like God’s justice, God’s kindness, God’s humility, God’s desire to be present with us and to help us recognize that presence of God with and in each other..  

The words they heard reminded and realigned them with God’s revolutionary blessing:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Were these the words that the crowds expected or wanted to hear?  I think on first hearing, probably not.  They might have also had some choice thoughts upon hearing Jesus’ words describing this vision of blessing. But Jesus, the teacher, goes further and invites them to understand how the very nature of this blessing reveals something about the nature of God.

Jesus’ message of Good News for the the poor, the grieving, the hungry and the persecuted gets spoken about and enacted repeatedly and poignantly in the Gospels.  The Good News evident in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of the Prophets of God who understand that God’s presence is greater and beyond any human threats, any human fear, any human grief.  God’s presence with us gives us not only comfort and promise, but a re-alignment to seek the righteousness, the mercy, and the humility that come through being in relationship with God who will guide our steps, who will order our days, who will be present with us when we are mourning, hungering for justice, actively working to promote peace, and standing firm for the righteousness of God’s reign of mercy, justice and love. We are not alone.

Yes, we live in a world where power is abused, leaders are corrupt, and people are suffering. But we also live in a world touched by God’s belovedness.  We see it in acts of caring that value people before profit; we experience it while standing with our neighbors for justice; we see it in the determination of our interfaith neighbors, the Buddhist monks who are walking a 2,300 mile journey for peace…a journey that moves into Richmond today.  This Peace of God is with us.

We are not alone walking this road with others in the family of God.

Walking in humble relationship with the God who has called us to do justice, to love kindness, to embrace relationship with God and one another is transformative and in itself, counter-cultural.  We will experience God’s blessing when we engage whole-heartedly with the poor in spirit; when we comfort those who mourn; when we side with the meek, when we are sharing our food and life-giving water with those who hunger and thirst, when we show mercy and practice peace, even at the risk of persecution. This is an instruction manual for beloved community.

We will know we are blessed when we are made fun of, mocked, belittled, told that we aren’t important by the voices who seek to replace God’s reign with regimes of power, hate and greed.  But the voices of this world are never stronger than God’s voice reminding us of our belovedness.  That steadfast presence of God is the blessing, not in an abstract way but through every action of kindness, mercy, justice and love in which we immerse ourselves as a congregation, as a people, as members of the household of God. Because in those actions…giving and receiving…we are experiencing the blessing of God’s transformational love.

Wealth, power, privilege, possessions, influence: you’ll notice these are not to be found amongst the beatitudes.  These are markers of how success is defined in the individualist and capitalist society in which we live, where securing power and might for one person or privileged group is contingent upon the lesser regarded labor of others.

We may live in that society, but that is not God’s economy.  And Jesus’ sermon on the mount…each of the beatitudes…remind us that God has a different design for our lives..

When we consider our own call to live fully into this Way of Love, maybe we are seen as foolish on the world’s terms.  But God chooses and uses what appears foolish, weak, low and despised on the world’s terms to reveal a greater truth: God lavishes present, persistent, transforming love to all the places, spaces and people in this world, and no where is that more evident than during the situations and places when we are most in need of God’s love. 

The places in this world where we are called to love and serve…listening, loving, caring, peace-making, justice upholding with those who are poor, oppressed, hungry, thirsty, grieving, standing for righteousness…these are the places where God’s blessing resides.  God’s blessing does not remove us or rescue us, but instead invites us to live into the Beloved Community which God intends for us and invites us to experience.

So live boldly into God’s blessings, friends.  They actually look a lot like belovedness.

Homily for Advent 1, Year A
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
November 30, 2025

Lectionary Texts:

• Isaiah 2:1-5
• Romans 13:11-14
• Matthew 24:36-44
• Psalm 122

An opening prayer from J. Philip Newell:

I watch this day
For the light that the darkness has not overcome.
I watch for the fire that was in the beginning
and that burns still in the brilliance of the rising sun.
I watch for the glow of life that gleams in the growing earth
and glistens in sea and sky.
I watch for your light, O God,
in the eyes of every living creature
and in the ever-living flame of my own soul.
If the grace of seeing were mine this day
I would glimpse you in all that lives.
Grant me the grace of seeing this day.
Grant me the grace of seeing.

