St. Teresa of Avila

Reflection by Rev. Debra McKnight

August 23, 2020

Teresa is in her 60’s and under house arrest, the Spanish Inquisition is in full swing and the head of the Carmelite Order has leveled charges and labeled her a “restless female, a vagabond, disobedient and obstinate.” He says, “She thinks up false doctrines under the appearance of piety.” He didn’t call her a nasty woman, but I think he implied it. Teresa is a problem because she is so successful. She has built a network of reformed monastic communities through her persistence and relentless pursuit. She is charismatic and steals hearts, she is charming and stubborn and she won’t take no for an answer. Her revolution was full of warmth, laughter and dancing. Her practices did not leave anyone downcast, her piety wasn’t drab and her spirit pulsed with life. When she set her mind to starting a new community, the Bishop said it’s as good as done and when she asked the accountant if they had money to expand a church, the likely sarcastic response of “we have a penny” sounded like a resounding yes. She organized groups of women in networks, they fixed up dilapidated spaces, lived in poverty and worked as the hands and feet of God’s love…and this got everyone upset…or at least the people with the most power.

She wasn’t always raising the eyebrows of the church authorities, her early years as a monastic resembled more of a private women’s seminary of wealthy daughters. She was the daughter of a wealthy wool merchant, wealthy enough to be accused of practicing Judaism during the inquisition. His family had converted to save their lives from the violent antisemitism of Europe and wealthy families were often the targets of their neighbors. Teresa was not only wealthy but beautiful. She was charming and lovely and smart. This seems to be a theme when we read the stories of women monastic leaders and I am not sure if the biographers want us to know these women had options when they tell us they “turn heads" or if it's just because we obsess over women leaders and how they look. We are always judging women by their looks and discussing their wardrobe, is her outfit too tight or too frumpy or too pantsuit-ie (I’m making that a new word). No matter the reason, we know Teresa draws people in, beautiful inside and out, and we can also know that her choice to become a monastic has an impact on her family, as a beautiful wealthy young Spanish woman would have been expected to help build the family economy through her marriage. Instead of marriage she chooses the monastic life…and it's a pretty nice life. She joins a well appointed Abbey, with furnished apartments, enjoys guests and dinners and while they do their prayers…it sounds like Teresa might have been watching the seconds tick away and wishing mass was over. Then she gets sick, so sick a grave is dug and she is immobilized. She battles her sickness for three years and emerges changed; determined to bring life into the world by reforming her faith community.

She becomes relentless in leading the sisters around her to a greater work, she builds new spaces and pursues her mission with drive and discipline. She has skin as thick as titanium and won’t take no for an answer when the question of doing God’s work is presented. But the thing that gets her in real trouble is how she understands and teaches prayer. Rather than written prayers, she invites people inside, “The God who dwells in us will make Himself known to us.” She has ecstatic experiences of God’s presence and greets them with a critical eye and a humble heart, she names Christ as partner and God as friend, remarking that had she known God was inside she wouldn’t have left God alone for so long. “The God who dwells in us will make Himself known to us.” She invited centering on God’s love and reminded everyone that prayer has more to do with the focus of your heart and mind than it does with just “moving your lips.” She centered on God’s love and it shaped her life, gave her courage and was the seed of her call. This indwelling God is why the church hierarchy’s authority didn’t bother her even when it wanted to.

Teresa emerges at a time when the enlightenment thinking is beginning to permeate Europe. The structures that were long accepted will be open to question, even if only a little and the notion that the individual has worth and value will apply not just to the rich ruling elites but even to women. Two years after Teresa is born, Martin Luther will begin the reformation with his 95 theses nailed to the University Church Door in Wittenberg and in her lifetime a woman will rule as Queen of England…without a King by her side. But in Spain, religious leaders will push back discussing whether women should learn to read the Bible at all and encouraging women to be at home and not read anymore than necessary. Spanish wives sign their letters “Your wife and slave, who loves you very much.” Perhaps this is why Teresa said no to marriage and sought liberation in monastic life. Spanish leaders advised men to limit their wives’ spiritual practice, no pilgrimage, no prayer, “The moment you see your wife…imagining that she is a saint, close the door of your house and if that should fail break her leg.” Violence is an acceptable and necessary response to women feeling empowered by their faith and Teresa was all about empowering people’s faith.

Teresa’s prayer resonates in this moment and challenges the religious authorities precisely because there is no spoken word. They have control over everything, even the prayers but interior reflection means no one tells you what to say, no theologian designs the prayer, a priest hasn’t picked the scripture and no one is even going to spell check the liturgy…because there isn’t one. It is up to you, it is through you and it is dangerous because it is powerful. This is why Teresa was undaunted by the accusations against her. This is why she was relentless in her work, she was fueled by prayer that shaped her in the image of Christ and in the work of love. This is why she pushed back against the people who tried to put women in their place, she knew Jesus empowered women in their faith. She pushed back against the women and men who tried to put her in her place. “The world is wrong when it demands that we not be allowed to work for you. Nor would it have us speak out truths for whose sake we weep in secret, nor have you lend an ear to our just requests. For you are no judge like the judges of the world…nothing but men who cast suspicion on every good capacity in women…but I reproach our time for rejecting minds that are strong and gifted for all that is good only because they happen to be women.”

