Lent Day 15: God Our Helper

 Because your steadfast love is better than life,
    my lips will praise you.
So I will bless you as long as I live;
    I will lift up my hands and call on your name.
My soul is satisfied as with the richest of foods,
    and my mouth praises you with joyful lips
when I remember you upon my bed
    and think of you in the night watches,
for you have been my helper,
   and under the shadow of your wings I will rejoice.
My whole being clings to you;
    your right hand holds me fast.
~Psalm 63:5-8

Today's portion of Psalm 63 begins with David--still, on the run in the Judean wilderness--declaring that God's steadfast love is better than living, better than life itself. This is a remarkable sentiment coming from someone who is running for his life, and running from one to whom he gave life. We have to imagine that David is having a reckoning with himself, and with God, as to the reason(s) he is where he is in the first place. (See yesterday's post, here.) In such a hostile natural environment, at such a dire hour, David is starting to assemble a sense of what is good, a hierarchy of spiritual needs, let's say. I don't think it's going too far to say, he seems to have concluded that living is not at the top of that hierarchy. That, on some level, he accepts that he may die, and only wants to affirm--or have God affirm--that, in the end, he has God's steadfast love, which is all that matters.

David compares this knowledge to a feast, a feast for the soul, akin to a feast for the body filled with rich foods. The Hebrew words (as found in the King James/ Authorized Version) translate to "marrow and fatness," certainly useful foods on the run, with protein that would provide lasting satiation and energy. (I've never consumed marrow, but had a father who was a butcher from a family of butchers, and he appreciated marrow very much. Likewise, some in our congregation's Bible Study!)

David will praise God, therefore, lifting up his hands, singing out his praises with that mouth that is remembering such deliciousness... even on his bed. Remember, he is roughing it, so the is certainly not sleeping in a royal bed.  Still, his memories of meditating on God there flood him. David speaks of remembering God, meditating on God in the watches of the night. The very image the psalm conjures is one of safety, repose, and delight at contemplating God in all her wonders.

Ultimately, David connects all this--the satisfaction of a great feast for the soul, the place of repose and delight--to a God who has been his helper. Under the shadow of your wings--another image that fits in with the time of rest and meditation--I sing for joy. 

Let's look more closely at this image of God as "helper." The root Hebrew word for helper is EZER, and we find a version of it used here. The word appears 21 times in the Hebrew Scriptures (Old Testament). Seventeen of those times (including the usage here), the "helper" is God. In her article on "Helper," indigenous scholar Kat Armas points out that the Hebrew usage of "helper" is very different from our contemporary assumptions about it. We tend to think of a helper is someone who is subservient, under the supervision of a more important person. But in Hebrew usage, a helper is one with power to help. In the Hebrew Scriptures there are only four other appearances of the word: three refer to military aides, and one occurrence refers to the woman whom God creates in Genesis 2, to be a companion to the man in the Garden of Eden.*

This means that the word "helper" when applied to the woman in scripture does not and cannot mean that she is inferior to the man. Cultural and conservative assumptions about that word have driven an entire theology of the relations between men and women, and they are in error. Women and men have equal dignity in the sight of God, and neither is inferior to the other. Only the woman is given the descriptor that is primarily used for God. God is helper. So is the woman.

Our portion of the psalm--again, harkening back to the earlier metaphors around sleep and lying down--closes with a statement of David acknowledging that he turns to  God, completely. "My whole being clings to you; your right hand holds me fast." The "right hand" of God refers to God's power. David believes himself--awake and asleep--held in the powerful love of God, who, even in this terrible moment of fear and uncertainty, will never leave him.

I  mentioned yesterday that this psalm is one I often sing to myself in bed, and now you probably have a clearer understanding of why that is. I find the psalm incredibly comforting, and something that reminds me, as well, of the steadfast love of God, that helps me, too, to notice that deep satisfaction in my soul. God has been my helper, countless times throughout my life, and this week alone, because there is no way I could do, well, anything without God's help. 

My whole being clings to God; her right hand holds me fast.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

* Kat Armas, What Does "Helper" Really Mean? July 25, 2018,  https://katarmas.com/blog/2018/8/3/what-does-helper-really-mean#:~:text=So%20if%20woman%20has%20been,to%20describe%20a%20military%20aide. katarmas.com.

