Last night we experienced a prolonged power outage in White Bear Lake.  I was returning from an evening at the Guthrie Theatre with some parishioners, and when we turned on to the main road through White Bear, we encountered unsettling darkness.  There were no traffic lights functioning, no street lights, no outside lights from buildings, and few lights emanating from the inside of buildings.  A storm had passed through our town, trees had fallen upon power lines, and we were without light.

When I arrived at my house, I fumbled with my keys, eventually finding the one that granted passage.  The darkness of my house matched the darkness of all the other homes in my neighborhood.  I lit a candle, amazed at just how much light a single flame generates.  My dog needed his walk, so I leashed him up and we headed out.

My neighborhood was filled with downed trees and limbs, and because it was so dark, we stumbled through many of them. After just a few minutes, however, I became not only accustomed to the darkness, but welcoming of it.  I could actually see the night sky.  I became more attuned to the sounds around me and to the feel of the wind upon my face.  My body seemed to come alive and attentive in the darkness.  My walk last night was special, even sacred, and I’m not sure that it would have happened were it not for the blessing of darkness.

Wendell Berry, a Kentucky farmer poet beloved and respected by so many, wrote a short poem about darkness.

To Know the Dark by Wendell Berry

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

The God we worship is a God of both light and darkness.  It seems, however, that we modern folk wish to relegate God only to the light.  When we do so, we are missing out on much that could instruct and help us on our journey of life.  As Berry suggests, “the dark, too, blooms and sings.”  The angels of God, harbingers of good news, travel in both light and darkness.

When I speak of darkness, of course, I am referring to much more than just physical darkness.  Always within the darknesses of disappointment, depression, and even despair is the presence of God, of God’s mercy, of God’s grace. Sometimes when we go into that darkness with a light, we become blinded by the very light that is intended to assist us.  Instead, perhaps we may come to trust that God is found in both light and darkness. Perhaps we may dare proceed into the darknesses of our lives without light. Perhaps when we do so, we may experience darkness not as the home of peril but as a welcoming blanket that covers and protects, friend rather than foe.  May we resist rushing to the light before experiencing the blessings of the dark.

~Father Art  

In the mid 1980’s, I worked at a parish in England.  It was Christ Church on the Isle of Dogs in east London.  On a typical Sunday morning, we would have thirty or so folks in church.  We did the regular Sunday things.  You know: worship, coffee hour, checking in with folks, maybe a meeting.  And then after all the Sunday morning church activities were over, some of us would retire to the vicarage where we would have a fancy Sunday lunch with the Vicar and his family.  Invariably, Father Rob would fall asleep at the lunch table, and we would entertain ourselves in speculation of just how loud his snores would become.

Now, the funny thing about the Parish of Christ Church is that, while we had only about thirty people in church on any given Sunday morning, our parish membership comprised approximately thirty thousand human souls!  How can that be?  Well, in England, a parish is understood to be a geographical area rather than a congregation.  The Parish of Christ Church, therefore, comprised everybody who lived within a certain distance of the church.  These persons included Anglicans who went to church, Anglicans who didn’t go to church, Roman Catholics, Swedish Lutherans, Muslims, agnostics, atheists, Buddhists, etc… Heck, even Methodists were considered to be parishioners!

If I were to ask somebody on the streets of the Isle of Dogs, somebody whom I had never met before and whom I had never seen at church on Sunday morning, to which parish they belonged… invariably, they would tell me, “Oh, Christ Church, of course.  That’s my parish.”  Further, if you were to ask the people who did go to Christ Church on Sunday mornings who they believed to be parishioners, they would say simply, “Why, everybody, of course!”

Isn’t that odd?  I mean, that is so very different from what we think here in the United States.  For us, a parishioner is somebody who goes to church, or somebody who pledges, or somebody who, at least, has some sort of family tie to the church.  But everybody?  No way.  That’s just not how it works here in America.  

I’m wondering, however, whether it is our conception of parish that may be the flawed one.

