walls of injustice

All summer long, we'll be breaking down walls of injustice in our worship.

We labeled this wall in our prayer time a few weeks ago, and ever since, have been working at reminding ourselves how it is that Christ breaks down this wall, and gives us a better view of the Kingdom of God.

I'm excited about how good it will be to keep taking this wall down, and grateful for the many people who are going to help in that work. Mostly, you.

For the next 8 weeks, I'll be away on a renewal leave. I'll miss being in worship, but am excited about the plans already made for powerful and prophetic worship through the summer.

The blog will be even less-regularly updated, but Sunday worship will always be rich.

Hope you can be there!

grace and peace,
Molly

Pentecost

The Art of Flame
Originally uploaded by Jeremy-G

This week, we celebrate Pentecost--the birthday of the church. (And, concurrently, we're marking the 140th Anniversary at First UMC San Diego.) At Water's Edge, there will be bluegrass music (and I get to play spoons).

Pentecost is a bit wild: the Holy Spirit, like tongues of fire, rests on the apostles and gives them the ability to speak to a diverse crowd of people in a multitude of languages which are, for their hearers, everyone's native language.

Amazing.

They hear the same story, but in a mess of different sounds.

How beautiful that the beginning of our church life happened through a unity expressed in vividly diverse ways.

This gives me hope that the future of the church rests secure, as we continue to follow the Spirit's lead, making the good news of Jesus Christ visible in a wide variety of expressions and styles.

I've been excited by the United Methodist Church's new ad campaign, which asks us to "rethink church." Pentecost seems as good a time as any I know to remember that church is not a building, but a way of living. And our call is to be those 10,000 doors that open people to life in the Spirit. May it be so.

Extravagant Generosity

This week's practice is extravagant generosity. Which makes me think of a song in our hymnal:

Cuando el pobre nada tiene y aun reparte, cuando el hombre pasa sed y agua nos da, cuando el débil a su hermano fortalece, va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar, va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar.

When the poor ones who have nothing share with strangers, when the thirsty water give unto us all, when the crippled in their weakness strengthen others, then we know that God still goes that road with us, then we know that God still goes that road with us.

There's something powerful about the extravagance of generosity that God's love inspires in us--not so much that we always have impressively large sums to donate others, but that our giving makes a significant difference to us.

My dad has some favorite sayings related to giving. One of my favorites is an invitation to give until it feels good--somewhere past giving 'til it hurts is a joy that comes in being able to share something that matters to us.

Photo by Jack Hynes, shared through Creative Commons via Flickr.com

In Luke, Jesus tells the story of a woman who gave something that, from the outside, seemed insignificant; for her, it was everything.

Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, we're told how the Macedonian's joy and poverty somehow, mysteriously and miraculously, overflowed in a wealth of generosity.

I'm digging that phrase: a wealth of generosity. More than being about the measurable sum collected, their wealth lay in their spirit of giving. Surely, none would have need if we lived with a true wealth of generosity.

I do, however, think of the times when I have seen just this kind of spirit--courageous, risk-taking generosity inspires others to the same.

Intentional Faith Development

This Sunday, as we focus on intentional faith development as a practice that strengthens our church life, we also celebrate Mother's Day.

And, while Mother's Day is a relatively new holiday (in comparison to our ancient celebrations like the season of Easter), the practice of honoring our foremothers is not new. Our passage for this week from 2 Timothy tells of the important role a mother and grandmother played in shaping a life of faith, as Paul gives thanks for Timothy's mother Eunice, and grandmother, Lois.

As may be expected for a time a culture when women's roles were limited by a boldly patriarchal society, we know little about these two women; we learn, from Paul's mention of them, though, that their role in the shaping of their son and grandson's faith was critical.

In Deuteronomy, just after Moses has shared the central law that God gave on Mt. Sinai in what we've come to call the "Ten Commandments," Moses summarizes the law, and gives clear instruction to pass it on. "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might," he says, continuing that we should impress this on our children.

I've been intrigued with the phrase about how to teach them to our children. Some translations say to "impress them" on our children. Others read "teach them diligently." Or, simply, "recite them." The Hebrew word used, shanan, can be defined either as teaching diligently, or (as it's used more commonly in the Hebrew Bible) as having a slightly more visceral definition: something like whetting, piercing or incising. Tattoo them on your kids hearts, perhaps.

