13 Pentecost

August 27, 2023

 

Matthew 16.13-20

 

 

+ This past week I was discussing my journey with deconstruction with a priest colleague of mine.

 

For those of you who do not know what deconstruction is, it is big thing happened right now among some Christians, especially those of more Evangelical backgrounds.

 

However it doesn’t haven’t to be for those from Evangelical backgrounds.

 

It is essentially a way of re-examining and shedding those parts of our faith life that’s imply do not work for us anymore.

 

I like to call it “burning away the fluff.”

 

My deconstruction journey has forced me to take a look at many of the things that have defined me as a Christian.

 

And it’s good for all of us sometimes to just take a moment and realize that things that may have sustained us earlier in our journey maybe do not sustain us anymore.

 

As you all know, I am a very liberal priest on many issues, such as LGBTQ inclusion in the Church and full inclusion of women in ministry.

But I'm a pretty solid and disciplined in areas of my spirituality and worship. 

 

But the areas I have found myself looking at long and hard on this journey are some of the other areas of my life.

 

Things like how Jesus is so easily worshipped in the Church, but so rarely followed.

 

That has been a big stickler for me over these last years.

 

And the more I see it, the more it digs deeply into my spiritual skin.

 

It bugs me, because I have done it myself.

 

A lot.

I want to be clear: I am not saying we shouldn't pray to Jesus.

But not to exclusion that we don't follow him. 

 

Let’s face it, it IS easier to worship Jesus rather that follow him.

 

And once that becomes a lens through which I observe the Church and other Christians, I find myself seeing it so often in our Christian journey.

 

And I see it as a source of what is so wrong with the Church.

 

It is safe to worship Jesus rather than follow him.

 

It is so safe to keep Jesus contained, neatly in our Aumbry, to pray nicely to him and kneel before him.

 

But it is not safe to actually seek to BE Jesus in this world.

 

To embody Jesus and to act like Jesus in this world.

 

And let me tell you, it is so easy to selectively ignore the things Jesus says to us in the Gospels.

 

For example, no where in scripture does he tell us to worship HIM.

 

But again and again he tells us to follow him.

 

And to follow him doesn’t just mean to nicely and politely follow him as he performs miracles and multiplies bread as though he is performing for us.

 

As though we are an appreciative audience, politely clapping of rhim.

 

Following him, means striving to see as he saw and love as he loved.

 

Sadly, the Church is not always good at this.

 

Christians are sometimes the worst at doing this.

 

That’s sometimes definitely the way it is with the Church—capital C.

 

Now, I know this is a shock to all of you, but I do not like authority.

 

I do not like being told what to do.

 

As many parishioners and a few bishops over the years have tried (and failed) to do over the years.

 

Ultimatums do not intimidate me.

 

I do not respond well to nagging or unconstructive criticism or complaining.

 

I once had a parishioner who sort of attended on occasion get mad at me.

 

She did not like that I did not confirm to her view of what a priest should be.

 

I did not nicely fit in to her neat little framework of what priests should say or do.

 

And she definitely didn’t like when I called her out for her abrasiveness toward others, her expectation that I give her some kind of special attention, or that I didn’t just quietly smile when she was borderline racist.

 

The days of nice, smiling, complacent priests are quickly dying away in the church.

 

And so they should be.

 

There are still plenty of nice, complacent priests around.

 

But it’s not me, and it’s not here at St. Stephen’s.

 

I will respect authority.

 

I will follow the rules (within reason)

 

But, let me tell you, I don’t always like it.

 

There are days when I don’t like the Church—capital C, or the authority of the Church or the hypocrisy of the Church.

 

There are days when I really don’t like some bishops, or some fellow clergy, especially when Bishops act pompous and full of themselves and when clergy act like spineless weasels.

 

There are days when I don’t like Church leaders—not just ordained ones but lay leaders too—who try to coerce and manipulate the Church and its ministers.

 

Probably most of us here would say we have felt the somewhat same way about the Church at times.

 

In fact, I know you have.

 

Because that is why you are here at St. Stephen’s.

 

There are days when we all groan when we see or hear other Christians get up and speak on behalf of the rest of us.

 

There are days when we are embarrassed by what some Christians say or do on behalf of Jesus and his Church.

 

There are days when we get frustrated when we hear clergy or other authorities pronounce decrees that, in no way, reflect our own particular views or beliefs.