Her spirituality gave her courage to proclaim and build a world that didn’t exist yet and when folks tried to bind her or bring her before the inquisition she said, “There is something great about the certainty of conscience and the freedom of the mind.” And while her teachings invite inward focus and centering prayer, she believes prayer produces action, “nothing but action.” It wasn’t to sit and gaze inward hour after hour…it was to be shaped in love for action. She preached on Mary and Martha, believing there was space for both of them in each of us and she led by example. She cooked, she cleaned, she wove wool and did the sewing, she cared for the administrations, she rode across the Spanish countryside starting new communities. Even as she builds a network of Abbeys she says, “the Lord, awaits you amid the pots and pans.”

Teresa’s inward journey shaped her day and her life in love that poured into the people around her. “We can’t tell whether we love God, but people can see whether we love our neighbor.” Her teachings became so powerful that young monks sought her out and with her help they began to reform not only the women’s monastic communities, but the mens. It was the final straw that led to her arrest. She was stripped of her order, sisters were excommunicated and charges were leveled against her. And yet she never stopped working, she wrote and bargained and asked for help until at long last, help came. Help came in the form of the King of Spain and the Pope. The two most powerful men around at long last sided with Teresa. She was restored to her work just two years before she died, but her teachings and her spirit live on.

This is a season when the tensions are as high as the stakes and pausing to shape our lives in love, taking an inward journey might just help us dwell with greater compassion for our neighbors. Centering before we act, speak, write, post, and connect might just be what the world needs from us. Teresa reminds us to go inside, the God who made us will meet us there and send us out, if we have the courage to follow. Amen.

P.S. Interested in reading more, you may love God’s Gentle Rebels by Christan Feldman. Feldman is a good story teller and fun to read. If you are up for reading the whole text there are wonderful translations by Mirabai Starr and you can of course order them from the Abbey or another local shop…shop small, if you are going to shop.

Reflection on 2020-2021 School Year - Louisa Palomo Hare

Hi my name is Louisa Palomo Hare, and I am a Kindergarten teacher at Liberty. When Debra asked me what I would like you guys to know about the school year as it starts, my mind was spinning. I thought of our kids and our families. I thought about our staff and I thought about how we go forward from here, and I think to begin with, we have to acknowledge the grief. We are all grieving; whether you are a student or a parent or a teacher, we are grieving the idea of what school used to be. We are grieving all of the missed opportunities that we’ll have; the back to school hugs, the pictures with families, the classroom tours, we are grieving and we have to own that and we have to rely on each other.


When I think about our kids, I think about how loved they are. How loved they are by their families, how loved they are by their teachers. I think about how many lost experiences they have and how that puts an added challenge on me as a teacher trying to connect through a screen and our parents trying to make up for those missed opportunities for their children. I think about how important our modeling as adults is going to be. How we respond to all of the change and all of the uncertainty is what our children will do.


Having taught for 17 years, I can tell you that anything that I do is replicated by the 20 little ones in my room, so it’s a really good mirror from which to remind myself of how I’m acting and I encourage you guys to think about that. You are going to be spending a lot more time with your little ones and they will reflect what you put out into the world. I think about remembering that we’re all resilient. The world is a hard place right now, but when we come together - and I think about this great quote from Miles Adcock - is that healing happens in community. I think the charge is on us, we have to help each other heal, we have to help each other remain resilient. We have to protect the fact that kids are still kids, and kids need to play and kids need to be outside and so knowing that your child will be online in school, know that teachers are doing our best to protect the time in that day for them to look away from their screen, for them to get their wiggles out and to go get their hands dirty. We ask that you help with that. We need to do everything we can to protect this magical age of being a young person in our world before they grow up and they join the world of adults where we carry these burdens.


I think about our families. Our families didn’t ask the world to be upended. Our families didn’t ask to suddenly be teaching their children at home while at the same time trying to work while at the same time trying to keep kids engaged. It’s a tough job and we have to come together. We’ve always wanted to partner with families, we’ve always invited families to come together; we really have to now. I work with teachers and I tell them every day how important it is that we need to continue reaching out, but as families - I want families to reach out to us! I want you to email us and call us and reach out so that we can meet the needs of our children. I want you to know that schools are only as good as the community around them, and we're lucky because we have great community partners in Omaha. Reach out to your school. If you don’t happen to have young kids in school right now, find a neighborhood school, offer your support. Maybe you jump online and read stories to kids, or you sing with us or offer kind words to teachers because we need it.


That leads me into thinking about our teachers. I don’t know a single teacher in the country who says that this is what they signed up for. I don't know a single teacher who got a degree so she could sit behind a screen and look at 20 little faces and patiently coach them as they figure out how to unmute themselves or how to move their juicebox from in front of the camera. That’s not what we signed up for, we're trying our best. Know that we love your children, know that we are trying our best. My heart breaks for so many teachers that I've had conversations with who are amazing, wonderful teachers, but because they haven't learned the technology in the last 5 days, they’re questioning their own great teaching. And I just want teachers out there to know that we are all great teachers, and the technology is going to be a different vehicle that we are using to connect to kids, but our love and our passion for what we do will come through the screen.