“While Jesus was still talking to the crowd, his mother and brothers stood outside, wanting to speak to him. Someone told him, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.” He replied to him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” Pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” (Matthew 12:46-50)

If Jesus had a parish, it would include a lot of very surprising people.  Jesus’ parish wouldn’t include just his family or the apostles or his disciples.  It wouldn’t include just those who had the right beliefs (or any beliefs). Jesus’ parish wouldn’t be only for those who showed up to the synagogue or church to hear him preach and teach.  It certainly wouldn’t be just for those who financially supported his ministry.  In essence, Jesus says that his parish comprises those who “do the will of my Father in heaven.”  And what is that will?  Love. Only love.

What would our parish look like if we considered everyone in our community who is about love to be our brother and sister?  What if we claimed everyone to be our fellow parishioner and designed our parish ministry accordingly?  What would our worship look like if we designed it not just for those of us who have heard time and again the Good News, but for those fellow parishioners who haven’t heard it?  What would our parish budget look like if we valued those who do not give to the church as much as those who do?  What if we considered and claimed everyone in our community as our brother or sister or mother or father?

And I’m wondering… if that’s what Jesus’ Parish looks like, how many of us would want to be members?  Count me in.  How about you?

~Father Art

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth’s superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —

In her poem Tell All the Truth, Emily Dickinson reminds us that while it is critical for truth to be spoken, it is also important that it be experienced on the oblique.  It is too marvelous, or sometimes too horrific, for us to face straight-on.  Dickinson tells us that if we were to gaze on truth directly, we would all be blinded.

I think that’s at least part of the reason why Jesus uses parables when telling his listeners about the Kingdom of God.  The truth about God’s Kingdom is so shockingly stunning, so marvelously magnificent that we frail humans simply would not be able to take it all in if we experienced it directly.  God’s love is so radically generous, inclusive, and limitless that we almost dare not to believe it.  Indeed, the very notion of God becoming incarnate in human form is testament to the idea that we humans need something that we can understand and handle in order to take it in.  The human Jesus is God’s Truth told slant. God comes in the form of Jesus so that we can experience God in the flesh and believe. 

But even the truth told slant is sometimes way too much for us.  Sometimes it’s just too hard to believe and to live our lives in concert with our belief.

There’s this striking story in the Bible in which a man whose son has seizures comes to Jesus seeking healing for his son.  The man explains his son’s predicament and informs Jesus that none of Jesus’ disciples have been able to help.  Jesus proclaims, “All things can be done for the one who believes” to which the father replies, “I believe, help my unbelief!”  Jesus then heals the boy.  While the man understands that Jesus wields divine power, he simply cannot get his mind around the immense truth that this divine power is meant for love and life for him personally, and for his family.  And so, he believes and yet, he doesn’t believe at the same time.  And it doesn’t even matter.  The son is healed not because of the faithfulness or belief of the man, but because of the power and love of God in Christ Jesus. 

This is not magic.  The story depicts the power of Jesus and demonstrates his desire that all humans experience abundant life.  Belief is simply a living into the truth that God’s plan is for love and life, abundantly and eternally. When confronted by this truth directly, it blows us away.  When told this truth on slant, even then, we can scarce take it in.  And it doesn’t even matter.  God’s truth is God’s truth.  God’s love is God’s love.  Tell it straight.  Tell it slant.  Either way, as Dickinson says, the Truth dazzles.

~Father Art

This past Monday, for the first time ever, the people of Minnesota officially and legally recognized Juneteenth as a state holiday.  As you know, the day commemorates the emancipation of enslaved African American people.  Deriving its name from combining June and nineteenth, it is celebrated on the anniversary of the order by Major General Gordon Granger proclaiming freedom for enslaved people in Texas on June 19, 1865 (two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation was issued).

As Christians, we are committed to truth-telling, compassion, justice, and love.  We come alongside our African American brothers and sisters to celebrate Juneteenth.  But more than that, we recommit ourselves to be agents for change, recognizing that God’s dream for truth, compassion, justice and love has not yet come in equal measure to all in this country or in this community. Even God’s Church has much for which to repent with regard to our apathy and sometimes complicit actions with regard to racial injustice.  As Jesus ministered to all those whom society pushed to the margins, so do we stand with the same.  St. Paul asserts that “for freedom Christ has set us free.” And so, we Christians, recognizing that none are free unless and until all are free, recommit ourselves to work hard for justice and equality.