 

There are days when we see people talk a big game about their nice, sweet, white, blond Jesus whom they worship with wild abandon, but who then go out and act like the same people the brown, Jewish Jesus would condemn again and again.

 

And there are times when we get downright mad at the hypocrisy, the racism, the homophobia, the misogyny, the transphobia, the ambivalence, the silence in the face of oppression and evil and war, the downright meanness we sometimes experience from the Church.

 

And it IS meanness.

 

Most of us—idealistically, naively maybe—wonder:  wait a minute.

 

The Church isn’t supposed to be like this.

 

The Church is supposed to be a place of Love and Compassion and Acceptance and inclusion. 

 

It is supposed to be a place where everyone is welcomed and loved.

 

And yet, for us as Episcopalians anyway, as we look around, we get a lot of polite, Episcopal complaining about rubrics, Prayer Book revision and the Hymnal 1982.

 

Knowing that and comparing the ideal view of the Church with its shortcomings only make us feel more helpless, listless, angry, and disgruntled.

 

And that’s all right.

 

I personally think that’s a somewhat healthy way of looking at the Church.

 

Because we have to remind ourselves of one thing: What we find ourselves turning away from and what we are often tempted to run away from is not God.

 

What we are running away from is a human-run, human-led organization.

 

We are running away from a celestially planned treasure that has been run (and very often mis-run) throughout two thousand years of history by fallible human beings.

 

In today’s Gospel, we find this wonderful interchange between Jesus and Peter.

 

Peter, when asked who he thinks Jesus is, replies, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

 

Yes! That’s definitely the right answer!

 

But, Jesus responds to this confession of faith with surprise.

 

He responds by saying, “I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

 

Of course, as you might know, Jesus is playing a little word game here with the words “Peter” and “rock.”

 

The Aramaic word for “rock” is “kepha.”

 

In Jesus’ own language of Aramaic he would have said, “You are Kepha (Peter is also called Cephas at times in the Gospels) and on this kepha (or rock) I will build my church.”

 

If you’re from a  Catholic upbringing—and especially if you’re more Roman Catholic minded—it seems that Jesus is establishing the Church on the Rock of Peter—and of course in that tradition Peter at this moment becomes essentially the first Bishop of the Church and in R.C. tradition, the first Pope. 

 

But that’s not what’s happening here.

 

The Church is being established not on Peter himself, but on the rock of Peter’s confession of faith.

 

Jesus IS definitely commending the Church to Peter and to his other followers.

 

And this is important, especially when we examine who Peter is.

 

Jesus commends his Church to one of the most impetuous, impulsive, stubborn, cowardly human beings he could find.

 

Peter, as we all know, is not, at first glance, a wonderful example for us of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

 

He is the one who walks on water and then loses heart, grows frightened and ends up sinking into that water.

 

He’s the one who, when Jesus needs him the most, runs off and denies him not just once, not twice, but three times, and even then cannot bring himself to come near Jesus as he hangs dying on the cross.

 

But…you know, Peter is maybe a better example of what followers of Jesus truly are than we maybe care to admit.

 

Yes, he is a weak, impetuous, cowardly, impulsive human.

 

But who among us isn’t?

 

Who among us isn’t finding someone very much like Peter staring back at us from our own mirrors?

 

And the thing we always have to remember is that, for all the bad things the Church has been blamed for—and there are a lot of them—there are also so many wonderful and beautiful things about the Church that always, always, always outweigh the bad.

 

Obviously most everyone here this morning must feel that same way as well to some extent.

 

If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here this morning.

 

Most of us are able to recognize that the Church is not perfect.

 

And I think that, when Jesus commended his Church to people like Peter, he knew that, as long as we are here, struggling on this “side of the veil,” so to speak, it would never be perfect.

 

But that, even despite its imperfection, we still all struggle on.

 

Together.

 

I love the Church and I love the people who are in the Church with me, sometimes even the ones who drive me crazy.

 

And I sometimes even love the ones with whom I do not agree or who lash out at me for their own personal issues.

 

Why? Because that’s what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

 

That is what it means to be the Church.

 

I am here in the Church because I really want to be in the Church.

 

I am here because the Church is my home.

 

It is my family.

 

It is made up of my friends and Jesus’ friends.

