Real Men Don't Run

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

The gospel story we read this morning is one of the best-known stories in the Bible. Even in the secular world, references are made all the time to “the prodigal” or “the prodigal son,” a phrase that has become idiomatic for lost things, sometimes for lax morals or licentiousness. In religious vernacular, for sin.

Certainly when we think of the prodigal, we associate him or her with undesirable living, and sometimes, as one who has returned to the fold following a period of misadventure. We’ve each probably known someone like that at some time in our lives. Perhaps we’ve been that person.

Perhaps even now we relate to this story of the Prodigal Son because there is some aspect of the story that is, today, part of our experience of family or other relationship. Many of us know the prodigal experience all too well. Something is lost. Someone is lost; missing; as good as dead.

It might be a child who has rejected us and our sense of values; or it might be a sibling from whom we are estranged. Some of us might have experienced this kind of separation from parents or from friends, we might have suffered hurts that have never healed and cannot now be healed – because it is too late. We never got to fix what was broken, and now, a scar resides deep within.

Perhaps we are the ones who have “fallen from grace” through bad decisions we have made, by falling in with the wrong people, because we have gone to bad places in our lives, suffered failures of our own making, or adopted harmful habits.

And so it is that we might approach this story and the accompanying scriptures we read this morning with a bit of empathy for the different characters; we can imagine all too well what it is like to be in their shoes.

It’s easy to place ourselves somewhere in this story. Yet this story does not stand alone, and to fully appreciate the gospel good news for us today, it is helpful to know the rest of the story.

The context of today’s scripture is that the Pharisees and scribes were grumbling about the social activities of Jesus. He has been spending time, even eating with tax collectors and sinners. He has been hanging out with outcasts; undesirables.

Jesus has allowed himself to be in the presence of the unclean – those no self-respecting Jew would even acknowledge. The thrust of their argument is that if Jesus parties with and favors those people, what kind of Jew, what kind of leader, what kind of savior can he possibly be?

If we were to receive such criticism, we might be tempted to respond, “Back off boys! I will love who I want, embrace whom I choose, do as I please.” We might expect Jesus to respond, “I will redeem those whom I choose. They will repent because of my saving mercy. They will become more like you and me.”

Instead, Jesus tells three parables – stories in which it is unquestionably clear that God loves differently than we do, God behaves differently than we do, and God values sinners more than we could ever imagine, which is good news for all of us.

As Jesus moves from story to story he barely takes a breath. He begins with a woman who finds a lost coin – just one coin among many she may own – because of its importance to her.

He moves on to tell about the celebration that goes on when one measly sheep out of an entire flock is found after wandering away and becoming lost.

And finally, he tells about the biggest party of all, this huge bash given in honor of the most unlikely of recipients: one that was not simply lost, hadn’t just wandered away, but has behaved in the most outrageous manner, has sinned against his father so egregiously, that disinheritance and banishment is all he really deserves.

What makes this story so interesting and over-the-top is that all of the characters behave in such outlandish, ridiculous and outright scandalous ways. As it is told, this is a story of extremes. The father’s over-the-top forgiveness and love for his sons is bookended by their outrageous behavior.

The younger son isn’t just a bad boy. He doesn’t just wreck the family chariot or steal money from the father’s purse. In any age this son’s behavior would be frowned upon, but remember that the story is written in a time and for a people where every action and interaction is deeply inscribed with honor, status and rank being conferred or denied; and people live and die according to such things.

The younger son treats his father with the ultimate disregard. He treats his father not only as if he wishes he were already dead, but as if he were dead to him. He violates the 4^th commandment. He does not honor his father. He tells his father he wants what he has no right to ask for.

Rather than treat his father with honor, love and respect, he spurns him; he spits on a grave not even dug yet. That is the strength of his wrongdoing; his sin. It is, frankly, an unforgivable sin. Once his father gives him what he wants, this son essentially wipes the dust of their relationship right off his feet. He takes off for faraway places.

At the end of the parable we have the elder son, who also treats his father with disrespect and disregard. Many of us might sympathize with this son for the injustice he feels has been dealt him. Yet still, he dispels his wrath upon his father, dishonoring him, disregarding his status, ignoring the respect which he is due, and denying his father’s right ultimately to do as he chooses with what is his.