Quoting from Amanda Gorman’s inaugural poem The Hill We Climb:

But one thing is certain.

If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.

And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

May it be so.

~Father Art

There is an interesting story about Jesus in the Bible that has inspired a number of differing interpretations.  It comes from the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew.  Jesus is traveling in the non-Jewish territory of Tyre and Sidon and unexpectedly crosses paths with a Canaanite/Gentile woman.  The woman asks Jesus to intervene on behalf of her daughter who is being tormented by a demon.  At first, Jesus, surprisingly, simply ignores the woman.  He then proclaims that his work is meant only for his fellow Jewish people.  Indeed, although it is uncomfortable for we Christians to acknowledge, Jesus even issues the following offensive statement: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  The woman persists, however, and says, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  

It is then that Jesus seems to come to himself.  He has an epiphany of sorts.  His mind and heart become open to the possibility that even his conception of the wonder and goodness and grandeur of the Kingdom of God was too small.  In a flash of grace, insight, humility and self-reflection, Jesus realized that God’s Kingdom was way more expansive and inclusive than he had realized.  He comes to understand that God’s Kingdom, and by correlation, his ministry, includes not only Jewish folk, but Gentiles as well.  He responds to the woman with “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”  And her daughter was healed instantly.  

Isn’t this remarkable?  Isn’t it amazing that even Jesus, whom we assume understood all things and behaved appropriately and faithfully at all times, was capable of growing and coming into an even greater knowledge and love of the ways and will of God?  And if Jesus’ heart and mind could be changed, shouldn’t we, too, allow our hearts and minds to be molded and altered by the love of God?

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer (LGBTQ) Pride Month is currently celebrated each year in the month of June to honor the 1969 Stonewall Uprising in Manhattan. The Episcopal Church has, as have many other faith communities around the world, engaged in extensive prayer, reflection, study, and dialogue about issues of sexuality.  As a result, the Episcopal Church has very publicly and boldly proclaimed its support of LGBTQI+ people.  In 1976, the General Convention adopted resolutions stating that “homosexual persons are children of God who have a full and equal claim with all other persons upon the love, acceptance, and pastoral concern and care of the Church”, and that they “are entitled to equal protection of the laws with all other citizens.”  Over the years, the General Convention and Executive Council have reaffirmed these resolutions, as well as calling the church to greater understanding, awareness, and inclusion of LGBTQ persons in the full life of the church.

This has ruffled many feathers.  There have been a number of people, congregations, and even dioceses that have taken issue with the Church’s stance, and there has been much pressure for the Church to reverse its position.  And yet, as the Episcopal Church has been guided by God’s Spirit, we have remained steadfast in our proclamation that God’s Kingdom not only includes and accepts, but affirms and celebrates such people and their various ministries among us. There is always room for disagreement in the Episcopal Church, however, as together we pray and grow and serve.  Indeed, just as the Canaanite woman disagreed with Jesus and so helped him gain critical additional insight regarding the Kingdom of God, so we Episcopalians believe that through disagreement and prayerful dialogue, always pleading for the wisdom and leading of the Holy Spirit, we discover the faithful way forward.

Support of LGBTQI+ folks represents an evolution in the Episcopal Church’s theology.  Like Jesus, whose heart and mind were broken open by the grace of God and the persistence of the Canaanite woman, the Episcopal Church has moved to a different place than that of the Church a hundred years ago.  Personally, I do not believe that the shift has come primarily as the result of political pressure or strenuous effort to remain culturally relevant.  Rather, I believe that the Church has done its level best to listen for the voice of God and move in accordance with God’s Spirit.  I hope that, not only during the month of June but throughout this year and every year, we may continue to affirm and celebrate the lives of LGBTQI+ people.  And if you find yourself in a theological place at odds with that of your Church, may you continue both to listen to others and to speak your own truth as together we seek God’s will and walk the Way of Christ Jesus.