Photo by Piero Sierra, shared through Creative Commons via Flickr.com

This doesn't seem to be about the kind of teaching that might allow one to do well on a standardized test; this teaching comes with a kind of whole-self, lifelong demonstration of loving God.

I give thanks for those who have been models for me in this work--who teach by a way of living that models deep love for God and neighbor.

May it write this law incisively on my heart.

Risk-Taking Mission and Service

Our Scripture passages this week are two old favorites of mine:

The prophet Micah clarifies that faithfulness isn't about fancy worship, but about lives of humble service. "What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God."

Then, in Matthew's gospel, Jesus clarifies what kind of criteria God might use in our judgment: how we treated the "least of these" in our midst.

Humility seems to be a key piece in both--a willingness to the unglamorous work of serving.

In a world when marketing strategies tell us that public service can be good for our "brand," when community service improves our college resumes, and when famous personalities are tapped for photo ops for non-profits, these passages seem to call us to something even more.

(Not that making service cool is a bad thing--I think it's pretty fabulous to lift up heroes who model serving others.)

These passages ask us to go a step further--to risk serving people who no one else would choose. Or to take the chance that our investment in another person won't solve their problems and doesn't necessarily depend on them doing things like we think they should.

Risk-taking mission and service also opens up the possibility that our service will change us, our ways of thinking and our priorities in life.

This is risky business.

I wonder what risks you've taken to be in mission and service?

Passionate Worship

Note: My apologies for not posting this sooner--I started it early last week, and then forgot to ever change it from "draft" to "published" status! Hopefully, it might still be fun conversation for this week...

Photo by Sean Dreilinger, shared through Creative Commons via flickr.com

Our scripture this week includes tale of a dramatic sea crossing and the rejoicing that followed from Exodus, as well as a story of prayerful singing in worship at a time of transition and hope from Luke's gospel.

Worship is a beautiful response to God's liberating work in the world. Both in a narrow escape in a time of very real danger and oppression (as in Exodus) and at a moment when God's salvation is finally incarnate (though still just a little baby), music gives form to thanksgiving, and expresses a joy that can be shared.

I'm especially moved by Simeon's song, the piece from Luke's gospel. Here, and old man gets a chance to meet Jesus--but not full-grown Jesus. He sees little, days-old baby Jesus. And then sings of the fulfillment of God's promise.

How wild to have such confidence and trust in a tiny newborn.

I think this is what I like about worship, though--it's our way of naming and celebrating the wonderful wholeness and salvation of God's kingdom, even though the best we can see these days are our little, tiny signs of grace. Fits and starts, as precarious as a newborn.

But, we gather, holding to what we know matters most, and we let it change us.

May it be so!

Radical Hospitality

Note: For the next five weeks, our whole congregation is going to be reading and praying about Five Practices for Fruitful Congregations. I encourage you to follow the link and participate with us. Our worship will focus on one practice each week. Then, on May 31, we will celebrate them all, as well as Pentecost (the birthday of the church!) and our congregation's 140th anniversary. This should be a rich time, as we look at what makes church "church," as we look at our past, and as we prepare ourselves for bearing good fruit into the future.

This week, we have two texts. One from Deuteronomy and one from the gospel of Luke, each with a lesson about what it means to offer hospitality.

In Deuteronomy, as God delivers the law that will be at the core of the relationship between people and God, we hear words that echo through scripture: that we should love God with our heart and soul. And, then, that we should care for the widows and orphans in our midst. And for the strangers, because we were once strangers in Egypt.

How wild that here, at the very heart of God's commandment, is the expectation that we offer hospitality and care. And that we acknowledge our own need for hospitality, too.

That we should welcome the "stranger" has pretty powerful implications in our own time. Other translations use terms like "alien" or "foreigner." Without regard to citizenship status.

I wonder who we're most called to offer hospitality to, today? Who ought we be welcoming, and how will we find ways of offering that hospitality?

Experience New Life

Easter Vigil Prayer Pilgrimage

Helping us Get It

How do you explain your faith to others?

What helps you "get it" yourself?

I marvel at the many ways Jesus tries to help Nicodemus understand faith. In the third chapter of John's Gospel, Jesus tries in many differing ways to help Nicodemus understand faith. (The part we'll consider this week is here.