His father is throwing a big party. Everyone has been invited. All of the neighbors are there. There is a banquet table heaped with the finest food, and the best wine is being poured. And this son refuses to go in. In a culture where honor is everything, this son scorns and shames his father. At a banquet where the patriarch would expect to remain reclining at the table throughout, he makes his father go out to him; he makes his father plead with him.

Even if we feel for this son and the hurt he must feel, part of our take-away from this story must be that even this son, the one who has worked hard, done what is right up until now at least by his accounting, even the one who by every measure of society has lived righteously – even he displays appallling behavior and fails to show his father the absolute honor and loyalty to which he is entitled.

Each son in fact has behaved shockingly disgracefully.

Sandwiched between the shenanigans of the two sons, comes the father. The bridge between these two sons is a father who behaves most unexpectedly of all. His behavior is the most surprising and scandalous of the three.

By every measure possible this man is of high rank and status. A strong sense of propriety is expected – no – demanded of such a person. And yet by every measure of respectability, especially those in the Ancient Near East, he has behaved the most scandalously and shamefully of all.

First, he reveals himself to be a fool, “dividing his life” – his goods- his property – and his wealth to his sons before he is dead. Disregarding the wisdom and religious teachings of the day, he makes himself dependent on these sons of his.

Here are the words from Sirach, which guided these relationships and was deeply inscribed in the culture:

To son or wife, to brother or friend,

do not give power over yourself, as long as you live;

and do not give your property to another,

in case you change your mind and must ask for it.

²¹ While you are still alive and have breath in you,

do not let anyone take your place.

²² For it is better that your children should ask from you

than that you should look to the hand of your children.

²³ Excel in all that you do;

bring no stain upon your honor.

By every measure of respectability and honor, the father has been the fool.

Despite his abandonment by the younger son who squanders everything with “dissolute living” – we can read that as licentiousness, debauchery, despicable lifestyle and behaviors - when his son returns but is still a “far way off” the father, filled with compassion, races toward him. He doesn’t wait for the apology, the excuses and that the rest. It is clear he has been watching – and waiting – and hoping – for his son’s return.

Men of high status don’t run. Certainly in that world they didn’t. They don’t hike up their robes, exposing their ankles and who knows what else for all the world to see.

Men of high rank don’t throw themselves at anyone, let alone those who have so completely wronged and shamed them. Before this son could even begin speaking – apologies, groveling and all the rest of it – his father has not only forgiven him, but embraced him, and conferred high status on him – he gives him robes and a ring and throws the biggest, most extravagant party you can imagine. His joy is overflowing.

Everyone is invited!

All those neighbors who have surely noticed his son’s absence all this time, who have likely heard stories about him, are invited to help him celebrate his son’s return.

Then, when his elder son himself acts shamefully and dishonorably, forcing his father to come to him and refusing by his choice of words to confer respect to his father, his father reaches out to reestablish the family bond. How does this father, who has been so wronged, forgive so completely, love so fully that he again makes himself absolutely vulnerable to those who have not earned it?

The past few weeks the adult group in our Sunday morning faith connections, has been considering the topic of forgiveness. Through rich conversation we have discussed this complex topic – how hard it is, how multi-faceted our experience and understanding of it is. And here in this parable we read of a forgiveness and compassion, driven by divine love, which is above and beyond the scope of anything we can imagine.

Through this parable, Jesus reminds us this is what God does for us. God esteems those who deserve none of it. God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness, measured in worldly terms and measured by the human yardstick are stupid; ridiculous; foolish and even scandalous.

But as the father indicated that it was necessary – “we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life.” We are reminded of the reality of the divine necessity of Jesus’ journey – that there might be rejoicing and celebrating over finding what has been lost, and the restoration of that which has been dead. We recall our confession that even when we were dead in sin, God forgave us – and gave us Jesus.

The love of God transcends even our deepest brokenness, transforms us despite our most profound failures to be the people God created us to be. We cannot understand it. We cannot measure it. We can only grasp it, accept it, give thanks for it, and celebrate it.

The love of God is a mystery to us. How and why God chooses to love so truly, madly and deeply and forgive so completely, so absolutely, is beyond all human knowing. But isn’t it a source of joy and wonder that through Jesus this is exactly what God does?