Note: On June 25th, Deacon Margaret Thor and several other St. John’s parishioners will join the people of St. Mark’s Cathedral and other Episcopalians to march in support of LGBTQI+ people.  If you would like to join them, please contact Margaret at <deacon01@stjohnwilderness.org> or simply meet up in the parking lot at 9am to drive down to Minneapolis.

~Father Art

Summer has come to White Bear Lake!  Both air and water temperatures have become warm, and I have resumed my practice of paddle boarding almost every day in the early morning hours.  It took a couple of weeks, but now I find that I am finding the flow.  You see, paddling, much like swimming or running or many other sports, has a certain flow to it.  There is much more to an efficient paddle stroke than simply sticking one’s paddle in the water and pulling it with one’s arms.  Rather, there is a proper way to catch the water with one’s paddle.  A proper way to push with one arm while pulling with the other, simultaneously retaining a loose grip of one’s hands on the paddle.  There is the rotation and bending of one’s torso, the relaxed flexing of the knees, the clean release of the paddle from the water, and finally the springing of one’s body back into the starting position once again.  An efficient paddle stroke may be deconstructed to these individual parts, and each part may be practiced separately.  The fun really happens, however, when all the parts come together as a whole.  It feels almost effortless, and the board just seems to fly over the water.  That’s what I mean by finding the flow.

This same phenomenon happens for athletes in many other sports.  It happens for musicians and artists and dancers.  And it happens in our spiritual lives as well.

This past Sunday we celebrated the Feast of the Holy Trinity.  The Christian doctrine of the Trinity posits that God has unity of being and trinity of persons.  In other words, we believe that while God is one, God may be experienced as three. The three persons of the Trinity seem to dance with one another and, in that beautiful relationship of mutual and abundant love, there is divine flow.  There is love and life flowing between the Persons of the Trinity and love and life emanating from the Persons of the Trinity.  

While it is so excruciatingly difficult to describe the life of the Trinity, it is, nonetheless, absolutely real and accessible to each of us. You see, God invites each and all of us into the divine dance of love and life. God teaches us the steps and continues to mentor us as we catch on to what the dance is all about.

As Christians, we try to be in rhythm with the beat that God is playing.  We try to listen carefully and watch for the movement of the Spirit.  Each day we try to learn a new step or to improve upon a step already learned. And some days, it actually all comes together so well that we sense the breath of God in our lungs and feel the presence of God coursing through our veins and arteries.  It doesn’t happen every day, but on those special occasions when all the parts come together, we know that God is with us and that everything is good, very good.  That’s what it means to find the flow.

No, it doesn’t happen every day.  Most days we are just practicing and attempting to perfect the different parts of an efficient paddle stroke, the various steps in a beautiful dance routine, the many notes of a complex musical score.  Many days it feels as if we will never get it.  Ah, but some days….  some days, it all comes together.  And life and love and abundance and joy and grace and peace and oneness and harmony are the result.  On those days we can’t explain it, but we know that God has grasped both of our hands, and we have joined in the divine dance.  On those days, we know we have found the flow.

~Father Art

The other day, I was at my local Aldi store.  If you aren’t familiar with Aldi, it is a grocery store with a different business model than your run-of-the-mill American grocery store.  Typically, Aldi stores are relatively small with fewer options, lots of organic items, and cheap prices.  For all of these reasons, I like Aldi alot.

Because I do most of my grocery shopping there, I know the store pretty well.  For example, I know precisely where to go if and when I run out of Italian seasoning. I certainly, however, do not know the store as well as the Aldi employees. They are the masters of the Aldi universe. Want to know where to find fire-roasted red peppers?  The Aldi employee will know precisely where to go.  Sometimes, just for kicks, I ask the Aldi employees for the location of some obscure item just to watch them squirm for half a moment before they smile and tell me exactly where to find it.  The pride exhibited by Aldi employees in knowing their store so fully is visibly evident.