 

I am here because I—imperfect, impetuous human being that I am because I love my fellow Christians, and I don’t just mean that I love Michael Curry and all those Christians who are easy to love.

 

I love those who are hard to love too.

 

I love them because, let’s face it, sometimes we are those same people too.

 

I certainly am. I am a hard Christian to like sometimes.

 

Sometimes we are the ones who drive people from the Church as well.

 

And sometimes we ourselves drive our own selves away from the Church.

 

But as long as we’re here, as long as we believe in the renewal that comes again and again in recognizing and confessing our shortcomings and in professing and believing in what it means to be a baptized Christian, then we know it’s not all a loss.

 

As long as I struggle to not be the person who drives people from the Church, but works again and again in my life to be the person who welcomes everyone—no matter who they are and where they stand on the issues—into this Church, then I’m doing all right.

 

Because the Church Jesus founded was a Church founded solidly on the rock of love.

 

The Church’s foundation is the fact that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God and the message to us as followers of this Son of the Living God, the Messiah—the bringer of freedom and peace—is that we must love God and love each other as we love ourselves.

 

If we are the Church truly built on a love like that then, without doubt, the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.

 

And as long as I’m here, and you’re here, we are going to make the Church a better place.

 

We need to be the Church from which no one wants to leave.

 

So, let us be the Church we want the Church to be—because that is the Church that Jesus founded.

 

Let us be the Church that Jesus commended to that imperfect human being, Peter.

 

In those moments when we find ourselves hating the Church, let’s not let hatred win out.

 

Let love—that perfect, flawless love that Jesus preached and practiced—eventually win out.

 

We are the Church.

 

We are the Church to those people in our lives.

 

We are the Church to everyone we encounter.

 

We are the reflection of the Church to the people we serve alongside.

 

So let us be the Church, and if we are, we will find ourselves in the midst of that wonderful vision Jesus imagined for his Church.

 

And it will truly be an incredible place.

 

It will truly be the Kingdom of God in our midst.

 

Let us pray.

 

Living God, we believe that Jesus is your Son, the Messiah, who has come to us in our time of need; help us to follow him, to be a Church of love and acceptance and inclusion, and in doing so, a place wherein your living Presence dwells. We ask this in his most holy Name. Amen.

 

 

 

 

12 Pentecost

 

August 20, 2023

 

Matthew 15.10-28

 

 

+ Please don’t be shocked by this.

 

I know some of you will.

 

But…. I may, on one or two occasion, got myself into a bit of trouble with my mouth.

 

I sometimes say things I maybe shouldn’t say, especially when I am riled up.

 

Let’s face it, sometimes, I do not have much of a filter.

 

I sometimes find myself speaking out on things and then, maybe, possibly, regretting something I have said.

 

And, in those moments, there’s no one to blame but myself.

 

And I know I’m not alone here.

 

So, are some of you.

 

In f act, we as a congregation are people who speak out, who use words well to convey our convictions and beliefs.

 

And as a result we have, and continue to be, a thorn in the side of the establishment.

 

As we should.

 

This is why many of you are here at St. Stephen’s.

 

We are definitely NOT a cookie cutter congregation.

 

Sadly, though, for me anyway, as I look back in my life at those times when I’ve been “in trouble” it was almost always because of something I said.

 

There have been times when, even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I wish I could just grab them in the air and swallow them before they get too far.

 

I have no filter, sometimes.

 

And it’s been a long-time “growing edge” for me to work on.

 

I’m better than I used to be.

 

That’s what happens when you get older.

 

We realize very clearly that the words spoken really do have ripple effects.

 

If we think, when we say something either on the offense or defense, that those words will not have consequences in the long-run, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.

 

Jesus tells his followers—and us—in this morning in our Gospel reading—

 

“it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles; it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles. ”

 

As a vegan, I may have to disagree with that a bit.

 

But yes, these are words that hit home for me, and no doubt, for many of us.

 

We were all raised reciting that little verse:

 

Sticks and stone may break my bones

But words will never hurt me.

 

Guess what?

 

Words actually DO hurt.

 

In fact words do more than hurt.

 

They do more than just create a ripple effect.

 

Words can destroy.

 

Words can tear down.

 

And sometimes the words don’t even have to be directed at someone or something.

 

Words spoken behind people’s backs, that we think won’t hurt them if they never hear them, hurt and destroy too.