God’s love is scandalous. God embodying our humanity in Jesus is ridiculous. God enacting our salvation through Jesus’ victory over death is stupefying. And yet this is what God does, for the sake of love. Despite where you see yourself in this story remember this: God loves you – and God waits for you, forgives you, and embraces you, conferring the high status of “my beloved” upon you. It’s true; God fiercely, vulnerably, courageously, scandalously, ridiculously and gloriously loves you. Period.

Don't Count On It: the fallacy of universal law

Isaiah 55:1-9

In his work, “Cat’s Cradle,” Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “In this world, you get what you pay for.” My guess is that even if you’d never read anything by Vonnegut, you’ve probably heard those words before. It’s the kind of statement that most of us in this room have likely embraced our entire lives.

Then again, there is a law in physics called the First Law of Thermodynamics, which states that, “You can’t get something from nothing.” Whether or not you are into physics, you’ve probably heard that statement or it’s cousin, “you can’t get something for nothing” before, too.

Like other so-called universal laws like “what goes up must come down,” or “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” these laws have been proven over time and by experience. So, let’s face it, they just make sense to us. They perfectly express conventional wisdom bred into most human beings from a very early age.

Yet our first lesson this morning would seem to indicate that by God’s reasoning, you can get something for nothing. God’s economic theory is totally foreign to us. It offers a promise we are not quite sure we can buy – no pun intended.

The fundamental wisdom human beings seem wired to operate under, is expressed in many statements like the ones above, and we see the logic in them, right? But God counters these with statements from the Isaiah text this morning:

You that have no money, come, buy and eat!

Eat what is good and delight yourselves in rich food.

For most Americans, those former statements underscore and support basic laws of the economy of scarcity that guide our worldview and many of our actions.

They drive our fears and insecurities.

They underlie many of our relationships and interactions.

What that means is that we live with a fundamental philosophy that everything in our world comes in finite quantity: money, food, housing, land, and oil, for instance. There are other, less tangible things that we deem important for life, and these have limited supply as well: power, love, affection, time, and favor.

These truths abide as the foundation of everything from sibling rivalry to the adolescent drama of competing friendships and affections, to the battle for college admissions, to the give and take of workplace politics, family politics, church politics, and so on.

Knowing and following the rules is important to our survival. Operating within this economy of scarcity can be tricky.

In the modern world, every good thing must be earned, and it, too, is available in limited supply. People crave satisfaction and firmly believe that in order to get it you have to earn it. Consequently, when the bad comes along, it must mean we’ve earned that, too. And there seems to be no such limit on bad things.

There is a lament I often hear when tragedy, illness, or overwhelming challenges strike; you’ve probably heard it, too: “what did I do to deserve this?” It is not only a judgment we place on ourselves. I have counseled people deeply wounded by the assumptions of others, even people close to them, that when something bad happened, they must have done something to cause it.

A distressing example of this that we are all too familiar with is the propensity for public figures, including certain high profile Christians, to proclaim that a particular disaster, whether natural or manmade, is the result of God’s disfavor. By their reasoning, God’s anger over sinful behaviors or particular lifestyles have caused the calamity.

Since it is our determination that everything that occurs to us, good or bad, is just pay for our own actions, is therefore earned, so it is, that we approach this passage from Isaiah with suspicion and disbelief. It so firmly goes against human wisdom.

Ours is an age of reason, science, and markets. These influences are important in their place, but God’s wisdom is not found in materialism.[1] God’s wisdom speaks of something else. It doesn’t follow that laws of the physical world with which we are so familiar.

As we turn to the Old Testament text today, though the imagery might be beautiful doesn't the offer it contains seem too good to be true? “Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.”

Whenever I hear the opening words of this text it makes me think of old-time carnivals, and marketplaces. I envision the carnies and vendors, all lined up along the lane, each of them raising their voices, each crying over the other, each hawking their wares. “Hey you! Look over here! Come, see what I have for you - the finest of goods. The ones you really want. The ones you really need.” Each vendor is vying for your attention, and your dollars and coins. And it is in this scenario that we often confirm that old adage, “you get what you pay for” and learn that “what sounds too good to be true, usually is too good to be true. Cheap goods are often that – cheap goods – cheaply designed, cheaply made, cheap to buy, they functional cheaply as well.