I want you to know that if it were safe, we would have you guys here in a minute, welcome you to our messy classroom, welcome you into our busy lives. Every teacher I know wants to be with kids. Every teacher I know fought so hard at back to school night to not to run up and hug the kids like we wanted to, hug the parents. I had parents say I'm not worried about my kids, I'm worried about you, you’re a hugger, how are you gonna handle this? So think about teachers, know that we’re struggling, know that we are doing our absolute best. We are working with imperfect information. We are not master scientists. We don't know what this virus is doing or has done or will do, so give us patience and give us grace and understand that we’re not super amazing tech geniuses, but we will get there soon, we’re not there yet so have patience with us and if you have tips, we welcome those! Again, as much as we want to offer you support with your children, we would love any support you have or any tips for us.


And then while this is a really tough time and it's a really emotional time, I think it’s also an exciting time. I think again about another quote I love, and it’s “not all storms are meant to cause damage. Some are meant to clear our paths.” I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately in terms of this pandemic and I think maybe this is a really amazing time in history where we get to wipe the slate clean and really re-envision what life looks like going forward. For me, that means re-envisioning what public education looks like. For my husband, who is a physician, it’s re-envisioning what public health looks like. It’s re-envisioning what it means to live in a community and so really understanding that, as we go forward, the change is not going to happen by policy makers and it’s not going to happen by political leaders. It’s going to happen by all of us doing the work and coming together and amplifying what is working and celebrating that and really deciding how to decide to re envision our future. Thank you.

Reflection on 2020-2021 School Year - Melany Spiehs

 Hello, my name is Melany Spiehs and I teach pre-school at Spring Lake elementary in beautiful South Omaha.  

At 16 years old, I knew I wanted to be an educator.  While participating in a human service academy at Burke High school I had the opportunity to shadow professionals working in human service careers. It was in a second-grade classroom at Conestoga elementary that I discerned a sense of peace and purpose.  I was paired with a child named Dante whose face and brown eyes are still fixed in my memory.  I was to be Dante’s reading and writing tutor for several weeks and he smiled as soon as I walked in the door each day.  I wonder if that second-grade teacher knew that this child would teach me more about resilience and hope than I could teach him.  

    Fast forward to my first year as an educator in 2004.  I immediately realized that educators are expected to do far more than teach reading and math.  That first year I wore the hats of a caregiver, nurse, counselor, mental health consultant, IT technician, custodian, social worker and educator.  As educators, we know that there is a hierarchy of needs that need to be met before a child can learn.  Unfortunately, our systems in the US do not place value in meeting these needs especially for children of the global majority.  Much of the responsibility for meeting the needs of children and their families is placed on schools and teachers.  

    Children in this country are often viewed as second class citizens and are denied basic human rights among these being the right to food and shelter, the right to play, the right to education, and freedom of thought and expression. 

Reggio Emilia, a city in Northern Italy understands the importance of honoring children.  Desolated by their opposition to Hitler’s fascist regime during World War II, the village chose to start their recovery by rebuilding and reimagining their school.  In order to assure that future generations would not tolerate injustice they followed the guiding principles that children are capable, collaborative, communicators within their communities.  This village understood that investing in this form of education is investing in long lasting freedom and democracy. 

Our country is currently fighting a war for freedom and democracy and although we are still on fire, someday, out of ashes, we get to choose how we will rebuild.  My hope is that, like Reggio, we will also start with education and look toward our children…children of every color, culture and zip code and practice observing and listening.  I hope we will value all children’s ideas, opinions, questions and feelings. I wonder what could happen if we start viewing every child as a current explorer, scientist, mathematician, reader, writer, thinker and leader.  I wonder what we could learn if we stopped suffocating our children with one right answer and started asking them more questions.  

The start of this school year is full of unknowns, and many unanswered questions.  Instead of greeting our students with smiles and hugs we will greet them with phone calls and video links.  We will search for new ways to connect and build relationships with our students and their families.  We will adapt as we always have and find new ways to meet the needs of our school community.  But we will not do this alone.  We will depend on the support of our fellow educators, our administrators, our families, our community, our legislators and most importantly…our students.  As we start another school year that looks quite different from the usual may we remember the words of Carlina Rinaldil, President of Reggio Children in Italy, “Children are citizens of today and the great researchers of the meaning of life.”

Reflection on 2020 School Year - Carol Burk

Good morning. I am Carol Burk. I teach Preschool at Spring Lake and I teach as an adjunct at UNO.

What do I want people to know right now? I am worried.

Throughout the spring and summer, as classrooms and schools shut down, I worried.

Now, as we begin this school year, in all its difference and uncertainty, I am worried.

I am worried about my student’s families; what are their needs and are those needs being met?