 

Words are oftentimes much more painful and hurtful than sticks and stones.

 

And when it comes to our relationship with God, the words we say carry much weight.

 

In today’s Gospel we find Jesus making very clear statements:

 

“…what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart and this is what defiles. For out of the mouth comes” all kind of evil intentions.

 

“These are what defile a person…” he says.

 

Jesus is clear here about what makes one unclean.

 

The words that come out of our mouth are really only the end result of what’s in our hearts.

 

The words that come out of our mouths are really only little mirrors of what is dwelling within us.

 

When we say dumb things, we are harboring dumb things in our hearts.

 

When we say hurtful, mean things, we are carrying hurt and meanness in our hearts.

 

And what’s in our hearts truly does make all the difference.

 

If our hearts are dark—if our hearts are over-run with negative things—then our words are going to reflect that.

 

When we talk about something like “sin,” we find ourselves thinking instantly of the things we do.

 

We think immediately of all those uncharitable, unsavory things we’ve done in our lives.

 

And when we realize that sin, essentially, is anything we chose to do that separates us from God and from each other, it is always easy to instantly take stock of all the bad things we’ve done.

 

But it’s not always what we “do.”

 

Sometimes, we can truly “sin” by what we say as well.

 

The words that come out of our mouths can separate us from God and from each other because they are really coming from our hearts—from that place in which there should really only be love for God and for each other.

 

We have all known Christians who are quick to profess their faith with their mouths, but who certainly do not believe that faith in their hearts.

 

And, I think, we have also known people who have kept quiet about their faith, who have not professed much with their mouths, but who have quietly been consistent in their faith.

 

If we profess our faith with our mouths, but not in our hearts, we really are guilty to some extent.

 

Probably few things drive us away faster from church than those self-righteous people who shake their fingers at us and spout their faith at us, but who, in turn, don’t show love, compassion and acceptance to others.

 

The name we encounter in the Gospels for those people who do not practice what they preach is “hypocrite.”

 

And throughout the Gospels, we find that Jesus isn’t ever condemning the ones we think he should condemn.

 

He doesn’t condemn the prostitute, the tax collector, any of those people who have been ostracized and condemned by society and the religious organizations of their times.

 

The ones Jesus, over and over again, condemns, are the hypocrites—those supposedly “religious” people who are quick to speak their faith with words, who are quick to strut around and act religiously, but who do not hold any real faith in their hearts.

 

The Pharisees that Jesus is having trouble with in today’s Gospel, are not at all concerned about what is in their hearts.

 

Their faith has nothing to do with their hearts.

 

They are more concerned about purification rites.

 

They are more concerned about making sure that the food one eats is clean and pure—that it hasn’t been touched by those who are unclean.

 

They are concerned that they are the clean ones and they are concerned that there is a separation from those that are unclean.

 

They are more concerned with the words of the Law, rather than the heart of the Law.

 

They are more concerned with the letter of the Law, rather than the spirit of the Law.

 

We, as followers of Jesus, must avoid being those hypocrites.

 

With everything in us, we must avoid being those people.

 

Yes, I know: it’s just easier to stick to the letter of the Law.

 

It’s easy to follow the religious rules without bothering to think about why we are following them.

 

It’s just so much easier to go through the motions without having to feel anything.

 

Because to feel means to actually make one’s self vulnerable.

 

To feel means one has to love—and, as we know—as we see in the world right now—love is dangerous.

 

Love makes us step out into uncomfortable areas and do uncomfortable things.

 

But the message of Jesus is all about the fact that to be a follower of Jesus means not being a hypocrite.

 

That is ESSENTIAL.

 

The message of Jesus is that to be a follower of Jesus means believing fully with one’s heart.

 

We at St. Stephen’s are saying, again and again, not just by our words, but by our actions, that we are a people of a God who is love—we are a people here at St. Stephen’s who believe all people are loved and accepted, fully and completely by that God.

 

And how do we do that? How do we show that and preach that?

 

We do that by loving and accepting all people.

 

Even when that is hard!

 

We do that even when people take advantage of our inclusiveness, when people take advantage of our kindness, when people take advantage of us.

 

We do that by knowing in our hearts that God loves and accepts us all, no matter who or what we are.

 

To proclaim the Good News, we need to do so by both word and example.

 

It is to truly practice what we preach.