But then, we read this text. “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money come, buy and eat!” Written for a people conquered and then long exiled and struggling in Babylonia, these words and images speak deeply. They sound frivolous and impossible to believe, as they describe a meal beyond the reach of the Israelites for whom these claims are first made; they represent something that is beyond their expectation and beyond all hope.

And yet, the people are invited to come and eat that for which they have not worked, to be filled with things they cannot afford. They have no money. It doesn’t matter. They have no property. That’s okay. Their thirst will be quenched and their emptiness filled up with the finest of provisions, without cost to them.

But then the word of the Lord continues with imperatives and purpose: come, they are told; listen, they are commanded. Why? So that you may live.

Immediately we are told what God is up to here – God’s interest is in making an eternal covenant that is connected to God’s steadfast, sure love for David. That covenant is meant to be life-giving.

God will restore this people to glory. God will raise their status. It is up to Israel to remain close to the source of its glory and power and status. It is up to Israel to reorient their lives by turning to God, by listening to God, by allowing God’s word, character, and love to shape them. Only then will they truly live.

For those who would try to rationalize this message, to make it fit into human rationale and understanding, the words of the Lord explain: For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. In other words, “trust, believe in that for which there is no logical explanation. Because God provides in ways that are too great and lofty for human explanations or understanding.”

The distance dividing heaven and earth is compared to the distance between God’s plans and intentions and our human ability to understand them. God’s plans, power and potential cannot be understood; it can only be accepted. It can only be received; it cannot be earned by any product of human imagination or reason.

          This word of the Lord, delivered through the prophet is a word for us today.

          All week long we have worked and struggled, compromised and sought approval, earning our reputations, our paychecks, and our sense of well-being in a world of competition. All week long we have done what was necessary to buy what we need and to produce what was demanded of us, whether it was homework and test scores in school, meeting a deadline or quota at work, satisfying various demands in our relationships, or, writing a sermon!

          All week long we have struggled, functioning under the human economy of scarcity. There is never enough time to do everything on the “To Do” list; there is never enough money to supply all our needs and wants; we run out of energy before we can fulfill all the demands that fill our days; our hearts are worn out from trying to love enough, give enough, feel enough, to make ourselves and everyone else in our lives happy enough.

          And then God comes along with these liberating words; come, listen, turn, live.

          As a Lenten text, those liberating words are the ones God speaks to our aching, struggling, doubting hearts and souls.  As we examine our lives we know that we have wandered far from the streams of living water that God offers us. We sense that God’s command to come is nothing other than a life-giving instruction for repentance – for the radical reorientation of our lives that places God at the center of our lives, and allows us to truly live.

          It takes turning toward God and listening to God for the reshaping to begin, and yet we know deep down that even that turning, even that listening, is not something we can take on ourselves.

It is only by the working of God’s Spirit, a gift of God for the people of God, that this reorientation can begin. The Spirit is planted deep within us, and abides with us, that as we begin the radical reorientation which sets us on the road to follow God’s command and invitation, the resultant reshaping will allow us to be the disciples God calls us to be.

“In this world you get what you pay for?” In the kingdom of God, there is an abundance where our hunger is slaked and our thirst is quenched, where we receive grace for which we do not pay, and life without measure.

“You can’t get something for nothing?” While true, we are not the payees. The cost for filling our need has been paid for us through the eternal love of God and the cross of Jesus Christ.

Every so-called universal law that we can name and articulate, which is governed by our law of scarcity is ans

wered and conquered by God’s overarching law of abundance, wherein God’s love permeates our being and abides within us, answering our need, and filling us – filling us with good things.

May our repentance this Lent be a radical turning toward the God who shapes our hearts and lives to live abundantly knowing and trusting in the one who can satisfy our deepest longing.

         

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[1] Darryl M. Trimiew, in his commentary on this passage in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide, p. 76.

On the Road Again - Making Divine Music

Luke 13:31-35

There is an old Willie Nelson song that goes, “On the road again.

Just can’t wait to get on the road again.

The life I love is makin’ music with my friends.

And I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

Well, I don’t know if Jesus was as anxious to get on the road as Willie Nelson apparently was, knowing what would come at the end of the journey.

Still, Jesus might as well have been singing that song at this point in the gospel of Luke,

because Jesus is “on the road again.”

