Rev. Knox's Post for July 9, 2020

Dear Friends,

Paul can be difficult to understand. Aside from the complex theology that his letters reveal, he was a very complicated person. He was a trained rabbinic scholar and a Roman citizen, well versed in both the laws of the Torah and the laws of the Roman Empire, a most unusual combination. He set out on the road to Damascus not simply as an unbeliever in Jesus; he was following orders to go there to persecute and possibly execute Christians. But then, after his mysterious conversion experience on the road to Damascus, he did not simply drop his prior life to follow the Christian path. He found profound ways to incorporate the laws of his faith and the laws of Rome into his new experience of relationship with Jesus Christ.

The sophistication of his vision and understanding can make his insights challenging for us to grasp. It helps to look at his writings from the perspective of his time and place. By doing so, we are able to perceive how vitally new Paul’s words were when they were written, and how new his message remains today, 2,000 years later.

Before we delve into what God is telling us through Paul’s writings in Romans 8:1-11, let us take a moment to pray together this prayer for illumination.

God, by your Spirit, open our minds to your word this day, that we might learn to walk according to your ways, for the sake of Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” (8:1) Paul assures us. Phew! So much for Paul’s complexity! After all my musings about how difficult it is to understand Paul, we’re home free! It seems like there’s no more to be said: that there is no condemnation for us says it all, right? I guess my work here is done, and yours as well????

But wait, if everything can be so neatly tied up and delivered to us in that first verse, why does Paul continue writing? Clearly, the evangelist in Paul wants to make sure we fully understand just what it is that God has done and is doing for us. And the preacher in me wants to make sure of that as well. Nothing worthwhile is ever quite as easy to understand as the first part of this verse might lead us to believe.

There’s more to that first verse, and that’s where the real work for our understanding lies. What do those last three words, “in Christ Jesus” mean? The emphasis for this verse is not meant to be on the otherwise very attractive notion of there being no condemnation; rather, it’s on being “in Christ Jesus.” Again, what does that mean?

And what about the notion of time – of “now” in that first, deceptively simple, verse? The “now” in this verse isn’t the type of “now” an irate boss might be demanding with an imperious, “I want that report NOW!” Paul’s “now” is opened-ended. It began a quarter of a century before he penned this theological opus during the reign of Nero. It started in Galilee with the itinerant ministry of Jesus of Nazareth and blossomed into the fullness of Christ’s witness with his death and resurrection in Jerusalem. This “now” continues to this day, and beyond. In its way, this “now” gives us a hint of the timelessness of eternity.

And just as Paul’s world view isn’t constrained by time or place, it’s also not limited by politics or society. When he writes of “the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus [that] has set you free from the law of sin and death,” (8:2) he is not referring to what we think of as laws or civil ordinances, whether in ancient Rome or in Scottsville. In our rule-oriented society, we have a different understanding of law from the one Paul is promoting here.

For Paul, law is more like the combined forces of natural law and, more to Paul’s point, divine law. This law is a way of life; it is what governs life itself. It’s not the specifics of what’s right or wrong in a legal sense. This is much greater: Paul is sharing the big divine picture that Jesus, simultaneously fully human and fully divine, represented in his earthly ministry. Christ Jesus brings us the law of the Spirit, and it is something entirely new. It is not equal to or balanced by the laws of sin and death. This is not a bipolar struggle between two equal and competing codes of life (or, as Paul would say, between a code of life and a code of death). The law of the Spirit encompasses and then supersedes the laws of sin and death.

Look back over this passage again. Wherever Paul uses the word “law,” try replacing it in your mind with the word “way.” Thinking about the way, the path, that God gives us for our journey better reflects Paul’s theological intent than a dry, legalistic, or historical understanding of the notion of law. It opens us to receive the Spirit and to allow the Spirit to dwell within us.

The Spirit of God dwells in you,” (8:9) Paul tells us, and “Christ is in you.” (8:10) This is an extraordinarily succinct understanding of the basic sanctity and potential of all humankind. It’s completely uplifting. Perhaps he’s recalling the blinding joy of his sacred experience on the road to Damascus. Paul is affirming and celebrating the indwelling of God in us. It is the divine indwelling that makes it possible for us to find God’s path, led by the Spirit within us, as we journey through our lives.

Paul’s insight is remarkably layered here. Not only is he assuring us of God’s presence through the Spirit in our lives, but he is laying down a foundation for the Christian theological notion of the triune God. We know this as the Trinity. Almost three hundred years before it was definitively accepted by the Council of Nicea, Paul is suggesting it here with an elegant, almost visceral understanding.

The indwelling of God is truly an attractive, compelling concept, but it’s still very hard to fully grasp. How to fathom the notion that “Christ is in you?” (8:10) Karen Chakoian, a friend from my graduate school days, approaches this notion with the following analogy, which I hope you’ll appreciate as much as I do.

“Imagine you wish to paint, not in a beginner’s sort of way, but beautifully, like Michelangelo. No matter how many lessons you take, how much you practice, how hard you try, you simply cannot do it. Even if you are very gifted, you will create only a facsimile of his masterful art. The only possible way to paint like Michelangelo is to be Michelangelo. Of course you cannot do that either – unless the spirit of Michelangelo is to live within you. Then, and only then, could you create such beauty.”

In his theological commentary, Epistle to the Romans, Karl Barth calls this indwelling the “impossible possibility.” Impossible it certainly is for us alone, but in Christ, all things are possible. And that is part of the foundation of our faith, inspiring us to seek, question, and learn, and pushing us into action that reflects the love and righteousness of Jesus Christ within us all.

It is the divine gift of the indwelling of God’s Spirit that enables us to live life in the Spirit of God. And so we’ve come full circle: that, I believe, is what Paul means in the first verse when he talks about being “in Christ Jesus.” The Spirit frees us from the flesh, that which keeps us tethered to the earth and in which resides the way of sin. “To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” (8:6) This isn’t something we can do because we choose to: it’s something God does in us. It’s one of the many mysteries and paradoxes of our faith, and it’s grounded in the great mystery of faith itself.

Thanks be to God who sets us free to act in faith by giving us the amazing gifts of Christ Jesus and power of the Spirit dwelling in us.

Let us pray together:

O God, who answers prayer and walks with us in times of both celebration and grief, you have a purpose more glorious than we can imagine. Hear our prayers for healing, justice, and restoration, and accept our thanks for the comfort and healing you flourish upon us.

You have created one human family to live in peace. Give us the wisdom to order our world that all may find shelter, sustenance, and love.

You have given us the gift of the indwelling Christ, that your church may be faithful, loving, and wise. Give us strength to follow Christ so that all may be reconciled by Christ’s grace and love.

Your faithfulness, O Creating God, is revealed in the rhythmic nature of creation, and your sanctuary is known in the earth itself. Rid us of apathy, indifference, and greed that injure its health, for we know in our hearts that you have bound your creation together for the blessing of all.

We ask all this in the name of the divine Spirit that dwells within us at the very essence of our being and which is your holy gift to us all. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Sunday, July 5, 2020

Dear Friends,

Our gospel reading for this Sunday continues our readings from Matthew with an inspiring, yet often confusing, selection of sayings from Jesus. Each short verse focuses our attention and challenges us to deeper understanding of our faith and our call.