 

It is to go out into the world beyond these walls and say, “this is a place—and we are a people—wherein love dwells.

 

We are a people who strive to embody that radical, all-encompassing love of a God of love.

 

So, let us take to heart what Jesus is saying to us in today’s Gospel.

 

Let us take his words and plant them deeply in our hearts.

 

Let the words of his mouth be the words of our mouth.

 

Let the Word—capital W—by our word.

 

And let that Word find its home, its source, its basis in our hearts.

 

When it does, our words will truly speak the Word that is in our hearts.

 

Let us allow no darkness, no negativity to exist within our hearts.

 

Let us not be hypocritical Pharisees to those around us.

 

But let us be true followers of Jesus, with love burning within and overflowing us.

 

As followers of Jesus, let love be the word that speaks to others.

 

Let our hearts be so filled with love that nothing else can exist in it but love.

 

And if we do—if we do just that—we will find that love pouring forth from our mouth and bringing joy and gladness and love and full acceptance to others.

 

Even to ourselves.

 

 

 

11 Pentecost

 

August 13, 2023

 

1 King 19.9-18; Matthew 14.22-33

 

+ Being a poet sometimes is even weirder than being a priest.

 

As you know, many years ago, I wrote a book about a tornado.

 

A tornado that has become truly legendary in our Fargo community.

 

I gotta say, that book has done fairly well for a book of poems.

 

I am amazed sometimes when I go somewhere and people say, “Hey! You wrote that book about the tornado. I read it. It’s the only book of poetry I’ve ever read.”

 

But the weird aspect of this is when people think, because I wrote a book about a tornado, that I’m some sort of meteorologist.

 

People think I know a lot about the weather.

 

I know a little bit about the weather.

 

But not as much as what some people expect of me because I wrote this book.

 

But occasionally, I will get someone who will say something like this to me: “You know, when I read your book, I realized that I think there’s more to that tornado than just a tornado. I think that tornado symbolizes something.”

 

Now, I like it when someone says something like that.

 

They really understood my book.

 

Well, today, in our reading from 1 Kings and from our Gospel reading, we get storms.

 

We find, in our reading from First Kings, that the prophet Elijah is being confronted with several natural disasters actually.

 

First there is a storm, then an earthquake and then a fire.

 

And in each of them, he finds that, despite their magnificence, despite the fact that they are more powerful than Elijah himself, God is not in any of them.

 

He does not hear the Word of God coming to him out of these instances.

 

But rather, God speaks to him in the “sheer silence” after the storm.

 

Our Gospel reading is similar in many ways.

 

There too is a storm.

 

And this one is just as frightening.

 

The disciples in the boat are buffeting, they are trying to make their way back to shore and cannot because the storm’s wind is against them, and they are clearly afraid.

 

A word we keep experiencing in our Gospel reading for today is “fear.”

 

The disciples see Jesus, think he’s a ghost and they cry out in fear.

 

And Jesus says to them,

 

“Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

 

Peter, audacious as he is, then gets out of the boat and starts walking on the water to Jesus.

 

But when he notices the storm raging around him, he becomes frightened and begins to sink.

 

And Jesus reaches out his hands and lifts him from the water and stills the storm.

 

Again, I think these storms actually have deeper meaning for us than we initially think.

 

They seem to be also symbols for our own storms in our lives.

 

In the storms of our own lives, we often find ourselves at a loss.

 

We too often do unpredictable things in those storms like Peter.

 

We do the equivalent of getting out of a boat and attempting to walk on water.

 

We find ourselves venturing into areas we maybe shouldn’t be venturing.

 

We find ourselves doing naively audacious things.

 

And while doing those things, we sometimes lose heart, we become afraid, and we begin sinking.

 

This is what storms do to us.

 

They sap us of our energy, of our joy, of our bravery and they leave us vulnerable to them.

 

This is also what fear does to us.

 

It causes us to lose heart.

 

It causes us to lose our joy and our gladness and our happiness.

 

It saps our life and our energy from us.

 

And that is why, during those storms, during those moments of false courage, during those times of raging fear, we need to strain into the storm and we need to hear that calm voice speaking to us with familiar words:

 

“Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

 

In the storms of our lives, in the raging tempests of fear, these are the only words we can cling to.

 

You’ve heard say this a million times in my sermons but, the most often repeated commandment we hear throughout the entire Bible is “do not be afraid.”