I am worried about their health and their family members health and worried that they are dealing with losses of family members and I am not there to comfort them.

I am worried about what virtual learning will look like when I have been fighting my entire career for children to be off screens and instead, to be playing.

It is hard not to wallow in the sadness and worry. It is hard not to dwell in despair.

But that is the super power of teachers. We pick ourselves up. We learn. We adapt. We move forward. We persevere.

Right now, I am spending much of my time learning how to be technology expert, a family support worker and a cheerleader for my fellow teachers.

Right now, I am planning lessons for students I will only meet virtually.

Right now I am thinking about my own child, Ava. This is her first time learning remotely and I will not be there to monitor or supervise her progress or help when she needs help. (Not that she would ever ask me for help, nor would I understand any of the homework she gets.)

I want to be with my students. I am longing for the human connection of teaching. The delight in children’s faces in the morning. The humor of hearing them tell me things like, “why does your hair look that way?” (Children are delightfully honest). I want to see the joy on their faces as they greet their friends. I want to smile when I see the increasing confidence in their everyday tasks.

And Play. I want to be with children as they Play.

I want to share one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems,


“I Worried”

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
Flow in the right direction, will the Earth turn
As it was taught, and if not, how shall
I correct it?

Was I right,
Was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
Can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
Can do it, and I am, well,
Hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it.
Am I going to get rheumatism,
Lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up.
And took my old body
And went out into the morning,
And sang.

As Mary Oliver says, you can sit around and worry, but our resilience enables us to persevere. And if there is anything to know about educators, it is that we are resilient. We preserver.

This school year we are going to open up our laptops instead of our doors. We will create exciting videos and virtual lessons that engage our young students. We will assist our families to meet their needs.

We will definitely do some singing.

And we will teach.

Thank you.

It is I, Do Not Be Afraid

Matthew 14:22-33

²² Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. ²³ And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, ²⁴ but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land,^[a] for the wind was against them. ²⁵ And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. ²⁶ But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. ²⁷ But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

²⁸ Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” ²⁹ He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he noticed the strong wind,^[b] he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” ³¹ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” ³² When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. ³³ And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

"It is I; Do Not Be Afraid"
Nicole Guthrie

August 9, 2020

This whole chapter of Matthew is fraught with heavy emotion. At the beginning of this series of stories, we hear about the circumstances of John the Baptist’s murder. He was imprisoned for speaking out against the ruler’s illegal, incestuous marriage and, as a result of a trick request by a guest at his banquet, he has John beheaded and his head served on a platter to the women who requested it.

For Jesus and his disciples alike, this had to have been a terribly upsetting and grievous time in their ministry. John was not only a cousin of Jesus, but was also involved in preaching about this new way; they were partners in ministry. The news of his death had to be a crushing reality for Jesus and is confirmed when, upon hearing this news, he leaves by boat to a deserted place to be alone, I imagine to process the grief of this loss.

What happens next is a typical experience for Jesus. He tries to rest in solitude, connect with Spirit, and the crowds of people still manage to find him when they hear he is nearby. The crowds followed him on foot along the shore, and as is Jesus’ nature, he had compassion on them. He healed folks, and then through abundance and generosity they feed 5,000. The needs are great, people are sick, people are hungry, and they come to the one who provides. Jesus in all of his personal trouble and grief first offers compassion and takes the time to care for his followers.

After all this, Jesus finally gets time alone, to go up on the mountain to pray, to be alone, to refresh. He sends the disciples on ahead, in what I imagine is a kind of “I’ll catch up with you later” kind of way. In the time they’ve been separated; however, a storm is present and growing on the sea. The boat full of the disciples is being battered by the waves and the wind. Even for skilled fishermen, this must have been a long night of staying watchful and rowing. The chaos of the sea is unpredictable and dangerous if you aren’t paying attention and the unknowns of what could happen keep fear in the forefront of their minds.

Surely we can relate on some level with Jesus and the disciples. There are plenty of places where we can see the chaos of the sea in our current culture and lives. We see it in our current political climate, where money and power and oppression are seen as the norm and most healthy way to run our government. We can see it in systemic racism, continuous oppression, and policies that hinder the flourishing of black and brown bodies and those who are in the margins. We see it in the brokenness of our immigration and healthcare systems. We see it when we refuse to care for our environment, when we refuse to protect the people and essential workers in our communities by wearing a mask, when we watch interviews of the leader of our country that leave us baffled, just to name a few. We are active players in this tapestry of chaos and fear. It’s palpable. And, I imagine, it was palpable for Jesus and the Disciples, too. It had to be.

There is the chaos of the sea, but also the chaos of the prior events. I wonder if the disciples were worried and fearful that they may end up like John the Baptist. Following Jesus was not a “safe” path. There was risk. Jesus was subversive, countercultural, and delighted in pushing the boundaries with the powers that be. He was actively trying to show us another way to be in the world. That people didn’t have to be beholden to the strict purity laws that decided who was in or out, or who was clean and unclean. Jesus was preaching and teaching a more inclusive and diverse way, showing by example that the table can be made wider, to include everyone. This came at quite a cost to a system that valued just the opposite. Jesus and the disciples were making their own waves and now they were dealing with the aftermath of what could happen at the hands of those in power.