There are some times and places in this life where I get so caught up in the frenetic pace of life that if I am not careful, I can completely forget that I might experience the grace of encountering our Holy and Living God. A few weeks ago, that place was the Fredericksburg Amtrak station.

I had just spent three days at our diocesan annual convention where…as Mickie, Karen, Ryn and Benjamin can attest…I did NOT do a lot of sitting! I was heading from convention to spend a few days in New York City with the seminary students that I teach, who were gathered for their quarterly in-person learning opportunity. The plan was simple: finish convention, have a colleague drop me off at the train station, find a quiet corner to sit for a few minutes until my train arrived. It was a great plan until the latter two parts. My colleague did kindly drop me off at the station after convention; but I quickly learned that there is no “station” at this particular station: it is simply a drop off point with stairs to the platform and tracks. And soon after I arrived, my phone gave a “ping” to tell me that my train was running about an hour late.

So there I was, wandering aimlessly below the platform tracks with my roller bag and backpack, dressed too nicely to just sit down on the ground and too tired to go looking for a coffee shop.

It wasn’t too long before a prophet of the railway wilderness found me. He was also walking to and fro among the handful of us aimlessly waiting. His story was also about the battle between good and evil, the coming of the Lord that was near. This prophet might have been a modern vision of John the Baptist: he was gaunt, wearing worn out blue jeans and a ballcap that showed the military insignia that let us know his former life. He was preaching to all who would listen. He offered me a message, after unsuccessfully seeking if I had a cigarette. “You never know when you’ll be called up…wait for it!” was his message to me. That’s how I know he was a prophet!

My app “pinged” at that point and gave me two pieces of good news: my train was now only 20 minutes away, and I had been upgraded to business class and assigned a seat.

As I climbed the platform to board my train, I was thinking about sitting down and tuning out. I found my newly assigned seat, which was next to an older woman traveling by herself. I was immediately greeted by her kind and welcoming smile and a warm “hello,” something that does not always happen when someone takes up the empty seat beside you.

“It feels good to finally sit down,” I said, making light conversation. “I’ve been working on my feet a lot these past few days.”

“Ah” she said, “so now you are able to go home and rest!”

I shrugged. “Not quite yet” I said, “I’m headed to New York, for some other work.” I suddenly realized that my vagueness made me sound decidedly like a traveling salesperson.

“My dear!” she said, in what I was realizing to be a beautifully accented voice, “but it’s a Saturday!”

I smiled in response to her absolutely genuine kindness and concern for me, a total stranger. I felt my heart soften and I shifted to look at her, feeling an urge to share more authentically.

“I’m a clergy person who also teaches at a seminary, so I get rest, but not always on the weekends. I’m traveling between a church meeting and a seminary gathering right now.”

“Delightful!” she exclaimed, “My new seat-mate is a woman who is also a clergy person…and can I ask, what denomination?”

“I’m an Episcopal priest” I said, never knowing quite how that will land, but in this case, I watched her eyes light up and her smile grow wider.

“Well, I am Lutheran so I think we have many things in common!” she offered up.

And she was absolutely correct.

As we passed through scenic stretches and by other train stations en route, I heard all about the new ELCA presiding bishop Yehiel Curry (she coached me on the pronunciation) and invited me to listen to his inspiring installation sermon, telling me I would find in him a delightfully similar personality to our former Episcopal presiding bishop Michael Curry. I learned about her active participation in her progressive parish in North Carolina, about her ministry engagement in outreach and hospitality, about the ways that as she grew older in years she had grown even deeper in faith and recognition of the Reign of Christ in our midst. We shared with each other stories about moments of profound recognition of Christ’s presence in serving those marginalized by this world, in sharing hospitality with strangers, in the acts of being Christ’s hands and feet in the world and in doing so, recognizing we were encountering Christ himself.

There was a timelessness about our conversational sharing, and each story one of us would tell seemed to inspire the other. I want to visit her church, and she wants to visit St. Mark’s! And rather miraculously as we spoke, I was no longer thinking about my hurting feet and no longer craving my usual introvert cocooning. I found myself filled and refreshed in body and spirit.