These verses remind me a bit of the little books of sayings by famous people that so often find their way into Christmas stockings. Will Rogers most immediately comes to mind; his wit and turns of phrase, readily accessible thanks to those handy little books, still serve to pep up many a business speech and wedding toast even though they were uttered nearly a century ago. Having a short, concise list of sayings is hardly a new phenomenon, however. Matthew, Luke, and others similarly compiled and preserved the words of Jesus. But Jesus’s sayings are far more universal and profound than those of Will Rogers, and they clearly have a great deal more staying power.

Before reading Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30, please pause for a moment of prayer for illumination.

God of heaven and earth, by whose gracious will we have been privileged to know you through Jesus Christ, reveal yourself once more through ancient word and present action. Lift the heavy burdens we cannot carry alone and the sin that clings so closely, that we may be freed to worship and serve you. As we welcome the yoke of Christ, we seek the rest that comes with his gentleness and humility; they empower and strengthen us for the tasks you give us. May we experience the soulful rest that Christ offers us in our weariness, and may we share it with all whom we encounter. Amen.

After reading and pondering the first four verses (11:16-19) of today’s reading, the popular maxim “You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t” came to my mind. I’m not sure why this popped into my head this week; I’ve read these passages countless times, but never before have I thought of that pithy, perplexing little phrase. I wondered about its origins and checked in with Dr. Google, who was happy to inform me that the phrase is attributed to an early American evangelist, Lorenzo Dow (1777-1834), in his book, Reflections on the Love of God, published in 1836, two years after his death. Dow wasn’t directly addressing these particular scriptures when he penned that statement; rather, he was sharing his Calvinistic understanding of the absolute divine sovereignty of God. We humans are fallible creatures, he believed, and because of our intrinsic finiteness, we know that we can’t always choose the desirable action or the right path. Thus for Dow, we’re essentially helpless, damned no matter what.

I don’t know why I never thought of it before, because Dow’s phrase seems particularly apt for the situation that Jesus is addressing in these four verses. Jesus promotes a celebration with music and dancing and is called a glutton and a drunkard. John, the complete opposite in this passage, neither eats nor drinks and is then vilified as possessed by a demon. Clearly, you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. It certainly sounds like those hearing about John the Baptist and Jesus are doomed to equivocate, to be perpetually paralyzed by indecision into inaction. There’s no way to take a stand.

And by extension, the same is true for us; how often do we agree with someone, only to turn completely around on hearing a different perspective? How often do we teeter on the edge of a precipice of indecision, unsure of what to do in a given situation? We are damned if we do and damned if we don’t in so many situations.

But even as he points out our paralyzing hesitancy and vacillation, Jesus gives us a new way to look at our options, a new way to be guided by faith in such predicaments. At the end of verse 19, when he says, “Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds,” Jesus is telling us that he wants us to act in the best possible way in order to move towards justice and love. He assures us that in the divine plan and with faithful wisdom, our imperfect actions are far better than no action at all. Jesus knows that our deeds confirm our faith more than our beliefs do. “Wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.” (11:18) Wisdom teaches us how to act.

A quick aside here, if I may, about the Biblical notion of wisdom, including why Jesus refers to wisdom in the feminine. His choice of words reflects the wonderful wisdom poems of Proverbs, especially the first nine chapters, with which Jesus would have been very familiar. Matthew would have known wisdom as Sophia, from the Septuagint. After Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Near East and Egypt, Greek became the dominant language. The Septuagint was the Greek version of the Hebrew Bible, translated in the third and second centuries BCE for the Greek-speaking Jews of Egypt.

Though today we are familiar with Sophia as a name, that is not what Sophia was in the time of Jesus or Matthew. Sophia is not a person, later attempts to personify it notwithstanding. Sophia is an allegory for divine wisdom. We might try to understand Sophia, or wisdom, as some early Jewish scholars did – as something similar to a righteous woman, nurturing her children and teaching them about virtue and God. Additionally, in Hebrew, nouns are rarely gender-neutral, and the word “wisdom” in both Greek and Hebrew is feminine, much like “la chaise,” which means “chair” in French, is feminine. Aside from the grammatical construct, the notion of wisdom as a feminine attribute is part of the ancient Near East world view. For me, all this serves as a distinct contrast to the vilification of women elsewhere in the Bible and in later Christian theologies.

Now that we’ve solved that mystery (I hope!), let’s return to today’s reading. In the first verse, Jesus asks, “But to what will I compare this generation?” Generations were clearly important to Matthew, who reflected the Biblical emphasis on ongoing witness from one generation to the next. He begins his gospel by sharing the generations of Jesus’s genealogy, in part to reinforce Jesus’s firm place in the prophesies of the Old Testament, and in part to demonstrate God’s enduring presence in generations of lives of the Hebrew people. God’s work has demonstrably taken more than a single generation to accomplish. And for Matthew, many generations to come will also be part of God’s work.

We, too, are part of the long line of these generations. As Reinhold Niebuhr wrote, “Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we must be saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.” (The Irony of American History, 1952)

Nibs Stroupe, recently retired and much-admired pastor of Oakhurst Presbyterian Church in Decatur, Georgia, builds further on Niebuhr’s elegant words when he writes, “God wants us to hear at our deepest levels that we are loved. What God wants from us, first and foremost, is our passion rather than our perfection.”

We are not to be stymied by the inaction that can so easily grow from what is an ultimately unachievable quest for perfection. We are comforted by knowing that God knows we can’t achieve perfection. That said, we can certainly respond to God’s call with passion – passion for love, justice, and mercy. With the virtues of love, justice, and mercy serving as the guiding principles of our response to God’s love, we are able to faithfully be about the work that God would have us do.

You may be confounded by Jesus’s words in verse 25 of our reading, when he thanks God “because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.” Here, the wise do not reflect the wisdom of Sophia, who is “vindicated by her deeds.” (11:19) In the eyes of God, we are unschooled, uneducated, naïve, and trusting in faith. We are beloved infants, open to the nurturing care and forgiveness of God as we seek to be more fully open to God’s call, which is anchored in Jesus’s sacrificial love. Infants do not seek perfection; they simply trust the one who holds them. Their faith is innate, natural, and instinctive. Would that we all had such natural faith and trust!

Our call, however, is far from easy or natural. Jesus calls us to hard, ongoing, difficult work, work that will make us bone-tired. And yet, it is not impossible; in Jesus we find ultimate rest. “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (11:28-30) Faith, learned through trust in the words and sacrifice of Jesus, lightens the load of the call that we respond to.

The stirring words of these three verses are unique to Matthew’s gospel and are often shared at funeral services to comfort mourners. They are certainly words of great consolation for such times, but there’s nothing in Scripture that indicates that’s their sole purpose, or even that it’s the primary intent of Jesus. These are words that we are invited to hear – to be open to – at all the painful, heavy times in our lives.