When Jesus is ready to meet back up with his friends, he realizes that the boat is very far from shore and sees that they’ve had a rough night of sailing. On top of an already grueling night, I’m not surprised that the disciples, upon seeing Jesus walking towards them on the water, think what they’re seeing is a ghost. Immediately, he consoles them, by saying “Take heart. It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

And here is where the story differs from the version we find in Mark, we find this beautiful interaction between Teacher and disciple. Peter almost demands that if it is really Jesus, to call him out on the water with him. Peter, I think, is intrigued by Jesus’ use of “It is I.” This phrase would have been familiar to the disciples from their Hebrew scriptures. Jesus uses the self-designated word for God that is echoed in both Isaiah and the Psalms. Particularly in Isaiah, God is rescuing Israel from slavery and is repeatedly reminding them to not be afraid along with the phrase of “It is I” or “I am he” Do not fear.

Peter follows Jesus’ invitation to join him in the chaos of the storm. Peter almost makes it before he is aware of the wind and waves and becomes fearful. He lets that fear get to him, and when he starts to falter, knowing who is near, he calls out to be saved. Without hesitation, Jesus reaches out for Peter and steadies him, holds him close. He does chide him just a little. “Why Peter did you have such little faith, why did you doubt?” And once they’re back in the safety of the boat, the storm and wind subsides and the disciples rejoice and worship Jesus saying “truly you must be the Son of God!”

The book of Matthew has a couple overarching themes that are particularly relevant to this story. Matthew heavily speaks to the nearness and presence of God-- this idea that the kin-dom of God is here and now-- a present reality, not something to come later. It also emphasizes the idea of Jesus as God’s Son. It makes sense to me that the narrative of Peter’s request and the disciples' worship after the storm was calmed were added to this retelling of the version we have in the Gospel of Mark. These two additions perfectly communicate both of these themes.

Another important note is that the book of Matthew is the most Jewish of the Gospels in its language and was most likely read by Christians who were in transition. In other words, they were likely Jewish, but also believed that Jesus was the Messiah, they were trying to figure out this new territory in proclaiming the divinity of Christ while also holding onto their ethnic and traditional roots. As you might imagine, this would have caused much tension in their time and place. These new Jewish Christians would have been seen as heretics in the eyes of those who followed the orthodoxy.

For example, in Mark’s version of this event, the disciples are mostly just baffled at who Jesus was -- who was he that he could perform the miracle of controlling the sea and the weather? In Matthew’s telling, Peter experiences this presence in a real, physical way and, in turn, so do the disciples who witness it from aboard the boat. They begin to realize this presence in Jesus, as the “God with us” and among us. The kin-dom of heaven was with them and in them, and all around them, even in the middle of the chaos and darkness of the sea.

I think it’s also important to explore what we see as Jesus scolding Peter for having little faith and being asked why he doubted. I don’t believe Jesus was trying to say he didn’t have enough faith or trying to tell him that this one moment of weakness is what determined his faltering on the sea. I believe Jesus was encouraging him to continue to grow his faith and to continue to grow in the trust of what Jesus was teaching. Of course, these things are always easier said than done because they take a great deal of work on our part, but Peter displayed courage in the belief that if Jesus called him, he could do it.

There are so many things to be fearful about right now in our lives, in the midst of the pandemic and in the midst of this ambient grief that Debra spoke about last week. For me, and I’m sure for you, too, some of the fears and griefs and anxieties feel especially pronounced right now. When everything is so chaotic and unknown and the news we hear each day is stormy, this story calls us to remember that the presence of God is with us, always. In the midst of chaos and darkness and heavy grief, in the midst of all the things we could list that make us anxious and the wonderings in our minds about what will happen next. God is calling us to remember that in our fear, settle in and listen to her saying “It is I, do not be afraid.”

Often when I’m in my own fear and grief, I need to make space to hear the voice of God calling to me reminding me “do not be afraid, it is I.” We can do this personally and collectively and I think both are equally important. For me, making space to hear and feel the Spirit’s presence looks like retreating to a quiet place for prayer and meditation, for sacred reading and time in nature. Collectively, just as the disciples, along with Peter, experienced this miracle, we can reach out for each other for support, too. For me that looks like participating in a small group, having a friend that I know will listen and support me, and sometimes that means that I’m caring for my friends in their needs, too. We are called to remind each other that we are not far from each other and not far from the Spirit of God that is always within us.

I invite you to think about the ways in which you hear the voice of God calling to you to not be afraid and hear this poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes, entitled, “It is I”:


Serene One,

when the wind is against me, battering,

it is you who walk on the sea of my troubles.


When I am panicked

you are the one who says “Do not be afraid.

It is I.”


On the waves of my heart you stand firm

and calm them, not with magic

but your presence. “It is I.”


Not escaping them, nor after they are stilled,

but still raging, you invite me into the waves

of suffering and injustice.