He’s on the road with his friends.

The music he is makes delivers the good news of a God

who loves the world so much,

that, despite the cost, God’s wills this journey

to continue to its destination.

Jesus has been making music,

delivering this good news along with

          a new imperative that God desires the salvation of all people;

                   that in God’s economy, grace and mercy abound

                             for those who trust in the goodness of Our Lord.

The road Jesus is on is the road to Jerusalem.

It is the road of his divine destiny.

Enrique Simonet Lombardo Jesus journeys to Jerusalem

It is the road to his passion, to his death on the cross,

                   and ultimately, to his resurrection.

Yes, Jesus is on the road again.

And not everyone is happy about it.

In this gospel text, Jesus reveals that by God’s will, “it is necessary”

 – this road,

this journey,

this story –

it is the fulfillment of the divine plan,

the purpose for which he came,

to be on that road.

The journey that Jesus makes to Jerusalem,

reveals that Jesus is committed to fulfilling God’s will.

But he is not without opposition, traveling down that road.

Along his journey, Jesus clashes with one opponent and obstacle after another.

Despite the danger, despite the warnings,

despite his rejection by the Jewish leadership and elders,

          Jesus is “on the road again.”

And in today’s gospel text, he faces down Herod Antipas, “that fox,”

who, unlike our conventional characterization of the fox

is not an emblem of wisdom, but rather a figure of cunning deception.

In Jesus’ context, the word he chooses for “fox”

Would have been understood as someone more akin to a weasel –

an animal that steals the food of others,

as Herod once stole his own brother’s wife.

Later in the gospel of Luke, we learn that Herod participates in the event to steal

the very life from Jesus,

and attempts to steal any semblance of hope

away from those Jesus came to embrace.

Along his journey and on that road, Jesus clashes with the Pharisees time and again,

that group of men who pretend in these verses to be looking out for Jesus’ welfare,

but who secretly and not-so-secretly plot to be rid of him.

As we see in the parables, Jesus and the Pharisees

clash time and again.

The clash between Jesus and the temple leadership

often takes the form of debates and disagreements over the

meaning and scope of God’s love

and God’s agenda for humankind, as Jesus sings a new song of inclusivity even as the Pharisees cry out for the continuance of the exclusive, preferential following of Law.

Jesus reminds us in this text

that there is a clash between Jesus and Jerusalem as well,

as Jesus calls to mind the Old Testament stories

that reveal the many times God has sheltered the people of Israel

under God’s protective wings,

and yet has been rejected by this stubborn and recalcitrant people.

Their rejection has led to the slaughter of prophets God has sent.

If nothing else,

this story reminds us that it takes courage to be a prophet and disciple of God.

Prophets tell us news that we really don’t want to hear.

The world doesn’t want to hear God’s cry for repentance and divine justice.

Jesus’ ministry, teaching and life call for a radical reorientation

of our lives, - that is what repentance is all about.

It is this call for repentance that we observe and pursue during Lent,

that we might prepare to be transformed by the love and mercy of God.

Repentance demands a radical reorientation of thought –

 what should we consider important, who do we welcome, encourage and embrace?

          How do we view our time, talent and treasure – what and who is it for?

This kind of radical reorientation of priorities and being upsets the status quo –

No longer can we hide behind a “it’s just the way it is” philosophy or excuse for falling short of the mandate of God to love our neighbor as ourselves and to make love our primary objective in life.

No longer is following tradition an acceptable excuse for ungodly behavior that has little to do with God’s desire and character and more to do with selective interpretation and application of the law to benefit and uphold a status quo that marginalizes and excludes others.

The evangelist Luke reveals throughout his gospel how, on and all along the road,

Jesus demonstrates a radical reorientation that raises up the weak and lowly.

Like a mother hen, through Jesus, God seeks

to draw, embrace, include, and welcome God’s children into the family

of humanity that God has desired and intended from the dawn

of creation itself.

Luke’s Gospel identifies the priorities and inclusiveness of God’s love from early within the evangelist’s narrative of the life of Jesus.

We remember that it is to the shepherds that

the good news of the Messiah’s birth is first told

 – shepherds – themselves considered among the lowest of the lowly.

They were not considered nice, respectable people.