Lent Day 14: Longing for God

 O God, you are my God; I seek you;
    my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
    as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
~Psalm 63:1

Image courtesy of Todd Bolen

Here's the God's honest truth (which, I hope I am sharing on a regular basis, and not only when I make an announcement about it): I didn't post yesterday for a number of reasons. In no particular order: I had an unexpectedly extra busy day; I was experiencing a lot of physical fatigue (new work-out-swimming routine, which, along with Daylight Savings Time, is kicking my butt); and--probably the biggest reason: I couldn't connect with any of the lectionary passages for yesterday. Well, not until late enough that I knew my brain would be useless if I tried to write something coherent. 

And then, today, voila, God and the daily lectionary present me with my favorite psalm, one that I have mostly memorized because I pray it so often. Actually, I sing it. I sing it when I am using my PCUSA Daily Prayer Book for morning prayers, and I sing ig in my head when I am lying in bed at night, especially when I am struggling with sleep. 

The psalm has a title: A psalm of David, when he was in the wilderness in Judah. 

I love the stories of David, a flawed human who nevertheless captures our imaginations at every turn. I know a bit about David, but I had to Google "when was David in the wilderness of Judah"? And the answer was: He was in the wilderness of Judah twice; once when he was fleeing from King Saul, and once when he was fleeing from his son, Absalom. 

Reading that was a like a punch in the gut. 

Scholars believe the more likely context was the latter. David was fleeing his son.

David was fleeing Absalom because... the sins of the father are visited on the children, as scripture reminds us. In other words, the family system was broken, and it went all the way back to David's taking and raping the married woman Bathsheba, followed by David's arranging for Bathsheba's husband, Uriah, to be killed, in order to cover up her pregnancy by David. The prophet Nathan told David God's response to all this: "Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, for you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife."  Or, as Eugene Peterson elaborated on it in The Message,

"And now, because you treated God with such contempt and took Uriah the Hittite’s wife as your wife, killing and murder will continually plague your family." ~2 Samuel 22:10

The enmity between David and Absolom emerged because David never punished his other son, Amnon, who had raped his half-sister, Tamar. Absolom was avenging his sister and trying to take the throne from his father, who he deemed unworthy of it.

Knowing the background of this psalm--that it wasn't simply written in the context of one of his many wars or battles, but most likely in the context of his flight from his own son, which he had brought about by many actions and inactions over many years--has shaken me. But also it makes me love the psalm even more.

David is in more than one kind of wilderness. He is in the wilderness of Judah which, truly, is an inhospitable environment for life. But he is also in the wilderness of his soul. He is using his physical hunger and thirst to connect to that deeper and more devastating wilderness, where he isn't sure God is still listening. He is longing for the old, familiar connection, in which God and he were on easy terms, David freely speaking and singing his praise and devotion to God, and God, in turn, continually inspiring him to more and more beautiful songs of praise.

For me, this psalm is a psalm of deep comfort. I call out and I trust that God hears. I understand that this may not be everyone's experience, and I remember times when it might not have been mine. But today, I am grateful for the beauty of this psalm, and for the reminder that God is listening. And today, I grieve once again the texts of terror* that are about both Bathsheba and Tamar, and remember: one of the things that makes scripture so important, and so holy, is its willingness to tell us the truth, even about our heroes. 

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

* Coined by scripture Scholar, Phyllis Trible, author of Texts of Terror: Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives.

Lent Day 12: What Are You Longing For?

 As a deer longs for flowing streams,
   so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
   for the living God.
~Psalm 42:1-2a

I abandon my promised practice of blogging daily lectionary passages, because I found Kate Bowler's question in our devotional so provocative this morning: 

What is your heart longing for today? Are you longing for something in the future, in the past, or for what might have been?*

So, I'm going to answer, from the heart, what I am longing for today. And I am going to ask you this same question: What is your heart longing for today? Please respond in the comments.

I long to live in a country where brilliant, green-card holding physicians are not barred entry because they hold Lebanese passports. 

I long to live in a country where people--the most vulnerable among us--are not deported to countries where their lives may be in danger, or where they have never lived, or where they have no friends or relations. 