I do not calm them. I stand firm,

not by my ability, but by hanging on to you

even when, as I shall be, I am sinking.


It is you who hold me up,

you who are steady in my fear,

you who heal the turbulence.


Over the waters of chaos,

even before ”Let there be light,” you said,

“It is I.”



May it be so, Amen.

Ambient Grief?

Scripture Reading                                                                                                     2 Corinthians 1: 2-4


Blessed be the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, a gentle Father, the Mother of mercies and the God of all consolation, who comforts us in all our sorrows and affliction, so that we can offer others, in their sorrows and affliction, the consolation that we have received from God ourselves.


Ambient Grief?

Rev. Debra McKnight


Folks, I think we are surrounded by grief and the gift is, we are not alone. This is a season where overnight loss is named for all of us in stats and stories on the news; where the fabric of society is wearing thin and we still carry our own personal hurts, wounds, and needs for healing. And while we are not alone, we struggle to find and be the helpers all at once. See, under normal circumstances, helpers come from somewhere else. They show up at the natural disaster from some other state or bring a casserole for a family hosting a funeral or grieving a loss. But during a global pandemic, we are the helpers and we are the grievers. We are the healers and the seekers all at once. This is probably a truth more often than we admit and the other truth is our faith roots us in this role. Perhaps this is the gift of our faith, the spirits of people who have struggled before us, as grieving-healers show up in poetry and song, story and scripture to remind us we are not alone. 


Paul picks up a piece of liturgy as he begins his letter, “Blessed be the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, a gentle Father, the Mother of mercies and the God of all consolation, who comforts us in all our sorrows and affliction, so that we can offer others, in their sorrows and affliction, the consolation that we have received from God ourselves.” He is writing to the folks in Corinth for the second time about struggle and affliction because early Christians live in this daily pain and struggle under the oppression of the Roman empire. Women and men have followed their example over the centuries - folks we might name as Saints who are actually perfectly imperfect if we let them be real. 


Elizabeth of Hungary and her huge dowry moved into the middle of Germany at Wartburg Castle to marry a future prince. Her arrival as a young princess made a statement and she brought wealth and her family - even sent a silver bathtub in which she should be bathed. She was young and grew up alongside the family of the prince she was to marry. This, of course, was normal. Her intended died, which was probably also normal with such high mortality rates, and the families agreed that she would marry the next in line. She loved him and he loved her. They delighted in each other, which doesn’t seem too normal for the context. She not only loved her husband deeply and enjoyed life; she also loved God. She loved God so much that it shaped her choices. This we might wish was more normal, but it was not. She refused to wear a crown to church and even when a church leader urged her to do so, she asked how could she wear a golden crown when Jesus wore a crown of thrones? She gives her ornate garments away and opts for the the simple wool garments of peasants. She befriends people, including peasants, servants, and folks begging for money and food. She becomes famous for generosity, sewing baptismal gowns for babies and paying for their baptism (because that is a thing in 1200ish CE), burying her people in need - even sewing their burial garments - cleaning the wounds of lepers, wiping the noses of poor children, and giving money away. Christian nobility are meant to be a little generous, but not this generous. There is meant to be a healthy separation and probably a healthy dependence on the wealthy feeling occasionally merciful. Elizabeth begins to draw the ire and concept of the wealthy around her. During one famine, she empties the store houses and the treasury to keep her people alive. The court prepares to tattle when her husband returns and he responds, “Let her do good.” He loves her, he loves her so much it probably enrages the people of the kingdom…well, the people with money. Elizabeth sees how the poor struggle and the fruit of their labor is squandered in extravagant living by the wealthy and, because she loves God, she takes every action she can think of to set the world right. She writes, she “wants to make people Gay!” which is probably a translation more than an agenda to unnerve Mike Pence and right wing Christian conservatives.

Of course her actual agenda of a just world might cause us all to examine our lives. She wants a life that is abundant for all; a life that is not just toil for the wealthy, but abundance and delight for all. And while she sounds wildly delightful and like the kind of royal you would want to hang out with, she actually knows struggle. Giving isn’t easy when everyone will critique you and life isn’t easy when the love of your life dies in his early 20s due to an epidemic. Elizabeth is even more powerful once she knows grief and it sends her even deeper in love of the world out of the heartbreak she knows. She is one of the rare medieval monastics who has a happy marriage, three kids, and a life of devoted service to God’s vision of love. 


I think of her in our own season of grief. We name grief in the particular - usually a partner, parent, child, friend, or family member. We process grief in all its phases, maybe even multiple times. We experience depression and bargaining or anger and denial before we get close to acceptance. Joyce Rupp in “Praying Our Goodbyes,” names that grief is a process for all of us and that we all walk our own journey through loss to healing and as we move into a new life that doesn’t forget the past but embraces it in a way forward, we should be good to ourselves. Grief makes us tired and we might need rest. We might need more grace or more space, we need nature and the trees that have witnessed all things and all seasons, we need to walk and move and we need to fill our bodies with good things. We also need each other. We are a spark of hope for one another in the midst of it all. Being together can heal us and invite us to love if we can be patient enough with each others’ sometimes winding journey. 