Living well often entails deeply knowing some place or some person or some animal or some activity. An Aldi employee will know their store very well, and it seems to bring them great satisfaction in sharing their knowledge.  Likewise, I know many people who choose to spend time in places that they know extremely well.  I have a friend who lives on the side of a mountain in Colorado, and she spends part of each day walking to the top of the mountain and back down again.  She has come to know that mountain so well, and she speaks in terms of having a love affair with the mountain.  I have another friend who, each spring and summer weekend of his life, spends hours paddling the same stretch of river and has an undeniable relationship with that river. I have yet another friend who loves to garden. She has that same sense of relationship with the flowers and vegetables that she tends, and she feels a deep respect and responsibility for the dirt that has been entrusted to her. I have another friend who is a scholar of the Bible.  She spends at least two hours each day reading and studying Scripture, asking for God’s guidance as she seeks God’s truth.  She has come to know, deeply know, the Bible, and it brings her a profound sense of joy.

Perhaps love may be defined as deep knowledge.  One loves another person or animal or place or activity by spending time with that person or animal or place or engaged in that activity.  While being well traveled or well read or knowing lots of people may be commendable, I think that deep knowledge happens only when extensive and attentive time is expended getting to know a place or person or animal or event.  Deep knowledge or love only happen when one is willing to sacrifice a substantial portion of one’s life to extend the relationship.

Now, knowing your local Aldi store may not be worthy of a substantial portion of your life, but there are certainly people, animals, places and activities that are. Find them and commit yourself to come to know them deeply. And by the way, as we invest our lives in deeply knowing, we may just discover that we have come also into a much deeper knowledge and love of the living God who has created all and blesses all loving relationships.

~Father Art  

One day last week, I took a break from my work to take a long walk with my dog along the shore of White Bear Lake.  As you know, we were blessed with an extended winter this year, and it was the first day for a little while when the sun had come out here in our neck of the woods.  I took my time, allowing my dog to sniff every bush and tree and inviting the sun’s rays to seep into the pores of my body.  It felt decadent, and I realized how, for the past several weeks, I had allowed the cloudy and cold weather to plunge me into somewhat of a funk.  I thought about the joy I felt as I walked in the sunshine.

Joy is an emotion comprised of feelings of happiness, contentment, and harmony. It is that sense of being one with God, oneself and the world.  It differs from general happiness in that it is not caused by a particular event and certainly not by the acquisition of more stuff.  Rather, it comes from within.  Joy is the emotion that makes life worth living because it resonates with our core identity. 

But joy also can be so elusive.  Most of us feel it fleetingly as I did yesterday as I walked beside the lake.  But as we know here in Minnesota, not all days are sunny and not all days go just the way we wish.  So what’s the trick to experiencing joy consistently, day after day?  How may we live joyful lives without our joy being so dependent upon the whims of the weather or any other temporary condition of our lives?

The Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw wrote: “This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”

There’s so much truth in that statement.  So Irish, but also so true!  Joy is consistently found when we devote ourselves to something good and beautiful that is beyond ourselves.  Joy is found, consistently found, when we wear ourselves out for the good of others and for the sake of this beautiful but broken world.  This, by the way, is also a fairly good description of living in the Way of Christ Jesus.  It is what he taught; what he lived.  It is a life of sacrificial love to which we disciples of Jesus are called.

We come to church week after week for a variety of reasons. At least part of my commitment to the St. John’s fellowship of faithful friends is tied to the joy I feel when serving others, and it is at church that I am reminded of who I am and the life to which God has called me.  Of course, Jesus commands us “to love others as we love ourselves”, but the best kept secret of the Christian faith is that when we actually live those words, we can’t help but allow God’s joy to fill the pores of our bodies and minds and souls.  

~Father Art 

This past Monday, I gave blood.  This was a big deal for me as I haven’t been able to give blood since I was twenty-one years old.  It’s not that I haven’t wanted to donate all these years.  Until this past year, the rules of the American Red Cross stipulated that if one traveled or lived in England, Ireland or France for three months or more between the years of 1980 and 2001, one could not donate blood.  (There was a problem with mad cow disease in those countries during those years, and the United States Food and Drug Administration, in an abundance of caution, wanted to make sure that the disease didn’t get a foothold in this country due to a compromised blood bank.) I had lived in England for a year in 1984-1985, and therefore, for the last forty years, I have been ineligible to give blood.  The Red Cross, however, removed that restriction last year. The Blood Drive was at St. John’s. There was an available time slot in the afternoon. I signed up to donate. Hooray!  