The whole conversation was delightful, but some of our final thoughts and exchanges with each other are lingering with me profoundly this Advent.

I realized pretty far into our conversation that I hadn’t actually given her my name. I apologized for the oversight as I dug in my purse for a business card and said, “I just realized that I forgot to share that my name is Sarah.”

“Oh Sarah,” she said, “of course that would be your name. That was supposed to be my name!” She went on to tell me in more hushed tones about her early life. She had been born in Nazi Germany under Hitler’s rule to Christian sympathizers active in the underground, who were part of the escape route for Jewish people oppressed under the Nazi regime. Her parents helped many people escape while she was too young to fully understand that risk. They changed her name to “May” for her own safety, something that did not sound Jewish. Her family fled to the United States as asylum-seekers after their identity was compromised by neighbors.

“I had the privilege of survival,” May said, “and I’ve had more opportunities in this life than many. So, I may be an old woman but I have made myself a promise.” She looked at me with deep conviction and said: “I was born under a dictator, and I will not die under one.”

May was traveling by train, meeting up with friends to engage in direct action, ministering to protestors and providing free medical and legal services to immigrants and children detained under ICE. Her conviction of spirit framed her whole life now: it was her vocation, her call.

I asked if I could pray with her and give her a blessing as she was preparing to depart. She had tears in her eyes and said, “I know you were sent to sit by me; I was praying for God’s blessing all the way here.” So we both got up and stood there in the middle aisle of an Amtrak business car and invoked God’s blessing on her ministry, striving to bring the vision of God’s realm as we read in the prophet Isiah to this earth, as it is in heaven. Both of us were weeping with joy, knowing that the serendipity of our encounter on that train was no coincidence, no accident but the clear intervention of the Holy Spirit. Even via an Amtrak app.

There are times like these…unexpected, ordinary and yet so profound…when it is clear to me that God is speaking, acting and working among all of God’s people, through prophets in train stations and saints across the lifespan.

It isn’t just a nice thing we say when we promise to seek and serve Christ in all people and to love our neighbors as ourselves. When we live into those baptismal promises, truly, we open ourselves to the possibility that we will be led to the places we need to be, even if we know nothing about it. When we follow the call to put on the whole armor of light, we cannot go anywhere or encounter anyone without being reminded that we are living in the presence of God who is, God who loves, God who joined with us in our humanity so that we, too, can participate in God’s realm on earth, as it is in heaven.

Indeed, salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers.

Friends, we don’t know the hour or the time when we will be called up to serve. We don’t know where and with whom we will come to know Christ’s presence with us; and we can’t even imagine all the times, all the places, all the ways we will be invited to participate in the living out of God’s realm on this earth, as it is in heaven. Today’s Gospel is not a threat, it is a promise! So often, we read this Gospel with shaky fear; we’ve been made to think that we must stand and tremble in fear that God might find us. But I’m here to tell you this is Good News: God finds us! The presence of Christ is being made known in the places and spaces where God needs to be, at the moments needed. I experienced Christ’s presence through my encounter with May, sitting alone on a train and praying for a blessing and in turn, blessing me with true refreshment of body and spirit. It fills me with awe imagining how the presence of Christ was made known through May as she lived into her call of defiant compassion with other immigrants and children of immigrants, asylum seekers just as she was once who were experiencing oppression at the hands of the rulers of this world. God was with her, filling her with the light of love and grace which no doubt overflowed to everyone she encountered.

This is the Good News of Advent, friends. Jesus Christ, who was and who is and who is to come is creating our new world as we walk together in the light of the Lord. We watch, and wait and are reminded that we will be called up when we are ready.

I watch this day
For the light that the darkness has not overcome.
I watch for the fire that was in the beginning
and that burns still in the brilliance of the rising sun.
I watch for the glow of life that gleams in the growing earth
and glistens in sea and sky.
I watch for your light, O God,
in the eyes of every living creature
and in the ever-living flame of my own soul.
If the grace of seeing were mine this day
I would glimpse you in all that lives.
Grant me the grace of seeing this day.
Grant me the grace of seeing.

Trees in Zuccotti Park, New York City [where I raised my prayer of thanks for this encounter!]