This, of course, all seems very reasonable when we talk about grief in terms of death. We know to give folks space and to bring them food even if we should bring more salads than cheesy-casseroles. We are familiar with grief in the particular. Folks at Grief’s Journey and other researchers are exploring Ambiguous Grief: this grief that we experience in the loss of a person who is still alive. This may be a break-up or divorce, a change in relationship or a dream on hold. This kind of grief can still hit us hard and we may not even call it grief. This is grief we have to give ourselves permission to feel and permission to name. Naming our grief is powerful and, in this moment, I feel like we have so much to name that it’s more than ambiguous, it’s ambient. Ambient refers to the environment, what surrounds us, the character of where we dwell. We mostly claim ambient in relationship to the sound or the temperature of the room, but the temperature of the culture feels intense in this moment. I grieve the return to school in masks, I grieve the brokenness in our structures. Our investment in prison over education shows in our class sizes and our needs for outdoor learning spaces. I grieve our president wishing well a notorious human-trafficker while holding a grudge against a man who fought for a more perfect union and a more just world his whole life. I grieve the tweets and the posts and knowing what some of my elementary school teachers think about BLM. I grieve federal agents in our cities and Walls of Moms and Walls of Dads with leaf-blowers and Walls of Vets that still were not enough.  I grieve that science is political and masks are deemed tools of oppression by folks who seem to know little about experiencing oppression and government overreach. I grieve so much and I suspect you do, too. Grief is exhausting. It makes us blurry and hazy and thin on grace. Grief means we need kinship to come alongside us to spark our hopes. The struggle with this ambient grief is we are both the ones in crises and the caregivers, we are both healers and seekers. In a global pandemic, we are the help we seek. The helpers can not come from somewhere else when we are all in a natural disaster, so what do we do?


We give ourselves what we would give others; grace and naps, nature, rest and good food (of course I write this as I ate a bag of chips, so it’s easier said than done). We take turns, just like the Kindergarten teachers told us. We rest up so we can be ready to care for our neighbors and support our efforts to make good, sustainable and lasting change. We rest, not for ourselves alone, but for others - and when it’s our turn to show up, we do. We show up with courage and gusto and grace to love each other. The early Christians knew this. They lived in constant grief and fear of oppressive systems (and ones that were actually oppressive, not just a health department asking them to wear a mask). They knew that Easter was attached to Good Friday, that resurrection was attached to crucifixion. That grief and affliction were a part of life. Jesus didn’t make life easier as much as he made it purposeful and this purpose set people at odds with the status quo and in conflict at every side. Early Christians knew that sorrow was a part of life and that a life of faith, prayer and singing, study and listening, communion and connection, gave them the courage to comfort others in their sorrow and affliction. The folks who journeyed before us journey with us in spirit and grant us insight into this season so ambient with grief and loss. 


So may we have the courage to rest and nap, fill our bodies with good things and not just for ourselves, but for others. May we have the courage to write down all the things we grieve, all the loss in our hearts and may we have the courage to honor it and process it. May we have the courage to ask for help and to receive the care of others. May it be so. Amen.

A Spirit of Abundance

Reflection by Nora Graham, pastoral intern

July 26, 2020

16 Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. 17 And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ 18 Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ 20 But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ 21 So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” Luke 12: 16-25

When I was about five years old, I started receiving an allowance of five dollars a week for doing chores around the house. But my allowance came with a condition: I could only earn that money if I also gave a portion of it each month to the church as an offering. I accepted the deal and began giving an offering of five dollars a month. I did not need all that money, because twenty dollars is a lot for a five-year-old, and so I was able to give it away to a place that I cared about.

This spirit of abundance takes on a new meaning when we think about it today compared to say, February or early March before the pandemic was full swing. Then, for me, abundance felt more like planning for a spring break trip or looking ahead to summer plans. Now, my definition of abundance is appreciating the little things, like zoom sessions with my friends and getting to come into work and seeing people who are not my family members. It also means giving more consciously to organizations and businesses that need my money and time the most right now.

But you cannot have a conversation about abundance without also discussing the privilege that accompanies it. I come from a place of a certain amount of economic stability that not everyone grows up with. It is important to remember that this privilege is not inherently a negative thing, it is only in using one’s privilege for selfish reasons or refusing to acknowledge its existence in the first place that it becomes harmful. Because my parents were able to meet all my other needs and wants as a five-year-old, I did not need every penny of my weekly allowance. That privilege allowed me to give back to my church and to build in me the habit of giving from an early age.