Most confusing for Nicodemus, a Pharisee who came go Jesus under cover of night, was the concept of grace.

God didn't send the Son into the world to condemn the world.

This is not about judgment. This is about new life.

The Vernal Equinox -- Spring -- seems a wonderful time to celebrate faith as new life, transformed life, new birth.

Stop making my Father's house a marketplace!

This week's gospel sound-bite catches another shockingly confrontational moment in Jesus life: in his first moments of public ministry (according to John), Jesus makes as scene at the temple where he's come to celebrate Passover.

Finding the courtyard full of people selling animals to offer to God, and moneychangers to help folks from lots of different places make those offerings, Jesus fashions a whip and chases them all out.  

"Stop making my Father's house a marketplace!"

The other Gospels give him another line, about turning the temple into a "den of thieves."  But John leaves his complaint with having made God's house a "marketplace."  Which makes me wonder what the difference is between a marketplace and a den of thieves...

It leaves me to imagine that what set Jesus off wasn't that the booths are charging outrageous tourist prices for the sheep, doves and cattle folks would have been purchasing to fulfill their obligations to make offerings to God on this holy day.  It was something about them selling sheep, doves and cattle at all.

I'm wondering if maybe he was overcome by a shocking realization that people were giving way more energy to buying the right sheep, doves and cattle for worship than they were to worshipping God?  

I confess: I sometimes spend way too much time thinking (obsessing?) about things that aren't what really matters.  And I wonder how clearly my life--what people see me spending my time on and giving myself to--communicates about God's role in my life. 

What if we're not supposed to ask "Am I putting the cart before the horse," but "Am I putting the sheep, doves and cattle before real worship?"

Get behind me, Satan!

We are continuing our "Gospel Sound Bites" with this quick quip from Jesus to Peter: "Get behind me, Satan!"

I'm sort-of kicking myself this Monday, wondering what I was thinking in picking this phrase out of this week's rich text from Mark. (I could have easily gone for "Take up your cross and follow me," for example...)

I confess: articulating a theological understand of Satan's power is not the pastoral task that puts me most at-ease.

(You can see a clever cartoon of the dilemma here, from ASBO Jesus in England.)

Last week, we focused on repentance. This week Satan. Dangerous ground--these ideas are laden with the baggage of a legacy of self-righteous, judgmental use. And yet, I admit my own curious inability to resist giving them a go.

(As if I can be the one to wrest new, true, life-giving, liberating meaning out of the stuff of fear-mongering fire-and-brimstone preaching, and hand-painted signs waved by end-predicting fanatics.)

I suppose this would be a good place for a little Lenten humility. I can't claim to understand exactly why Jesus chose this angry rebuke, renaming Peter (who, incidentally, was given the name "Peter" by Jesus, too, because, apparently, because of his rock-like foundational leadership) as Satan.

Satan, in Mark's gospel, is the one who was testing Jesus in the wilderness. And the one who steals the Word of God before it can bear fruit, in the language of the Parable of the Sower. An adversary, at the least, and, somehow, the incarnation of temptation to the opposite of God's intentions for the world.

What did Peter do to earn this name? He spoke up in opposition to Jesus' description of the suffering and rejection he was to experience from the folks in power at the time.

It looks as though Peter had a different vision of what the Messiah should experience--something other than suffering in the hands of those in power. I imagine Peter thought Jesus would become the hands in power.

(Which, come to think of it, is one of the temptations Satan offered to Jesus in the wilderness, according to Matthew and Luke's gospels.)

In Lent, we're tempted to talk a lot about suffering. Many take on Lenten practices that are uncomfortable--fasting, for example. (Or, perhaps, giving up chocolate. Or Facebook.) I suspect, though, that this is not the kind of suffering that Jesus was taking about. Not fasting, or self-flagellation, or ever self-imposed guilt.

Jesus was to suffer rejection by the powerful leaders of his time, because he presented a different way of living in the world. His message and his ministry were a threat to the established power and priorities of his time. (And, come to think of it, in a whole bunch of ways, ours...)

So, when Jesus called Peter out, he was clarifying that this ministry is not about accumulating power. It's about being fully-committed to a new way of living.

I'm not thinking that I'd much like being called Satan, but I do admit to my need for help in staying on track toward God's kingdom values.