I long to live in a country where women are equal citizens under the law with absolute bodily autonomy.

I long to live in a country which is not destroying the social safety net.

I long to live in a country where unelected sociopaths are not in charge of destroying government agencies and redistributing huge amounts of resources so that he, personally will benefit financially.

I long to live in a country where empathy is not described as a bug or failure in human character.

I long to live in a country where the hungry are fed, the thirsty are given clean, potable water to drink, where the naked are clothed, where the sick are cared for, where the imprisoned are treated like human beings with minds and futures, and where the strangers, aliens, immigrants, are not demonized and hunted like animals.

I long to live in a country where xenophobia is a quaint relic of the past and not the guiding principle of a government and political party.

I long to live in a country where the actual words of Jesus guide Christians, and not the trippy fantasy that almost didn't make it into the biblical canon.

I long to live in a country where disagreeing with the leader doesn't get you death threats.

I long to live in a country that isn't hell-bent on dragging us all into a dystopian future on a planet that cannot any longer sustain human life. 

I long to live in a country that isn't perfect, but is well-intentioned--where elected officials have the well-being of their constituents as their utmost priority, and not lining their pockets with money from big oil and big pharma.

I long to live in a country where the leader isn't using his power to take revenge on everyone who ever slighted him.

I long to live in a country that is trying to be better. That's all.

How about you?

*Question from Daily Guide, The Hardest Part, Everything Happens, co-authored by Brenda Thompson, MDiv, Angela Taylor, MDiv, Hailie Durrett, and Karen Bowler, PhD, copyright 2025.

Lent Day 11: Lament!

"As a Hen Gathers"  Cara B. Hochhalter, 
 http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58926

The following is (more or less) the sermon preached on Sunday March 16 at Union Presbyterian Church, Endicott, NY. upcendicott.org 

Scripture           

At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
~Luke 13:31-35  

Sermon           

When have you engaged in lament? By which I mean, when have you sat down with God for a conversation in which you told God exactly what you think of some terrible thing that has happened?

Notice I didn’t ask, “Have you?” I asked, “When have you?” because, I think we do this, knowingly or not. We read the news and say, “How can this be?” and whether we’re aware of it or not, we are asking God that question. Or we collapse on the couch and ask, “Why is this happening to me?” after we have been fired, or transferred hundreds of miles away, or left by someone we loved. Or we weep on the pillow after we turn the lights out and ask, “How am I going to get through this?” after we’ve heard a diagnosis we did not want to hear.

When have you engaged in lament? In today’s passage from Luke’s gospel, we hear Jesus lament, but it is tucked into a conversation with some witty one-liners. But it’s in there. And of course, Jesus laments—he grew up in a tradition in which psalms were everyone’s prayerbook. Guess what proportion of the psalms are laments? The answer is about one third. Approximately one third of the time the singers and harp and lyre players were making music in the temple in Jerusalem, they were singing songs of lament.

Jesus is in Jerusalem; he has made his way there, teaching and healing in towns and villages along the way. But this is not yet Passover, and Jesus is not here for the last week of his life. Almost as soon as he gets there, Pharisees come to find him, to give him a warning: Herod is planning to kill him. 

It’s good to remember that Jesus and the Pharisees had more in common than they had disagreements. The fact that the Pharisees seek him out to save his life isn’t highlighted enough in our study of the gospels, so I’m highlighting it now. As it happens, Herod believes that Jesus may be John the Baptist reincarnated—his killing of John in the middle of his birthday party is weighing on him. What if the prophet is back?

Jesus’ response to the Pharisees is somewhat hilarious. Listen, he says: You tell that fox that I am busy. Look at me. I’m casting out demons. I’m healing people. I’m teaching people about the kingdom of God here, and my calendar is quite full, thank you, for at least two more days. But then… I guess I have to go, because Jerusalem is definitely the place where prophets get killed, and I’d like to avoid that this week, anyway. 

Then Jesus stops being flippant, and a true lament comes forth from his mouth. 

Jerusalem, Jerusalem. City that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings for safety. But you would not have me as your mother hen… 

Jesus does not envision himself as a mighty lion or as a soldier on a warhorse in opposition to Herod. Instead, he identifies with a vulnerable mother, desperate to save her babies. He identifies with the prey of foxes. He does not make any moves to retaliate, or to threaten. He simply names the truth: He will not fight back. He will die a prophet in Jerusalem, if that is what God is calling him to do. 