And these are especially hard times for all of us. Now, in this time and place, we are all tired and in need of rest. Our bodies, our minds, our spirits, our souls are exhausted; our burdens are far from light. As we struggle in the midst of pandemic, divisiveness, and fear to live and act as faithful Christians, we crave the essential rest that ultimately comes from our loving, nurturing God.

This is not to say that we should deny the stress, anxiety, and pain that we suffer; they are real. But there is solace in faith and in the knowledge that we will, indeed, find the right actions and that we’ll find rest for our souls in the loving embrace of Jesus. I pray that in these challenging and demanding times, we will find the will to seek and accept God’s rest.

Joys and Concerns:

For our nation, as we celebrate 244 years since declaring our independence.

For the ongoing, far from complete, task of sharing that independence with justice and equality for all.

For all who have offered their lives and service to protect our freedoms, and for those who call us to continue the task of making our nation “a more perfect union.”

For all who mourn the passing of loved ones.

For mine and Nan’s successful trip to New York and positive news from our doctors. Our thanks as well for your prayers. They surrounded us on our journey and on our hospital visits, and they helped to lighten the burdens of this trip. We are deeply grateful.

On this Independence Day Sunday, let us pray together:

Almighty God, ruler of all nations, we pray for our nation and its people, and for our leaders. May we be mindful of your favor and obedient to your will. Forgive our shortcomings as a nation, and purify our hearts to know the truth that alone can make us free. Save us from injustice and oppression, from pride and arrogance, and from greed and self-centeredness. Increase our concern for people beyond our boundaries and for the poor and afflicted in our own land, that we may be a blessing and an example to all nations. Bring us at last to that day when the whole world shall know peace and blessedness, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Sunday, June 28, 2020

Dear Friends,

From its earliest days, Christianity has been more a community than a doctrine. Without question, knowing our doctrine of faith, our set of beliefs, is essential to being a faithful Christian. But even more important is that we live in community, in a welcoming manner that allows people to feel at ease in the company of believers.

Doing welcome is more vital than being informed of Christian traditions. Our faith is an active, action-oriented commitment lived out in a supportive, open, accepting, and loving community of like-minded believers and seekers. This is the essence of the welcoming community.

In the time since I first started preaching here, I have been delighted to find how truly welcoming the community of faith that we know to be the Scottsville Presbyterian Church is, and how notably comfortable you are with being so hospitable. Hospitality is a Christian virtue, and Nan and I can attest to the depth of your faithful practice of this long-revered tradition of our faith. We feel so very welcomed in your presence, and we are thankful for your hospitality to us and to our friends who have occasionally come to visit. I’ve found that churches are rarely aware of how they present themselves, and I hope you know that the sincerity of your warm welcome is, for us at least, a hallmark of SPC. I pray that you also feel as welcomed in large and small ways when we gather together.

Today’s short but powerful gospel lesson, Matthew 10:40-42, centers on the notion of welcome. May the following prayer for illumination open your heart to the gospel’s lesson:

God of abundant mercy, we turn to you for water for all your thirsting children. We come seeking your hospitality, that we may be equipped to welcome others. We reach for those high standards of commitment which you call forth, that our loyalties may not be misplaced. Keep us from easy assurances that might lure us from the challenges of faithful living. Open our minds to understanding, so that we may always reflect your welcome as we open our hearts to welcome all. Amen.

Two weeks ago, we read the end of chapter 9 and the first few verses of chapter 10 of the Gospel of Matthew about Jesus sending his disciples out into ministry. Most of the remainder of chapter 10 is travel instructions for the disciples, what we’ve come to call the Missionary Discourse, and reading it demonstrates how difficult life was for the earliest followers of Jesus. Jesus warns them to expect ridicule, rejection, and hostility rather than hospitality. “See,” he says, “I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” (10:16) What an ominous, frightening charge that is!

Then, in the final three verses of the chapter (our reading for today), Jesus does an about-face, and the emphasis shifts significantly. He wants to prepare the disciples for the possibility that there might be a few who would welcome them. In these verses, Jesus is encouraging each of his disciples to accept such a welcome and be the good stranger.

The stranger is a multi-layered concept in the Bible. Most of us are familiar with the notion of welcoming the stranger as a way of living out our faith. The Bible is full of this thought throughout both testaments. I’ll provide just a few of many examples. “You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 10:19) “When an alien resides with you, in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:33-34) Doesn’t that remind you of the Golden Rule? Indeed, a case could be made that the command to love one’s neighbor is, in fact, a command to love the stranger – once again, a deep, harrowing challenge. It’s much easier to imagine loving one’s neighbor than a stranger, after all.

The notion of welcoming the stranger is also found often in the New Testament. In Romans 12:13, for example, Paul counsels the new Christian community to “contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” And the unknown writer of the letter to the Hebrews offered similar wisdom, based, as always, on the teachings of Jesus. “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13:1-2)

Jesus himself issues the challenge in even stronger terms. He casts himself as the stranger, so that welcoming the stranger is welcoming Jesus. “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” (Matthew 25:35-36)

Welcoming the stranger, however, is but half of the task. In our reading at the end of Matthew’s Missionary Discourse, we learn of the essential other half of the welcoming equation. At times, we, like the first disciples, must be the good stranger rather than the gracious host or hostess.

Jesus tells us that “whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” (10:40) Here, he takes a significant step: he affirms that though we may be among strangers, and though others may feel like strangers to us, he walks with us; he is a part of us. And who among us doesn’t need that security, strength, and power as we face the unknown?

You might recall conversations you may have had with your children or grandchildren as they were preparing for their first sleep-over with friends, or maybe a weekend at a grandparent’s house or a favorite aunt’s. You probably reviewed all the conversations that you’d ever had with them about manners: be polite; don’t eat with your mouth open; say please and thank you; help clear the table, don’t leave a mess. In short, remember that you’re a guest!

For Christians, however, being a good stranger is more than social etiquette; it is a practice of our faith. As followers of Jesus, we live in such a way as to make our faith evident. If community is a strong element of our Christian witness, then there will inevitably be times when we find ourselves as the stranger. Jesus prepared the disciples, and us, for this crucial ministry in today’s reading.

Imagine for a moment how this works out in our lives. Our Christian calling is to reach out and touch some one’s life. Remember, doing welcome is more vital than being informed about all the minutia of Christian history, teachings, and theology. If all works well, those to whom we reach out will receive us as ambassadors for Jesus, and in turn, they will welcome us and Jesus into their lives. Though we clearly represent ourselves, we are also emissaries of Jesus, and as his messengers, we are also messengers of God’s divine self.

When the early disciples ventured out on their mission, there were no more than a few thousand followers of Jesus. The disciples knew well that they would be strangers in most of the towns and cities they entered. We, on the other hand, live in a world that includes over two billion Christians. Our message is not about an unfamiliar man from an underdeveloped area of the Middle East, nor is the message itself unknown.

Nonetheless, and hard though it might be to recognize, at times as Christians, we are often strangers. One of the reasons I love to travel is that it reminds me how much of a stranger I am: different languages, foods, customs, etc. reinforce my small place in the wider world. Travel keeps me humble. And when I’m away from home, it’s easy to see how different we are from one another.