In the midst of a world filled with far too much suffering, we are called to honor a God who calls us out when we put our own power above the needs of the suffering of the world.

repent and believe the good news

Photo by slworking2 on flickr.com; used by creative commons license.

So much in our world gets reduced to sound bites--quick sayings, repeated over and over become the way we know things. Which is, really, the only way I can win that one part of Cranium where you have to impersonate funny people. I succeed best when I draw someone known by a sound bite. You know: "I am not a crook." "We have nothing to fear but fear itself." "I have a dream." "Yes we can."

Reading the gospel lessons for this Lent--a season in our church life that begins today--Jesus' gospel sound bites jumped out at me.

For reasons very different from those in our over-saturated news of today, short, powerful quotes became one of the primary ways that folks in the early church passed Jesus' message on.

This week, Jesus delivers a sound bite that invites us into this season of Lent, a time of repentance, refocusing and devotion: "Repent and believe the good news."

Now and then, I get quite infatuated with little things. This week, its the word "and." See, when I searched the internet for depictions of repentance, the most common images I found were end-times predictions: "repent or perish." "Repent or else." "Repent sinner."

Not a single "repent and..."

So I tried a bit of biblical research. The Greek work for repentance is metanoia, which literally implies a turning--a changing of one's mind. In Mark, the shortest and earliest-written gospel, Jesus is quoted as saying, "repent and believe the good news." In Matthew, the similar message, translated into English, comes: "repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand."

I love these translations--at the turning of repentance, which orients us away from our previous, isolated lives, we turn toward God's good news and set our vision on the kingdom of God. In both Matthew and Mark, these words become a sound bite that condenses the basic message Jesus takes as he begins his ministry in the world.

You have to look to Luke to get "repent or..." line from Jesus. And, there, it comes much later in his ministry, in a particular story about the necessity of change (as opposed to as a condensation of the whole message.)

Where am I going with all this, you wonder?

I'm feeling like, on this Ash Wednesday, as we enter into Lent together, we're called to change our hearts and minds. But not because we're afraid, or because we're threatened; we are invited to change because there's good news to be found when we turn to God.

Change (if you'll indulge me) that we can believe in.

So, here at Ash Wednesday, as we are invited to make confession to God, we are invited to turn our lives toward a new and life-giving possibility: the good news of God's kingdom.

Justice and peace. Abundance. Infinite, generous love.

Repent and believe the good news.

--

I hope you'll join us in worship tonight, on Ash Wednesday. I love the humbling and reorienting act of confessing our own sins, and of being marked with a cross of ashes. We are mortal, and called to repent so that we can receive God's good news.

During this whole lenten season, we will orient our worship around the Gospel sound bites that carry core message of our faith. I hope to see you at the Water's Edge as we journey through this season.

We also invite you to pray along with our congregation, daily, starting Monday. Devotions will be posted online, here.

a revelation

This week, we celebrate the Transfiguration--a moment when Jesus reveals something of his divine identity with dazzling clarity.  Our scripture (linked above) tells the account: Jesus hikes up a mountain with three of the disciples, and suddenly appears in a brighter light than the disciples knew possible.  Moses and Elijah appear with him, as if to clarify that Jesus belongs in their tradition, but is more than they were.  Then a voice is heard--God speaking, claiming Jesus as a son.

Things that were true before were revealed suddenly, with new clarity.

Revelation and apocalypse, in their most literal definitions, are just that: an uncovering of what is truest.  Sometimes, what is most real is hidden to our eyes--then in a moment, they are revealed.  Jesus' image was transfigured, appearing differently and making the reality of his power clearer.

If revelation and apocalypse are about uncovering, in confess that they make me think of artists who do just the opposite: Christo and Jeanne-Claude are known for their large-scale works which often cover, wrap or obscure things.  For instance, this installation in Switzerland, where they wrapped the trees in a park.

Funny how wrapping these trees up makes me much more aware of their beauty and the particularities of their shapes.

Knowing that God is present all around us, and that there are signs of the reality of God's kingdom all around us, I wonder what it would take for us (the church) to be better at revealing them?

Walking in faith

When I reflect on the scriptures we will consider in worship this week, the concept I keep coming back to is that faith requires all of who we are.

Faith touches our hearts.

Faith captivates and sometimes challenges our minds.

And, faith breathes through our bodies.

Walking in faith is a full-body experience.