 

“Do not be afraid.”

 

Both in the Hebrew scriptures and in the New Testament, this is one of the most repeated statements we find from God, which Jesus very often echoes.

 

And this commandment still holds true for us today.

 

Fear is one of those things we all live with in one form or the other.

 

We live with a fear of the unstable world around us.

 

We live with a fear of all the terrible and bad things that life can throw in our way.

 

We live with a fear of the future, and all the uncertainties it holds.

 

And we all live with a fear of death—of all the uncertainty that awaits us when this life is done.

 

But God, again and again, says to us, “Do not be afraid.”

 

Do not be afraid of the things this world can throw at us.

 

Do not be afraid of things you cannot change.

 

Do not be afraid of the actual natural storms of this life, because we have faith in the God who is more powerful than any storm that can come upon us.

 

Do not be afraid of the storms of this life that come from within—the storms of anxiety and fear and depression and uncertainty, because we have faith in the God who is in control of our lives as well.

 

Do not be afraid of even death, because God promises us that God is not a God of death, but of life and if we trust in God and have faith in God, God will give us life that will never end.

 

For those of us who live in faith, we have no reason to fear.

 

Faith means trust.

 

Faith means being able to look to God, in those storms of our lives, and know that although frightening things may rage about us, with God, we can find the calm center of our lives.

 

As we venture out on to the choppy waters of our lives and, there, we find ourselves sinking into the storm, as we are overwhelmed by the storms of our lives, as we despair over the storm, we need to look up and realize that God is with us, even then.

 

This reminds of the greatest part of the Gospel reading for today.

 

In the midst of that storm, as Peter sinks into the waters, Jesus doesn’t simply stay put and raise Peter miraculously from the waters from a distance.

 

Rather, Jesus actually comes to Peter where he is in that storm and lifts him out of those waters.

 

And that is the image we can take away with us as well.

 

Our job as followers of Jesus means that sometimes we also have to follow Jesus out onto the stormy waters of the sea.

 

It is not enough for us to simply sink and cry out to God and expect God to save us.

 

It is not enough that we are simply passive in our relationship with God.

 

We also have to listen for others who are also sinking into the dark waters of their own lives.

 

And we, like Jesus, need to get up, step out onto the uncertain surface of a stormy sea, and help those people who are struggling in their own storms.

 

It’s not just always about us.

 

It’s also about helping out others.

 

So, in those moments in which we find ourselves sinking, in the storms of our lives when you feel as though are lost and can never be found again, remember what these scriptures readings about storms are really about.

 

Yes, God will come to us in the storms of our lives.

 

But we also need to go out in the storm ourselves and help others.

 

And just as God leads us back to a place of quietness and safety, we also need to help others back into quiet and safe places.

 

It is there, where, in that silence, we too can hear the soothing, comforting words of God speaking to us.

 

Sometimes the storms of our own lives are stilled when we help still the storms in the lives of others.

 

Sometimes God stills the storms of anxiety and depression and frustration and all the other emotions fear brings to us.

 

At other times, God compels us to help still storms of anxiety and depression and frustration and fear in others

 

There is a wonderful prayer from the Book of Common Prayer of the Anglican Church in New Zealand that I often pray with people I visit in the hospital or who are suffering from any anxiety or fear.

 

I know some of you know this prayers because you mention it to me often.

 

The prayer begins,

 

O God of the present moment,
O God, who in Jesus stills the storm and soothes the frantic heart,
bring hope and courage to those who trust in you.

 

This should be our prayer as well.

 

We also should pray that the God, who in Jesus stills the storms of our lives and soothes our frantic hearts, truly does bring hope and courage to us, who trust in God.

 

So, let allow God to still the storms of our life and sooth our hearts when they become frantic.

 

Let us allow God to come to us where we are, out here in the midst of the storms of our lives,  to bring us to safety.

 

And let us be ready to get up and venture into the storm to help those who  call to us to help in the storms of their own lives.

 

And when we do, we will find an abundance of hope and courage in our lives so that we can live our lives fully and completely—and without any fear—as God wants us to.

 

Let us pray.

 

 

O God of the present moment,
O God, who in Jesus stills the storm and soothes the frantic heart,
bring hope and courage to us—

us, who lives here, at times in fear in the midst of storm—

for we trust in you.

 

Amen.