But most of us are rarely in an entirely alien land, and safe in the familiar comforts of home, it’s much more difficult for us to recognize the stranger or, perhaps even more importantly, to recognize ourselves as the stranger to others in our own communities. As members of the dominant culture in this country, we are too easily unaware that our ways, our traditions, our history, our privilege, and our expectations are not universally obtainable or understandable by everyone in our community. This is the heart of implicit racism. That we allow such mindlessness is one of the many contributors to implicit racism.

In cities, towns, churches, businessses, and schools across our country, we’ve recently begun important and difficult conversations about implicit racism. Such discussions are merely the first step on a long path to more concrete action in order to achieve healing in this country. But we must begin somewhere.

So what, exactly, does “implicit racism” mean? I trust we know what racism is: bigotry, intolerance, and prejudice on the basis of skin color. Implicit can mean anything from unspoken, to inherent, to hidden, to buried, to embedded. You might be able to come up with more meanings. Again, we at SPC are members of the dominant group in this country. Dominant does not mean privileged; it means the largest, most powerful group. As part of this cohort, we are burdened by unspoken racism that is buried so deep that we may well be entirely unaware of our own bias, judgment, intolerance, and fear. Our burden of implicit racism becomes an intolerable burden for our brothers and sisters who are affected by it.

To unwrap this deep-seated racism, we need help; help from friends and teachers, and help through a clearer understanding of our faith. As this long-deferred quest for understanding and justice unfolds, I hope we will be able to dig deeper in future months into the work and conversations of our Presbytery and our brothers and sisters across the broader spectrum of faith. This is part of doing welcome.

I’m heartened by the exchange of pulpit and sanctuary that the Scottsville Presbyterian Church and the Chestnut Grove Baptist Church share, worshiping together in one or the other’s sanctuary each year. It’s a first step that we’re already taking. But we must not become complacent or triumphalistic: this is still but a first step.

When we worship at Chestnut Grove, even though we’re among those whom we know at least a little, we inevitably worship as strangers; we are dislocated and perhaps uncomfortable. But the awkwardness that might come with being strangers can open our hearts and minds to new ways of un-burying our bias and racism. It may grate on your heart to read that we might be strangers among people we have grown to know, like, and respect over the years. But if we are to succeed at this difficult conversation, we must be honest. Members of both congregations know that in order to more fully understand our respective social locations, we must all be courageous and willing to risk exposure as flawed people and strangers to ourselves as well as one another. We can begin to overcome our stranger-ness by working to understand one another more fully.

Fearlessly sharing new insights with humility and love will broaden and deepen our Christian faith and make us more humane as we seek to live into the charge to mission that Jesus gives us. Sharing such insights is necessary because we know, at some level, that there is much to learn about one another, and much more importantly, about ourselves. We are all strangers.

Many, perhaps most, of us are loath to admit it, but our implicit racism is real even though it lurks far below the surface, planted deeply in our psyches. The ongoing work to undo centuries of racism is not easy or comfortable, but it is essential if we are to truly live out our faith. If I may, I hope that, once the pandemic has ended and we’re able to gather again for worship in our sanctuaries, we will worship in one another’s churches much more often than only once a year. Sharing our worship lives is a small but critical step to the manifold rewards that come with truly living our faith.

Jesus calls us to welcome the strangers in our midst, and he also challenges us to recognize when we are the strangers. Both are fundamental to Christian discipleship and to healing the pain of our nation. I pray that this wonderful congregation will continue our shared ministry with Chestnut Grove Baptist Church, that we will find answers in the faith that binds us all, and that our work here at SPC and with Chestnut Grove will be to the glory of God.

Joys and Concerns:

Ongoing prayers for all who suffer from Covid 19 and the economic, social, structural, and societal fall-out it continues to engender.

Prayers for all who seek justice, all who seek to find ways to ensure it, and all who seek to discern their role in the injustices that persist in our society.

Prayers to unlock our hearts and minds to see and eradicate the weaknesses that keep us from living the challenge of authentic welcome.

Let us pray together:

Redeeming Sustainer, visit your people

and pour out your strength and courage upon us,

that we may hurry to make you welcome

not only in our concern for others,

but by serving them

generously and faithfully in your name. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Thursday, June 18, 2020

Dear Friends,

Confession is good for the soul. It keeps us humble and conscientious. It is clearly a spiritual discipline that can strengthen our faith. But equally significantly, it opens us up to new insights and possibilities that often serve to broaden our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. As we walk the difficult path to social justice, confession can be the first step to necessary discernment and awareness. So, allow me to confess to you that it wasn’t until this year that I began to understand the significance of the African American celebration of Juneteenth.

I’ll begin this confession with some context from Sterling Morse, PCUSA’s coordinator for African American intercultural congregational support, which I was very happy to find on the PCUSA website.

Juneteenth: An American Celebration

‘…If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.’ John 8:31b-32

On June 17, 1865, Union Major General Gordon Granger, along with 2000 federal troops, rode into the port of Galveston Texas, a state in the Confederacy not under Union control, to establish martial law. On June 19, Granger stood on the balcony of the Ashton Villa, the first mansion built on the island, and announced General Order #3, ‘The people are informed that in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free.’

It was the first time the enslaved population in the western most part of the confederacy had heard about President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation issued nearly three years earlier. With the announcement, the newly freed people flooded the streets in jubilant celebration, screaming ‘I’m free! I’m free!’

The celebrations increased as the good news spread, like wildfire, throughout Texas to the remaining quarter of million slaves. Juneteenth, known also as Freedom Day, was launched the following year.

Juneteenth embodies for many African-Americans what July 4th does for all Americans – liberation. It serves as a chronological turning point in the American historical celebrating the triumph of the human spirit over the cruelty of slavery. Juneteenth is a time to pause and remember those African-Americans descendants who suffered and died, and to honor those who survived as living witnesses to the inhumane institution of slavery. It is a time to venerate the shining legacy of resistance and resiliency of an abjectly oppressed people.

Juneteenth is not just an African American holiday, but it is a template of God’s redeeming grace to all Americans, indeed, all globally who hunger and thirst after righteousness, mercy, and justice.

Juneteenth is annually celebrated in more than 200 cities in the United States, with parades, and a variety of church sponsored and community events. Texas made it an official holiday in 1979.

As our church and society continue to socially and spiritually writhe with the birth pang of intersectionality and intercultural growth, let Juneteenth be a reminder of what can, and will happen, with prayer, a little hard work, and God’s grace.

—–Sterling Morse”

I feel bad about not knowing about this celebration until recently, but I’m in good company. Dr. Henry Louis Gates Jr., Harvard professor and the unofficial dean of African American studies in the United States, has shared that he didn’t know about Juneteenth until he went to college. What I am learning is that this significant holiday, which began in the black community in the years after the Civil War, is being reclaimed in recent decades.