Paul makes this point to the early Christians in Corinth using athletic images. He wants his body -- metaphorically and physically -- to be ready whenever he is called to act on his faith.

In Mark's gospel, a leper comes to Jesus asking to be made clean. To be healed. To be made whole.

How do we need to prepare ourselves to practice our faith?

How do we need to be healed to embody our faith?

As we consider these scriptures and as we prepare for Lent, consider your own preparations, consider what request you would make for healing and wholeness in your life.

How will you walk in faith?

meeting needs and pleasing people

Our scripture passages are rich this week. And, for at least this preacher who falls victim to the lure of pleasing people, a bit confusing:

Paul, in his letter to the church in Corinth, talks of how he meets all people where they are, on their own grounds. He says he has "become all things to all people," for the sake of the gospel. The first thing I hear here is an expectation that I should do whatever it takes to meet the needs around me in a way that takes care of everyone.

That's a lot of work.

Then, Jesus, in the first chapter of Mark's gospel, has this weird encounter with the disciples. First, he heals this throng of people who'd come to be healed by him. Then, he takes off, early in the morning, without telling anyone. The disciples sound worried as the "hunt" for him, asking why he took off; they invite him back, because there are more people wanting to see him. But Jesus points them in a different direction: toward the neighboring towns, where he is called to take the gospel.

To me, it feels as if Paul is telling me to meet the whole world's needs, and Jesus is modeling a way of boundary-setting as he moves on, before everything's taken care of.

I wonder if, perhaps, one of the differences here is that Paul is speaking to (and teaching) a community. And, even more, a community of free people, accustomed to enjoying their own personal rights and liberties. Perhaps his claim to be "all things to all people" is an invitation to choose to do things that serve others, rather than doing what we're free to do, for our own selves. A kind of freely chosen obligation to one another.

Clearly, Paul is saying these things because he wants others to try them too: he doesn't mean to be the only person seeking to serve others' needs. Which, I suppose, is one of the tricks of servant ministry--it is most glorious and powerful when shared in community.

(I mean, have you ever been with a group of people who are trying to outdo each other in caring for one another, where no one is left to do the big pile of dishes alone, and folks share in other labor, too? It's good stuff...)

The passage we read today ends with this line: "I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings." The footnote in my New Interpreter's Study Bible tells me that this "sharing in blessings" is a legal term of Paul's time, meaning something like "to be a partner."

So, perhaps, Paul is inviting us to be partners in his firm. People who work together in service, and get a taste of God's kingdom.

I suppose that this work, just as Jesus modeled, often sends us out on new paths--refusing to let us settle for pleasing people in one place as we seek to meet the needs of a hurting, isolated world.

missing the point

I've been thinking about what it means to be a Christian. In my humble opinion, we spend far too much energy defining our belonging in the life of the church by our behavior. Even worse: by what we don't do.

A danger of such definition is that it misses the point of the heart of our gospel message: God's love.

This week's scripture, from I Corinthians, finds Paul writing to the early church, as if answering a question posed about what the outward behavior of Christians should be. (Perhaps they were wondering what should go on the sign at the door?) The main point, he says, is that we remember God's unique place in our world, and that we love.

Lately, I've been thinking about conversations I had while living in Niger, in the midst of a Muslim majority. "I think I'd like to be a Christian," one man said to me. "We have to pray 5 times a day, and you only have to pray once a week."

He, too, missed the point of what it means to be a faithful Christian.

If we reduce our faith to a list of things we do or don't do, it's too easy to measure our success. (And, worse, too easy to waste time measuring and judging others' success...)

If we're captivated by the love of a gracious God, we've got far too much to do in trying to be built up in that love to spend time tallying our adherence to rules. Faithfulness can't be tabulated on a checklist.

And, as Paul goes on to explain, our relationships to one another and to God matter most. If our behavior is going to cause someone else trouble--especially if they're newer in their faith--than we need to be extra cautious. Not because God wants to catch us being bad, but because take seriously our responsibility to one another.

We've got a lot of work to do.

Really, I think I think it all resonates pretty well with those three simple rules we celebrated just after Christmas: do no harm, do good and stay in love with God.

Way of Living with Good News: rule 1

During the 3 weeks after Christmas, we're going to spend some time thinking about what Christmas means, after the parties are over: at Christmas we celebrate God coming into the world as a human.  Incarnation.