These ideas of privilege and abundance are also present in our scripture today, focusing on the parable of the rich fool. The story begins as Jesus is teaching and, “Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But [Jesus] said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And [Jesus] said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

The man in this passage is concerned about the inheritance laws that say the elder brother should receive half the inheritance. These laws also say that if there are no sons, the daughters should each receive a portion of the inheritance on the condition that they must marry amongst the tribe to keep the wealth within the family. Now, that whole stipulation about the role of daughters in these laws could be the subject of an entirely different sermon, but the clear issue with the man demanding half of the family inheritance is that he is preoccupied in his pursuit of wealth. In the tradition that this story is set in, wealth is regarded as a sign of God’s goodness or blessing on a family, yet they also warn that one should use wealth prudently and be cautious of greed. Another important thing to note about wealth at this time is that, “abundance requires that one prepare for the famine that will surely follow.” Even if one has all they need for the moment there is always that fear lurking in the back of their mind that they will lose it in the future, and so it is better to stock up now so that those hard times don’t hurt as much.

Jesus says something else important here, and by refusing to be the judge or arbitrator over this man’s inheritance problems, Jesus is telling us that God will not judge us. This idea of judgement is prevalent in many forms of Christianity, but that is not the way of Jesus’ teachings.

Jesus uses inviting stories and parables like this one to teach the audience a greater lesson about abundance and letting go, but also about the fact that God will not judge us if we do not succeed at either one. So many people feel judged or compare themselves to others when it comes to stewardship, and that is not at all the point. Everyone comes from different circumstances and they have a different definition of abundance and what they feel capable of letting go. These ideas of not always stocking up in times of abundance or letting go of what is unnecessary are counter-cultural and therefore not always easy to accomplish. And that’s okay, because God is not judging anyone or the situation they may find themselves in.

The story continues as Jesus introduces the parable of the rich fool and the dilemma he faces, “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ The problem or conflict of this story is not that the rich fool does not have enough room to store his abundant harvest, but that he wants to keep it all for himself. Instead of giving out of abundance he would rather build more storage facilities and eat, drink and be merry. This echoes the sentiment that storing up or hoarding is better than risking your future for the present of others.

God has a lot to say about the actions of this rich man, saying “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So, it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” God is reminding the rich fool that keeping everything for oneself is not a faithful value or a practice in line with the teachings of the Jewish tradition or the Christian tradition that would follow.

Clearly, this man is more worried about his harvest and its abundance than his neighbors who may not be experiencing the same good fortune as him. He feels secure in the self-sufficiency that he has established and is hesitant to move beyond that scope. Greed makes the rich fool worry more about how to maximize his profit and survival than letting go of his focus on material possessions. This man is experiencing how the pursuit of pleasure that leaves little satisfaction beyond the surface level. And he also demonstrates practical atheism, where he proclaims to be righteous yet in practice chooses his own needs over the needs of the community.

Another important theme from this story is letting go of what you do not need. The rich fool in this parable needs to let go of his attachment to always having the biggest harvest, and instead ensure that others receive what they need as well. It is this obsession with always wanting more that plagues our society today. The conventional wisdom we grow up with teaches us that it is best to provide for our family first and stock up on anything that we fear might run out. Subversive wisdom offers a different narrative, one that says yes, you should make sure you have enough, but you should also ensure that those around you have enough too. This is the idea of letting go and not focusing on our individual needs and instead seeing the needs of the greater community, because when one person struggles, we all struggle and when one person receives what they need, so does everyone else.

A significant aspect of Christianity is follow-through and demonstrating your beliefs with your actions, not just your words. In that way, giving to the church is a way to apply one’s faith, as a spiritual practice that can be an area of growth over time. Although I started out giving five dollars a month to the church, that amount has changed as I have grown up and become more financially stable and independent. Stewardship is, as Debra says, not about dollar signs and commas, it is about intentionality and percentage. John Wesley believed that everyone should give $1.50 to $2.50 to the church each week. If that sounds like a silly amount, great then consider giving more, and if not, then the church will do great things with whatever amount ends up in the offering plate, virtual or physical.

A spiritual practice is not something that one can master in just a few sessions, giving especially must come from a spirit of abundance, whose definition changes over time. This principle of abundance is essential to the foundation of the Abbey, and because we give away 10% of our coffee bar sales each month to support the work of a local community partner, we help create a strong community of connection. And just like any giving practice, our definition of abundance has changed over time, and there are times when abundance means several events each month and sizeable checks to community partners, and there are times when the amount on the check does not matter as much as our partnership and relationship with the community we have built. In this way, giving is a hospitality practice where we can use the money we earn or the money we raise to embark on new and exciting ways to invite people into our space.

And even though our worship does not look the same, we are still offering hospitality to all who walk through our doors. And in the fall, campus ministry will also look different, but we will find new and innovative ways to connect with college students. We can create zoom book groups and learn about monastics in our gardens surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature.

We were able to organize around Black Lives Matters and provide anti-racist resources to activists of all ages. Although our definition of abundance has shifted in these past few months, there are other ways that we can support and welcome people into our ministry. We are a space that welcomes all, from squirming children to adorable puppies, church nerds and those the church would rather shun, because we are a space of inclusion. We can do all this and continue to give what we have out of abundance and foster those connections that define our ministry.

Here at the Abbey, we believe that the world should be different, and we believe that we can make a difference with each latte, each student we meet, each event we host, each book we put in someone’s hands. And we know that the money we put into the Abbey helps make a difference, and because I believe in this work, that is why I give. May it be so. Amen.