However… I hate needles. Always have. They freak me out. 

After being checked in by Dick Halbert and Andrew McClaren, parishioners who had volunteered to help with the blood drive, a very nice and competent Red Cross worker named Macreeda registered me. She then led me to the high cot that would serve as the site of my blood sacrifice and hooked me up to the bloodletting apparatus. I looked away.

After a few minutes, Macreeda came back. I was sitting up and doing just fine as my blood flowed into a clear plasticized PVC bag.  It was time for Macreeda to take a much deserved break.  She made sure I was okay, and then said these words, “I need to take a break now, but my colleague will take care of you and see you through to the end.  His name is [wait for it] Jesús.”

Jesús came to my side a couple minutes later and asked how I was doing. I told him that I was fine even though I was beginning to feel not-so-fine. We made chit-chat for another minute or so, and then Jesús, after announcing that I had filled my bag, pulled the needle out. It was then that my head began to swim, and I felt as I had a couple of years ago when I had fainted at a picnic table on a parish camping trip. I made the quick decision to actually be honest with Jesús and tell him the truth.  He quickly steadied my body, lowered my head, raised my knees, put his hand on my shoulder, and assured me that he wouldn’t leave my side.  After about five minutes and after quickly downing the small bottle of apple juice that Jesús gave me, I felt much better, and Jesús went to another cot to help another donor. Macreeda was right: Jesús saw me through to the end, even directing me to the recovery area where I partook of the free Girl Scout cookies. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  Sure, it was just a coincidence that this priest-who-hates-needles-and-really-needed-help-but-usually-doesn’t-like-to-ask-for-help was assisted by a Red Cross worker by the name of Jesús.  But still, it got me thinking.

I wonder what it would feel like to be utterly honest with Jesus about what we are going through.  I wonder what our lives might be like if we really placed them in the loving hands of the Lord of Love and Life. I wonder what it would look like to place ourselves in an utterly vulnerable, defenseless posture before Jesus. And I wonder what each of our days would be like if, moment by moment, we laid them before the One who promises to see us through to the end. 

For a few minutes on Monday, I felt like I did.  I felt that I had encountered Jesus in the loving care of a Red Cross worker by the name of Jesús. Jesús saw me through to the end.  And so will Jesus.

~Father Art  

Easter is the season that we celebrate new life.  Well, I suppose that we celebrate new life during the other church seasons as well, but there’s something special about Easter.  It is in Easter that we intentionally acknowledge that God is about life and that absolutely nothing, not even death itself, can foil God’s plan.

I have found this to be a really important thing to remember because my life, and your life as well, is often marked by many little deaths.  Death of dreams, death of relationships, death of loved ones.  The list goes on.  In the midst of all of that death, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that God is about life.  And between you and me, one of the reasons I come to church every Sunday is to be reminded that God is about life, not death. 

I also come to church to be reminded that it’s not just about me.  It is just way too easy to get stuck in my own little world and lose sight of the fact that there are other human beings and, indeed, a whole world out there that is on the life journey as well.  Further, it’s just too easy to forget that God’s plan for life is intended for all of God’s creation, not just me, my family, my community, my race, my nation, my species.  God’s dream and plan for life is for all.  And God invites all of us into executing that plan.    

One of the best ways for us to do our part in executing God’s plan of abundant life is to learn and live generosity.  Abundance for all can only happen when we learn to share.  The early church was marked by people who were radically committed to each other and to God’s plan.  The author of Acts states that “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. And God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all that there were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned land or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone who had need.” 

Each day we are given many opportunities to live generously.  And here’s the secret… the key to living an abundant and joyful life is to share generously with others.  So, for goodness sake, come to church to be reminded of God’s plan of abundant life for you and for all.  And for God’s sake, and your own sake too, make the choice today to live generously.

~Father Art