Jesus names Jerusalem as a city that kills the prophets, and scripture confirms that both Isaiah and Zechariah ben Jehoiada were killed there, both at the orders of kings. And Jesus names this piece of Jerusalem’s history, not because he is angry, but because he is heartbroken; not because he hates the city, but because he loves it.

For Jesus, as for his fellow Jews, Jerusalem is the center of the world, and the temple is at the center of Jerusalem. At the center of the temple is the holy of holies, where the Ark holding the Covenant resides, and therefore, where the true presence of God resides in this world. Jesus has spent his life traveling to Jerusalem with his family and the other families of his community for the great festivals of their faith. He has gone there for Yom Kippur each year, the day of atonement for sins. He has gone there for Passover each year, the joyful celebration of liberation from enslavement in Egypt. He has said prayers and sung psalms there. In fact, I wonder whether Psalm 27, didn’t come into his recollection at this very moment: As he, the hen, is under threat from Herod, the fox, isn’t it possible that Jesus would sing, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” Isn’t it possible that Jesus would have the same kind of longing as the psalmist, singing 

One thing I asked of the Lord; this I seek:
to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.
~Psalm 27:4

Even the singing of this psalm could be a lament.

Have you lamented someone or some place you love? Have you told God how very unhappy you are with the way things worked in for a particular situation? Have you been angry with God and gotten it off your chest?

Theologian N. T. Wright said in an interview that engaging in lament is actually an experience of the glory that is revealed in humanity.[i] In Romans 8, Paul writes,

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us…We know that the whole creation has been groaning together as it suffers together the pains of labor, and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies… Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with groanings too deep for words… ~Romans 8:18, 22, 26

The prayers of lament we pray, the songs of lament we sing, we never sing or pray alone. The Holy Spirit is with us, muttering incoherently, just as we are—the Spirit, groaning with us. And all of it is witnessed and held in love by the one who has lived and died all the suffering right along with us, and before us, and for us. Lament is glorious, because in it, we are so intimately held and accompanied by Jesus Christ, and by the very Spirit of God. 

Jesus goes on with his lament: “See, your house is left to you.” Jesus is talking about the temple. This is one of those moments when the timelines of both when Jesus was being warned to flee and when the writer of this gospel was recording the story are important. The temple has changed. The leadership of the country—all puppet leaders, beholden to Rome—have changed. The temple may no longer be able to fulfill its central role in the people’s lives, and Jesus connects its corruption with Herod. For the writer of the gospel, writing somewhere between the years 80 and 90 CE, the temple is already gone. It was destroyed during the Roman crackdown that leveled Jerusalem in the year 70 CE. Jesus’ worry for the city he loves is prescient: Jerusalem will be completely destroyed in fewer forty years after he speaks these words. 

As his lament ends, Jesus throws in a “be back soon.” “And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’” That will be the day we call Palm Sunday, and it will be the beginning of the week we call Holy Week.

Jesus sees so much wrong with the world he is living in. He sees that he is heading toward the ultimate confrontation with the evil human beings can do. And yet, he still holds dear the roots of all he loves: The temple. The holy of holies. The covenant of God with God’s people. And most of all, the people, whom he longs to gather in his arms—or under his motherly wings. And he is gathering them together—every time he heads out to teach, or heal, or cast out demons. He is offering people the very same love of God that we are called to offer one another, through good times and through bad. And one of the ways Jesus offers this love is through his lament.

There is power in lament. In naming the things that are wrong, we speak with God with great honesty and clarity. In creating spaces where we can lament together, we strengthen the body of Christ by our openness and our shared love and support. 

When was the last time you engaged in lament? When was the last time you participated in the glorious and utterly human act of groaning together with the Spirit, held in the love of Christ, our Savior?

Thanks be to God. Amen.

[i] N. T. Wright in “The Mystery of God,” October 10, 2023 in Everything Happens, presented and produced by Kate Bowler, podcast, 48:03, https://katebowler.com/podcasts/the-mystery-of-god/.