Juneteenth, a contraction of June nineteenth, is the most celebrated day of emancipation from slavery in the United States. Other days could well be considered for the celebration of emancipation. April 16, 1862 was the day that slavery was abolished in the nation’s capital. September 22, 1862 was the day that Lincoln issued his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation Order. January 1, 1863 was the day that the proclamation took effect. January 31, 1865 marked the day the 13th Amendment officially abolishing slavery passed in Congress, with ratification by the states nearly a year later, on December 6, 1865. April 3,1865 was the day Richmond, the capital of the Confederacy, fell. April 9, 1865 was the day Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. May 1, 1865 marked the founding of Decoration Day, when former slaves in Charleston, S.C. gave the Union war dead a proper burial. July 4, 1776 was the first Independence Day. At various times in our history, all of these days have been considered as the day to celebrate and commemorate freedom from slavery, but in recent years support has begun to coalesce on Juneteenth.

So why wasn’t I aware of it until now?

On the very day – June 19, 1865 – that General Granger publicly read General Order Number 3, a quarter of a million people in Texas, then the most western state in the Confederacy, were freed from slavery. They were the last group of enslaved people in the United States to hear of their emancipation from enforced servitude. A year later, on the 19th of June, the newly freed people marked that momentous day by celebrating again. This annual celebration became a tradition in Texas and began to spread to other parts of the country, primarily within African American communities in the South.

Juneteenth became such an integral aspect of African American culture that whites in the complicated, racist times of the post-Reconstruction period apparently felt threatened and quickly began finding ways to keep African Americans from using public spaces to gather on that day. In 1872, black ministers and business owners in Houston responded by raising money and purchasing enough land to create Emancipation Park, which exists to this day. In most other communities, it was the black church that became the center of the celebrations.

Each year, African Americans would congregate, wearing their finest clothes to commemorate, as Professor Gates has written, “a past that was ‘usable’ as an occasion for gathering lost family members, measuring progress against freedom and inculcating into rising generations the values of self-improvement and racial uplift. This was accomplished through readings of the Emancipation Proclamation, religious sermons and spirituals, the preservation of slave food delicacies (always at the center: the almighty barbecue pit), as well as the incorporation of new games and traditions.”

The early twentieth century saw the renewed rise of the Ku Klux Klan, Jim Crow legislation, and a rekindled glorification of the Confederacy, and tensions over Juneteenth celebrations began to build. It became much more difficult for congregations to celebrate. When African Americans from the rural South moved in huge numbers to urban centers in the North and West in the Great Migration, awareness of Juneteenth spread. However, over time and in the face of white resistance and intolerance, it was diluted and Juneteenth was eventually virtually forgotten.

As Dr. Gates tells us, “As is well-known, Martin Luther King Jr. had been planning a return to the site of his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech in Washington, this time to lead a Poor People’s March emphasizing nagging class inequalities. Following his assassination, it was left to others to carry out the plan, among them his best friend, the Rev. Ralph Abernathy, and his widow, Coretta Scott King. When it became clear that the Poor People’s March was falling short of its goals, the organizers decided to cut it short on June 19, 1968, well aware that it was now just over a century since the first Juneteenth celebration in Texas.”

In the late sixties and early seventies, Juneteenth celebrations began to take hold once again. Currently, 46 states and the District of Columbia observe it as a state holiday. In 2018, the U.S. Senate passed a resolution designating June 19 as “Juneteenth Independence Day,” but it has yet to reach the House. Given recent tragedies, the tide continues to turn, however; last Tuesday (June 16), Gov. Northam said he would propose legislation to make Juneteenth a paid holiday for all state workers. UVA reacted immediately, declaring tomorrow a holiday for all their employees.

Last month, in Presbyterians Today, the Rev. Denise Anderson, coordinator for racial and intercultural justice in the Presbyterian Mission Agency, said, “I don’t want congregations co-opting the celebration without engaging in the difficult history and lingering present. Black and brown people are still incarcerated at disproportionate rates. I would hope white congregations take Juneteenth as an opportunity to wrestle with that and avail themselves to criminal justice reform in their communities.”

Tomorrow, on Juneteenth, I hope we may commit ourselves to this mission and to broader racial justice reform. As we think about this day and confess our conscious and unconscious complicity in the systemic racism and racial injustice that plague our nation, let us pray together this prayer from the Book of Common Worship,

O God, you made us in your image

And redeemed us through Jesus your Son.

Look with compassion on the whole human family,

Take away the arrogance and hatred that infect our hearts,

Break down the walls that separate us,

Unite us in bonds of love,

And, through our struggle and confession,

Work to accomplish your purpose on earth;

That, in your good time,

All nations and races may serve you in harmony

Around your heavenly throne;

Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Sunday, June 14, 2020

Dear Friends,

With today’s reading, the lectionary returns to what’s called Ordinary Time in the church year. Ordinary Time readings begin with the first Sunday after Epiphany in January, stop for Lent and the season of Eastertide, and then return for the long months until Advent. There are more Sundays in Ordinary Time than in Advent, Christmas, Lent, and the Easter season combined. That said, there is nothing ordinary about the words we study during these weeks, and nothing ordinary about the work of faith we are called to do.

I invite you to read Matthew 9:35-10:23 after praying the following prayer for illumination. May our prayers for insight be magnified by our ministries in the name of Jesus:

God of the harvest, whose all-seeing eye and all-inclusive love embrace many, including those whom we choose not to see, equip us for our labors. Grant us eyes and ears attuned to your compassion and to your children's needs. May we discern in the harassed and helpless an opportunity for discipleship. Keep us alert to the commission you give us today. Amen.

Our reading for today is Jesus’s second long address in Matthew. It begins with words almost identical to Matthew 4:23, the verse that inaugurated the first address, which we know as the Sermon on the Mount. In today’s reading. Matthew offers us a vivid description of the ministry to which Jesus calls us.

As had become rather typical in the preaching life of Jesus, large crowds have gathered in Galilee to hear Jesus teach and receive his healing ministry. Just as they were attuned to this preacher from Nazareth, he, too, was attuned to them. As Matthew 9:36 shares, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”

Jesus was entirely focused on the people among whom he walked. His ministry was not to promote himself, nor was it to launch a new religion (though that was the unintended consequence, as we know); it was, rather, to spread his messages of healing and justice. He saw the people in all their suffering humanity. With divine compassion, he also saw that their need was too great to be met effectively by just a single person.

And so, he began to articulate to the disciples what their ministry was to be. Faced with the enormity of need among the people who came to hear his words and receive his healing care, Jesus charged his disciples to help extend his reach, saying to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” (9:37-38) He gave the twelve disciples “authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness.” (10:1) In giving them authority, Jesus empowered them to help him gather this harvest of needy, hurting people into a renewed and renewing life with God.

Clearly, this was Jesus calling his disciples to the challenges of mission. Before we look more closely at this call in Matthew 9-10, however, I invite you to think back to last Sunday’s reading from Matthew 28. Because it was Trinity Sunday, we focused particularly on the reference there to what we’ve come to understand as the Trinity.

However, the resounding force of this final chapter of Matthew’s gospel is what has come to be called the Great Commission. “And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember I am with you always, to the end of the age.’” (Matthew 28:18-20)

Compare that commission to the charge Jesus gave his disciples in the early years of his ministry, as recounted in this week’s scripture reading. The granting of authority is an essential part of both his Great Commission at the end of Matthew and the call to discipleship outlined in Matthew 10, when Jesus gives his disciples the authority to proclaim the gospel – the good news – of God’s care for all humankind. But the emphasis of his call here is more concrete and immediate: to repair and cure the physical and spiritual woes he sees all around him. Even though this call doesn’t reach the stirring heights of the Great Commission, it’s a profound, demanding call to mission and ministry.