Rather, they were considered undesirable, dishonest, dirty,

despicable people only suited to life out in the fields with stupid sheep,

not acceptable within the social networks of the village or town.

Even before the shepherds in Luke’s narrative,

we meet Mary,

the peasant teenage girl who,

 Freskenzyklus im Dominikanerkloster San Marco in Florenz

chosen by God to deliver unto the world the messiah, sings a song of revolution:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden,” she sings out, words that we have come to know of as “The Magnificat” – (My soul maginifies).

In Luke, we will soon read of a prodigal son and his reckless father, of a Samaritan who is not only good, but who, by his actions is more righteous than the “proper” Jewish passersby who refuse to give aid where it is needed.

 The song Jesus sings along this road is consistent with the love of God that reaches out into a world so far beyond redemption

that it takes a radical reorientation of God’s own design to save it.

It takes the incarnation of the Son of God, Jesus Christ,

who gives heart and voice and power to the powerless,

          and calls his disciples to do the same.

Of course, you can’t raise the status of the marginalized without

affecting – even lessening –

the power structures of the powerful.

And so, radical reorientation demands courage, too.

It means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, as Jesus became vulnerable

understanding that following God’s will

does not guarantee a happy ending

          or our personal safety or our own comfort.

As we heard in last week’s gospel story of Jesus in the wilderness,

following God’s will sometimes mean testing

– not from God –

but from the forces that resist God’s will.

Our experience not only of the world but even of the church today

demonstrates the distance that we are from God’s divine imperative to love

and welcome all people.

The rhetoric in our media, in our speech, in the political arena,

in our schools, on social media, in the workplace,

and in our social networks often belies our claim

that we are doing better at this than in the past.

We live in a world obsessed with status and power – not unlike Jesus’ own world –

and consequently, our world is rife with political machinations

-         Again, not unlike the world along the road that Jesus walked.

Too often we make excuses for the resulting waywardness

of our hearts.

Radical reorientation in our gospel text today points to the reality

that there will be winners and losers in the clash between Herod’s will

and God’s will, or between God’s will and Jerusalem’s will, or God’s will

and the will of the “powers that be” within the world today.

The overarching story of Jesus reminds us, however,

that what the world deems “winning” is often not winning at all.

Because this radical reorientation also points to the presence of the kingdom of God

that is at work and loose in the world, which

does not measure success or victory in worldly terms.

Rather, it measures the value of each person as beloved, prized, and worthy

of God’s sheltering wings simply because God declares it to be so

through Jesus, Our Lord.

Researcher and storyteller Brené Brown studies human behavior and sense of being.

She looks at things like what makes the human being anxious, and stuck in place. Perhaps you’ve seen T.E.D. talks she’s done on the power of vulnerability.

She states that “You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.”

For Brown, “Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage.

Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable,” she says,

“But they’re never weakness.”

Jesus allowed himself, in fact he made himself vulnerable

in ways that make us uncomfortable;

 in ways that we really don’t understand,

in ways that the world sees as weakness.

We don’t understand why Jesus had to go to the cross.

We don’t understand this divine imperative that required such a sacrifice.

As disciples of Christ we are also called to make ourselves vulnerable.

We don’t like placing ourselves in positions of vulnerability.

          We don’t like opening ourselves up to ridicule, pain, or worse.

Perhaps that’s what makes it so hard for us

to follow Jesus on this road as faithful disciples.  

The Good News for us, this day,

is that Jesus understands our reluctance,

and through the love of God forgives us,

and sets us on our disciple feet over and over again,

willing us to learn through our own journeys what the honest vulnerability of faith can do.

God gave Jesus the courage and ability to get on the road, to live the kind of life he lived, in obedience to the will of God; to sing the song of hope for the ages as he goes on, “making music with his friends.” “Blessed,” Jesus declares as he calls those who need shelter under his wings, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Let us pray,

You call us to a radical reorientation of our lives. Turn us away from that within us which causes us to resist the deep, broad, compelling call to love others as you have first loved us. As we journey on this road with Jesus, shelter us from evil doers, from evil thoughts, and from the reluctance, born of fear, to make ourselves vulnerable for your sake. Grant, O Lord, that we may ever sing with you, that the music we make is pleasing to you, and that trusting in you, we will not stray from this road with you. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.