Lent Day 10: One Thing I Ask

Grapevine window, Union Presbyterian Church, Endicott, NY, ca. 1907

One thing I ask of the LORD; 
   this I seek:
to live in the house of the LORD
   all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the LORD,
   and to inquire in his temple.
~Psalm 27:4

From the first time I heard this psalm (sung, as I mentioned yesterday), this was the portion that grabbed my heart and gave it a squeeze. I don't know whether that was before or after I experienced my very memorable call to ordained ministry (it involved an Amy Grant song, a drive on Route 128 outside Boston, and an interview with the first Protestant woman minister I would ever meet). I believe that, for most of my life, I've felt this call, but there were many roadblocks. The chief of these was that it seemed to be a call outside the church I loved, in which I was nurtured, where I learned my faith, and where, for years, I served.  Fourteen years passed between that call and the day of my ordination.

So, what is the psalmist referring to? Specifically? They are singing of the temple in Jerusalem-- the first temple, which scripture and tradition tell us was built by Solomon, the son who succeeded David on the throne. David had wanted to build the temple, but God had sent David an urgent message via the prophet Nathan: this was not David's work to do. It would go to his successor. 

The temple was considered the literal home of God on earth. The holy of holies--the space which contained the Ark of the Covenant--resided in the temple. The presence of the Covenant was connected with  the presence of God in the wilderness sojourn when Moses conferred with God on a regular basis. Now, it was in the most sacred space--accessible to humans only one day each year, when the high priest would enter to make offerings on behalf of all the people, for the forgiveness of their sins.

To be in the temple was to be near God. Elsewhere, the psalmist sings, 

For a day in your courts is better
   than a thousand elsewhere.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
   than live in the tents of wickedness.
~Psalm 84:10

All God's covenant people were called upon to travel to the temple as frequently as possible, to make offerings and to experience the great festivals there, the greatest of which was Passover. To this day the traditional ending of the Passover seder is, "Next year, in Jerusalem,"in every home where it is celebrated. Love of the temple wasn't reserved for the anointed priests; all God's people loved the temple. All God's people desired to be near God.

It's hard for those of us in mainline Christianity to relate to this deep love of a single place of worship. Muslims understand it, they who are called to Mecca each year. Latter Day Saints have a greater understanding of it, as they have a their most beloved temple in Salt Lake City, Utah. Roman Catholics probably have a closer understanding, with Vatican City as the home to the Pope, their great spiritual leader. 

We love our churches, but we don't consider any of them the sole locus of God on earth (nor do Muslims or the LDS or Catholics).  We do, however, understand that when we gather, the body of Christ is present, because we are that body. In our churches we can and do experience the presence of God. We experience it in one another. 

But God has been set loose on the earth. God is everywhere, and we can also experience God's presence in a blazing sunset, in the deep darkness of a forest, on the summit of a mountain, or gazing upon the first crocuses in our garden or savoring our first cup of tea or coffee. We can experience the presence of God in soul-stirring music, in the hand of someone offering us comfort, in the bonds of love with other human beings. God is everywhere--thank God! 

God is Love.

 

Lent Day 9: A Lent Memory

 

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
    of whom shall I be afraid?
~Psalm 27

This psalm is rich with memories for me. The first and most present memory is of singing a number of different versions of this psalm when I was in the choir at Saint Ignatius, the parish church at Boston College. I remained a member there after graduation, and sang in the choir until my family relocated to the Binghamton area in 1990. One setting, by Tim Manion, stays with me to this day. You can find it here.

The other memory I associate with this psalm is a much earlier one. When I was in fifth grade I came down with a fever and a virus (I didn't eat potato chips again until college, and that's all I'll say about that). My mother kept me home from school for three weeks. 

Here is how my mother took care of us when we were sick: She set us up in the living room, which was right next to the kitchen, where I imagine she spent some time during the day. WE lived in an apartment over the family business, a liquor store, and occasionally she went down to help my dad as well; we had an intercom in the kitchen to communicate with one another, so I had quick access to both my parents, just in case. 

My mom made the couch up like a bed, with sheets, pillows, and blanket. She brought my food in there, a lot of jello at first, but eventually toast and the like. (BRAT diet! Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast). I remember watching a lot of television, including reruns of "That Girl," and I saw the first weeks of "All My Children" ever broadcast. 