Having authorized them – having empowered them – Jesus teams the disciples into pairs and sends them out into the world. Their charge is to “proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’” (10:7) They are to act on this call by learning the maladies of the people they encounter in order to cure them. They are to empower the people in turn with the good news of God’s love and protection, through which they are able to heal and ease the harassment and helplessness that is their desolate lot.

There is one additional part to this charge: they are to seek hurting people, not sinners. They are not being sent out to hold themselves above those they are called to serve, or to judge them; they are being sent to be compassionate. The compassion of Jesus focused his earthly ministry, and that same compassion led him to call his disciples to mission grounded in humility and grace.

This was true for those disciples who walked with Jesus in Galilee, and it is true for us, disciples who continue to journey with Christ today. We are a “priesthood of all believers,” and our call to this priesthood is the same as the call to the twelve in this reading: to proclaim the good news and heal the wounds of the world.

As Jesus sends us out in mission today, what are the ills that we find? In Matthew 10:8, Jesus named the sick, the dead, the lepers, and the demons. Are things so different now? Racism is a disease; poverty is a sickness; poor education is a breeding ground for unclean spirits; communal and spiritual identity is dying. Two thousand years after Matthew wrote his gospel, we share the same commission from Jesus as the disciples did, and that commission is rooted in compassion.

To be compassionate is to be relational. We must be in relationship with the harassed and the helpless, the sick and the poor, the marginalized of our world. With humility and searching hearts, we must recognize that we, too, are helpless, and that we must look to our faith and certain knowledge of God’s redeeming grace in order that we might be empowered – that we might find the strength to perceive and then accept the challenges to minister where we are needed.

You have heard the term, “Think Globally, Act Locally.” If our ministry of compassion is to be relational, it must begin where we are, and with our immediate neighbors. And so it does, and quite successfully. Though we are currently hamstrung by the restrictions imposed by the pandemic, we continue to serve and to give. Our contributions to the work of our church, even without weekly services in our sanctuary, continue generously. We cast out demons every time we offer solace to one another. Perhaps most empowering is the depth of our prayers, which I know are offered daily. They have more strength and effect than we may ever truly know.

To be compassionate is also to be situational. With compassion in our hearts and eyes, we are called and sent out to assess the societal, cultural, and even religious environments that cause people pain. And then we are called to be about the hard work of curing those injustices. We cannot think of these times of pandemic, economic dislocation, and racial pain without compassion, just as we cannot begin to do the work of healing without compassion.

You might legitimately find it disturbing to read in our passage that Jesus limits the disciples’ mission to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” (10:6) Again, remember that this was Jesus in earthly ministry, teaching and empowering his small group of disciples. In a few short years, he, the resurrected Christ, will expand their call to the greater world: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” (Matthew 28:19)

I know how many of us heed this call, responding so faithfully to the words of both Matthew 10 and the Great Commission in Matthew 28. Here at Scottsville Presbyterian Church, we dedicate a very significant and generous 20% of our budget to mission. Our support for programs like the “Help for Neighbors” ministry, the Mobile Food Pantry, Meals on Wheels, the Bread of Life Ministry, the Boys and Girls Club, Habitat for Humanity, the Hospice of the Piedmont, and our welcome and outreach to Discovery School, reflects the depth of our response to Jesus’s call to proclaim the good news and address the ills of our world. And I know there are several individuals among us who quietly support other needs with faithful generosity, energy, and loyalty.

Our generosity and hands-on support for so many crucial ministries belies the size of our church. Like Jesus’s tiny band of twelve disciples, we are small, but we are mighty! What an honor it is to be a part of such a mighty band of disciples.

Thanks be to God who confidently calls us to meet the challenges of our times and equips us with faith and grace to send us out as compassionate disciples of Jesus Christ.

Joys and Concerns:

For those who are in need of a compassionate friend in these days of distancing and isolation.

For graduates, who are beginning their journeys into new lives, study, and callings, even when their starting points are so unclear.

For family and friends who express love in tangible ways.

For those marching and praying for racial justice to flow like a river throughout our nation and the world.

For the prayers whispered daily for healing, solace, comfort, and peace.

From Pentecost Sunday through the first Sunday in September, Presiding Bishop Michael Curry of the Episcopal Church and Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America welcome congregations and individuals to regularly pray “A Prayer for the Power of the Spirit among the People of God.” This prayer – crafted by a team of Lutheran and Episcopal prayer leaders in light of the COVID pandemic – is meant to unite us in common prayer and revive us for common mission, wherever and however we may be gathered.

In a spirit of ecumenical love, let us pray together this prayer for the ills of our world, which is shared with us by our Episcopalian and Lutheran sisters and brothers in faith.

A Prayer for the Power of the Spirit among the People of God

God of all power and love, we give thanks for your unfailing presence and the hope you provide in times of uncertainty and loss. Send your Holy Spirit to enkindle in us your holy fire. Revive us to live as Christ’s body in the world: a people who pray, worship, learn, break bread, share life, heal neighbors, bear good news, seek justice, rest and grow in the Spirit. Wherever and however we gather, unite us in common prayer and send us in common mission, that we and the whole creation might be restored and renewed, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for June 12, 2020

Dear Friends,

Today, I would like to offer a brief reflection on the Epistle Reading for this coming Sunday. As is our habit, let us begin with a prayer for insight and illumination before we read Romans 5:1-8:

God of law and grace, who shared our common humanity in Jesus Christ, we are drawn to your righteousness, believing that you will justify us and lead us to a wholeness that is freeing to us. We look to you, the divine source of true hope. Unite us in love for you and one another, that your will might find life in us and in everyone we meet. Amen.

Hope is one of God’s great gifts. Yet we often dilute the meaning of the word in our daily use (or should I say over-use?) of it. “I hope it doesn’t rain today.” “I hope we have enough food for the picnic.” “I hope I get a bike for Christmas.” I hope you’re thinking of your own examples at this time.

To use the word in this fashion falls short of the truest and deepest meaning of hope. At its essence, hope is God-given and grounded in a sense of confidence, expectation, and faithful anticipation. It comes from God’s abundant grace.

In verses 1 and 2 of today’s reading, Paul quickly summarizes the chapters before this one when he says, “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.” Our faith brings us peace.

Paul then considers hope from the perspective of past, future, and present. First, he examines hope as one of the outcomes of the past event of Christ’s sacrifice for us. God’s abundant grace was made manifest in Jesus. Even though we are inevitably sinners and don’t merit such extraordinary grace, Jesus’s suffering and death on the cross has given us the hope of return to a justified state in the eyes of God.

Thus, the foundation of our hope rests on an event from our past: God’s sacrificial act of Christ’s suffering and death on the cross. This divine act of 2,000 years ago, or, if we were the first-century Romans to whom Paul wrote this letter, this divine act of 20 years ago, is the source of our ultimate hope.