Which is a pretty good thing to celebrate.

But, after that good news has sunk in, we might ask ourselves: so what?

And the answer, I think, is pretty big: a whole new way of living.

At the beginning of the movement that would become the Methodist Church, John Wesley and some of his colleagues wrote some basic rules the would live by.  They centered around 3 simple-enough fundamentals.  

That said that, having received God's gracious love, we're changed.  And, as a result, we live differently.  We should seek to:

do no harm

do good

and stay in love with God.

We'll look at each of those rules during the next 3 weeks of worship.  You can read more about them--and some reflections by our church members--here.

On the 28th, Rev. Elbert will preach, challenging and inviting us to live in ways that do no harm.

Merry Christmas!

giving birth

"Annunciation" by Henry O Tanner, 19th Century African-American painter

I have been contemplating young, unmarried Mary's reaction to the news that she would give birth to the Son of God.

I love that Mary believes this crazy news is possible. She questions the possibility at first--but not because she doesn't think herself worthy, or thought such crazy/good news impossible. Without cynicism, self-protecting irony or low self-esteem, she accepts the good news that God could be borne in her. And, even more, she knows that it means wild and world-changing things for everyone else, too.

She busts out in song, the news is so good, in a passage later in the chapter: the powerful have been knocked off their thrones, and the humble poor have stood tall. Words of promise, conviction and hope that would have been as wild in Mary's day as they are in these days when CEO's ask for government bail-outs.

All of this makes me wonder how I might get myself ready to have the same, hope-filled reaction to God's good news today. This Christmas, am I ready to help give birth to a new way of living in the world?

As all this has been rattling around in my head, I stumbled into these beginning words of Brian McLaren's Finding Our Way Again: the return of the ancient practices:

"You can't take an epidural shot to ease the pain of giving birth to character. In a sense, every day of your life is labor: the rhythmic agony of producing the person who will wake up in your body tomorrow, creating your reputation, continuing your legacy, and influencing your family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, and countless strangers, for better or worse."

Perhaps this Christmas work, this work of bearing Christ's light into a world of so much darkness and despair, is going to be harder than the shiny bows and tinsel suggest. But, then, perhaps it's also going to be wild and world-changing.

This season has so many good songs. And they're thick with possibility. I offer you this final verse from O Little Town of Bethlehem, full-up with a prayer for us to bear Christ into this world. To accept that we're the ones God chose to be with, and that it's gonna be good.

(You can sing along at home.)

O holy Child of Bethlehem Descend to us, we pray Cast out our sin and enter in Be born to us today We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell O come to us, abide with us Our Lord Emmanuel

give pause

It's a busy world, and this time of year can get worse than usual.

So, this year we're asking you to do something crazy: slow down.

Give pause this Christmas.

To help, we've made a daily devotional to use in your prayer life. It includes a particular prayer practice for each week of Advent--each week between now and Christmas.

Some of you helped write the online devotional, so that gives you extra reason to check it out.

I trust it can be transformative.

Find it here, updated daily. Or, use the link in the right-hand sidebar.

king

Since this Sunday is Christ the King Sunday, I've been turning to my annual contemplation of kings. This year, that certainly includes King Corn. A documentary about our food economy, the film is both amusing and sobering, as we learn more about how entrenched we are in an agricultural economy that is far from the just, life-giving system we might hope for. Our economy has been shaped and trained to maintain the current structure. Too often, it means profit for the most powerful (King Corn), at the expense of many others.
What a good image to hold in mind as we celebrate Christ the King.

This year, as always, we need reminders that, as followers of Jesus, we need to be vigilant in making sure nothing else--no other person or power--is "king" in our lives.

Instead, we celebrate the unlikely King Jesus, whose reign was secured with self-sacrifice. Crazy, and beautiful.

This King, Christ the King, is all about justice, and life-giving grace.

So, as we gather to worship God this week, we'll celebrate this unconventional reign. We'll read stories of God's promised river of life, from Revelation 22. There, we're given an image of God's grace, which comes like a river in the very midst of the city. It brings life and healing to the city.

All of which is good cause for Thanksgiving, I'd say. And a good reason to again ask for God's vision to be our vision. Imagine what would be possible if it were to guide our everyday living.

I hope to see you there!