I don't know why I was kept home so long. I do remember being content to lie down all day long, which probably means I was sick. I know the fever lingered. But I honestly don't know what was going on, except my mom was worried about me. 

I think she was a little scared. Here's how I know this: As Ash Wednesday drew near, I complained to my mom about the fact that I couldn't got to church and receive ashes. (I asked. She refused. I cried. I was that kid.) She didn't say much about it, but when Ash Wednesday came, she went out for a little while. She returned home with a small envelope that had some ashes in it, and she placed them on my forehead.

I was thrilled. I remember thinking how wonderful this was, and how cared-for I felt. I know I slept afterward. 

When my mom took me to the doctor to get the all-clear for me to go back to school, she surprised me by having him pierce my ears, which I had been begging for since I was about six. 

As for the fear, the psalm says it all, I guess. The Lord is my light and my salvation. Of whom shall I be afraid? 

Lent Day 8: Circles of Influence

Abram's Counsel to Sarai, by James Tissot, circa 1899

"Rise up, walk through the length and breadth of the land, for I will give it to you."
~Genesis 13:17

Today's lectionary offers a passage from Genesis that is about territory--whose is whose, and what is what. Abram and Sarai (not yet Abraham and Sarah) have only recently heard and followed God's call, at the ages of 75 and 65 respectively, to get up and go from the land where they had been settled for many years, to a new land that God would show them. Here, they have entered that land.

God is helping Abram to absorb the fact of what territory, according to Genesis, belongs to him. He wants Abram to walk it--the whole length and breadth of it (which would take some steps, I'm sure). 

Since November 5, 2024, I've had quite a few conversations with folks about "what is my territory," but not in a geographical sense; in a spiritual and moral sense. By which I mean, what is mine to do, in these days of chaos and the purposeful destruction of the US government? There was significant grief and distress all around me in those first weeks--and any catching up conversations inevitably lead back to our disbelief and horror. 

Here's the context for the "what is my territory?" conversation. Unless we are in public service, in the halls of power, or have some other extraordinary way in, 99.99% of us can do nothing directly to stop what is happening. We can call our representatives in congress. We can call and write letters to the top echelon. But we, personally, can't make change at the level where we're seeing the destruction. 

But we can do what we can do. Here's what I share when asked. First, we must take care of ourselves. We must put boundaries around information that work for us--everything from a total media blackout to "I'll look at the headlines," to "I want to know everything." We must figure out what information we need, and what information will trouble our souls and distract us from the actual beauty and love that surround us every day. We must get enough sleep. We must do our best to eat nutritious foods.

Second, we must intentionally make space for the actual beauty and love that surround us every day. We must seek out and abide in the joy we can find--in our hearts, in our relationships, in the simple pleasures. A cup of coffee with a friend. A walk on a sunny day. A really great book. A song. Words of love to those we love--say them now. 

Third, as followers of Christ, we must love our neighbor. In these days, that means being especially mindful of those who are at greatest risk: immigrants, trans people, those living on the margins economically, those whom cuts in Medicaid and Medicare will hit hardest. 

Fourth--and finally--we must find our territory, our circle (or circles) of influence. We must find ways to foster community, to bring people together for a simple potluck supper or an afternoon of knitting or a conversation. (I've heard it said that community will save us, and I believe it.) Crucial to this piece is knowing what our gifts are--the attributes that, when we use them, light us up and bring us to life. How can we help right where we are? There are always ways, always places, always opportunities to make a difference in other people's lives. Have you ever volunteered to tutor someone in your favorite subject? Or to deliver Meals on Wheels? Or to drive someone to doctor's appointments or the grocery store? Or to sit with them while they are having their chemo? What's your territory? Where do your gifts and the needs of the world-around-you intersect? 

The story of Abram and Sarai is a remarkable one in so many ways, and here's the one that still sparks wonder in me: They heed God's call at the time most of us are thinking about retirement. They know that they will be useful to God in some way, that they absolutely still have something to offer. They disrupt their lives, get up, and go. 

Not all of us can do that, but we can do more than we think, and more than we know. Find your territory. Take care of yourself, and of one another. Find/ foster your community. Find your joy.

And blessed be the name of the LORD.