Second, God’s grace is future-oriented; our sense of hope for the future, even in the midst of suffering, is how we respond to God’s grace. The mystery of our faith is that we recognize the promise God made in the resurrection of Christ. By faith, we have authentic hope that we shall ultimately share in the glory of Christ.

But look around. It’s difficult, sometimes impossible, to perceive that glory today. The world we inhabit and support is far short of God’s glory.

Even in the best of times, our Christian hope is always directed to our future with God. Hopefulness may not be apparent in our present world, but there is hope in the promised future, one that we are granted in faith through Christ’s sacrifice for us, sinners and angels alike. “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” (verse 6) “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” (verse 8)

And finally, as it is expressed in the present, hope is the bridge between the past and the future. It is God’s grace that gets us through today, so that we can also focus our attention on tomorrow. No matter how wonderful we may think our modern world is, we suffer. And now is a time when few of us think things are wonderful; we suffer significantly more than usual during this pandemic and our national and world-wide crisis of justice denied to far too many of our brothers and sisters.

In despair, many of us can fall into the trap of finding no meaning. If you occasionally find yourself there, dig deep into your faith. And listen to Paul, for whom our suffering is not meaningless. As he writes in verses 3b and 4, “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope. . .”

There it is again: hope! The hope that we experience in the present was founded in Christ’s sacrifice and promises a future infused by the grace of God’s love.

How reassuring Paul’s words are. In the midst of acute grief and pain, they provide immense comfort. We all experience suffering and, in these times, we are particularly aware that suffering is a universal experience of our humanity. Of course, not all people suffer equally, nor do all share suffering at the same time, but each of us inevitably suffers at some points in our lives. Such suffering is tempered by Christian hope.

But we must be warned as well as heartened. Suffering can also produce impatience. Impatience can become frustration, which may easily morph into despair. What makes the difference?

Paul recognized the weakness of all people, including Christians. If we can keep a firm understanding of our starting point in mind – that at the moments of our weakness, God offers up the divine self in Jesus Christ for us – we can move on to endurance, achieve character, and reach hope. It’s the great mystery of faith that makes the difference. And thanks to God’s grace, we are eternally offered this mysterious gift.

Sometimes, as in times like these, we know that even as we try to be faith-filled Christians, we still fall into hopelessness. But even in despair, I urge us not to overlook the times of grace-filled hope that we have been blessed to experience. We may chastise ourselves for not being filled with hope at all times, or we may dig deeper and try to tap into our memory of hope to advance our faith journey. I remind you again: God walks with us in our despair, and in God’s grace is hope.

A while back, a newspaper reported a glider’s ambitious attempt to set a long-distance record for hang-gliding. The glider went to a high, sheer cliff and jumped off. Thanks to his experience and skill, he was able to catch an upward spiral of air. In this spiraling column of air, he went around and around, silently gliding higher and higher. As he spiraled up many thousands of feet, he would get as high as he could and then break away from the column of air and glide across the countryside, looking for signs of another strong upward column. Up, up again, and then out again he silently went, searching for the next spiral. He set a new record when he ended his day 400 miles from where he had begun, after moving confidently from one upward spiral to the next.

I think this is a good image for what Paul is trying to tell us. Our life in Christ is an ascending spiral. We start with hope founded in God’s peace, and thanks to ever-available new currents of hope, we are able to venture out to find greater hope. Downdrafts occur, of course, but they can be altered by God into radical updrafts, providing constantly spiraling hope.

The experienced glider knows the signs of the updrafts and knows what sorts of conditions will produce them. He also knows that the inevitable downdrafts don’t mean he’ll be grounded; he has only to glide on softer currents of air while he searches for the next updraft in order to soar even higher.

It’s the same for followers of Christ. In our lives, as we move between the high currents of hope in search of God’s divine will for each of us, we learn the signs God gives us, and by God’s grace, we soar. Even in the worst of times, with faith, we will be able to find hope. Thanks be to God!

Let us pray together,

Lord, help us to hear you saying, "I am your hope" over all the other voices. God of Hope’s high spirals, you are the hope for the hopeless. With humble but optimistic faith, we run to you with hands stretched out, and we grab onto you, resting in your comforting presence. Fill us with faith so that we may discern the hope you represent. Give us a tangible reminder today that hope is an unbreakable spiritual gift forged in fires of suffering and endurance. Help us to understand that though we may not be able to find hope immediately, it is always there, your gift to us in the winds that swirl through our lives. May your gift of hope fill the lives of those who long for your presence. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Sunday, June 7, 2020

Dear Friends,

I love reading mysteries. They clear my mind somehow and let me focus afresh on issues and projects that sometimes bog down my spirit. When we moved to Charlottesville, Nan and I both joined a mystery book club that we’ve enjoyed very much. Over the past five years, we’ve been introduced to new authors, even meeting some of them at the Festival of the Book, and we’ve reacquainted ourselves with writers we had read before. It’s been great. Maybe you’ve been in a similar book club? Or indulged on your own just for the fun of it? I can certainly recommend any number of mysteries for pandemic reading…

Re-reading a beloved mystery is completely different from reading it for the first time. If you remember the book, you already know the solution to the mystery: it really was the butler in the pantry with the carving knife! And if you read it for a second or even third time you might find yourself saying “Oh, I see that that clue is crucial to the end of the story, and I missed it the first time.” You can’t help but see the book differently once you know the ending, and in a really good mystery, knowing the ending can sometimes make the book even better.

Reading the Bible is similar. Our faith journey, whether it’s been for a few years or many decades, alters how we understand the divine message that we’re reading. We spend years reading the Bible; we attend Sunday School in our youth and as adults; we hear countless sermons over years of attending worship. Even everyday language contributes to our awareness of the Bible, as we hear conventionally recognized adages like, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (We even hear it in King James English!) Every exposure to the Bible and our Christian faith shapes our worldview, and as we listen more carefully each time, our understanding of the Bible and our faith is enlarged and expanded.

The Bible never ceases to amaze me. It is ubiquitous; it permeates our literature, our culture, our minds, and our souls. And the more we read it, the more penetrating is our understanding, because, like a re-read mystery, once we know the outcome, we find more and more to unpack in even the most familiar text.

You may find reading Matthew 28:16-20, the reading for today, Trinity Sunday, to be an example of this phenomenon. Before we think more deeply about this passage, please join me and all who are reading with us in a prayer for illumination:

Triune God, by whose grace we have been commissioned as disciples of Jesus Christ, turn our doubts to gladness for your truth. Open us to the authority of Jesus Christ, in whose name we were baptized. Teach us, so that, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we can teach in turn. Enrich our lives so that others around us will be attracted by our witness and drawn to Christ, to join us in humble discipleship. Amen.

So, here we are: Trinity Sunday. And there in verse 19 of today’s reading is what we recognize as the Trinity itself, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

But was that understood as the Trinity when it was written? No matter how diligently we might look for the word “Trinity” in the Bible, we would not find it. If we were to search for a teaching about the Trinity in Paul’s or Peter’s letters, or better yet, a teaching from Jesus that addresses the notion of the Trinity, again, we wouldn’t find it. Matthew’s understanding of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit did not conceive of a singular essence for the three beings. As we read and re-read the Bible, we may discover hints and clues of who our triune God is, but nowhere do we read of the fullness of the Trinity. Yet our understanding of the Trinity is a crucial, central aspect of our Christian faith; it is our attempt to solve the mystery of who God is.

Over the four centuries after the resurrection of Jesus, the notion of the Trinity as a basic tenet of our faith began to slowly develop. The earliest Christian theologies were simultaneously informed by the strong monotheistic faith we inherited from the Hebrew scriptures and driven by the need to interpret our biblical faith to primarily pantheistic people in the Greco-Roman world. Christ’s divinity was imagined as subordinate to the supreme being because it was hard to explain the idea of a single God that included the risen Lord. Christ was understood as the Word of God, but not quite God in himself. The church, however, continued to ponder and work in a faithful struggle with its ever-growing understanding of God to include the mystery of the risen Christ.

It wasn’t until 215 CE that Tertullian, an early church theologian, first articulated an understanding of the three-in-one God and called it the Trinity. For more than another century after Tertullian, we as the church debated the issue, resolving it formally (though not finally) at the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, when Christ was declared to be of “one substance with the Father.”

At Scottsville Presbyterian Church, and at churches of many other denominations, we traditionally share the Nicene Creed during communion worship services. “We believe in one God the Father Almighty…And in one Lord Jesus Christ…And we believe in the Holy Spirit…” This creed comes from the hard, faith-driven and insightful work of the Nicaean Council, which strove to bring clarity and uniformity to this developing understanding of our Christian faith. In the centuries that followed, serious discussion and thought continued, and if you study the creeds, you’ll see how theological thought became ever more sophisticated.

We eventually came to articulate our belief that God is of one essence, expressed in the three persons of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. But even after centuries of trying to fathom this mysterious concept, it’s difficult to grasp – one single God, but in three persons. It’s like H2O, which can be ice, water, and steam, but always remains H2O in all three forms. It’s like the flames of three candles that provide a single light.

Now, with 17 centuries of our trinitarian faith and discernment informing our vision and providing 20/20 hindsight, it’s difficult to read the Bible without finding hints of this triune God, so familiar to us as Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.

Why is this theological history important to us today? For me, it goes back to our gospel reading in Matthew. In verse 18, Christ’s authority is confirmed, and he passes that authority on to his disciples in verse 19, charging them to “make disciples of all nations.” He further strengthens the authority he gives them by charging them to baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This doesn’t address the oneness of God; it focuses instead on the authority of discipleship. Prior to this point, the teacher has always been Jesus, and now Jesus is empowering his disciples – and that includes us – to be teachers of the faith.

The trinity is of great significance to us because it enables us to more fully understand God. The trinity in this pivotal passage of Matthew is what empowers us as followers of Jesus. Both have equal weight and importance for us.

Questions of great significance for our faith are raised in every century. Now, as our lives and technologies, including our ability to reach to the far corners of the earth, evolve ever more rapidly, questions are raised each decade and even oftener. It is our task as faithful Christians to face these challenges directly. And in faith, it is our ongoing challenge to respond as best we can with the guidance that God gives us. We may not always get it right, but our loving God will create new ways to comprehend God’s will for us today. We heard it directly from Jesus. “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

In times like these, when we feel the ground beneath us turning to quicksand, it is easy to forget this assurance of the presence – always – of our triune God. We feel so imperiled. We face the randomness of a tiny but lethal virus, the loss of economic security, the lack of justice, the oppressiveness of confinement to our homes, an anxiety that gnaws at our very being. We feel unsafe on so many levels. We’re standing on the edge of a precipice teeming with menaces we can hardly even name. We cannot imagine what the ending of this mystery will be.

The mystery, my dear friends, is unlikely to ever end, because that’s the human condition, but there is certainly a hero here who can give us some closure and move us back from the precipice. I pray that even in the midst of these anxious times, we can perceive the profound depth and eternal, abiding presence of our wonderful, mysterious God in three persons. Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer.

God is our companion, the one who, as the Nicene Creed assures us, “for our salvation, came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary, and was made man…whose kingdom shall have no end…” I’ve taken some liberties with our beloved creed here, removing most of the details that reflect those early theological arguments at Nicaea to emphasize the basic, foundational notion of God as one substance in three persons that I, and I hope you, find reassuring, especially during these hard days.

May the triune God accompany us all on all our journeys, and may we find in our faith the seeds of our creation; the source of our sustenance; and redemption – deliverance – from the pain and disquiet, the dis-ease, of these mysterious and challenging times. Amen.

Joys and Concerns

For demonstrators from across our nation and around the world who express their call for justice for all people.

For all who suffer from Covid 19 and all whose lives are being upended by this ongoing calamity.

Our Trinity Sunday prayer is adapted from John Bailie’s “A Diary of Private Prayer” Thirteenth Day: Morning, by the Very Rev. John Chalmers of the Church of Scotland. Let us pray together:

Almighty God known as wisdom before the dawn of creation, Lord Jesus Christ – perfect love made flesh, Holy Spirit of God – ever present, O Hidden Source of Life wrapped up in perfect Trinity, we meditate upon the great and gracious plan which you have brought to pass, that women and men like us should look beyond creation to worship you the Creator of all things. In the beginning, You the uncreated moved across the face of the deep and brought out space and time and then material substance: The atom and the molecule and the crystalline form: Then the first germ of life and the long upward striving of all things: that swim and creep and fly: And then the miracle of intelligence and consciousness; The beginning of mystery and the building of the first altar; And then the saying of the first prayer; O hidden love of God, forgive us for those times when we have taken this mystery for granted and forgive us all the more for the times when we thought that we had unraveled the mystery and thought that we knew it all – the how, the where and the why. Almighty God, let us not harbor anything in our hearts that might spoil our fellowship with you or with one another; work with us and within us: Do what you will with us; Make of us what you want of us; Change us as we need changed Use us as your will requires – Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for June 5, 2020

Dear Friends,

The first of many memorial services for George Floyd, the African American man murdered by a police officer in Minneapolis, was held yesterday. Since his brutal death, people have marched across our nation and around the world. They’re calling for the end of systemic racism and police brutality. They’re calling for justice. They’re as diverse as our nation: white, black, brown, Asian, Native American. Although there have been instances of violence and rampage, the vast majority of these protest marchers and demonstrators are peaceful, just as the vast majority of our law enforcement officers are not brutal, but rather, are committed, caring civil servants.

That said, the over-arching truth is this: racism and race-driven police brutality are daily realities in our beloved but beleaguered nation. Think about that: daily realities.

“Justice delayed is justice denied” is one of many poignant phrases that call us to recognize and address the ongoing problem of racial inequality. Last year marked the 400th anniversary of slaves being brought to the shores of our Commonwealth. Slavery is the shameful foundation of our nation. In the four centuries since 1619, we have formed ourselves into a democratic nation, created the most robust economy in the world, and tried to become the model of a great society.

But the model has been undermined by persistent racism. The abundant harvest from the hard work that went into creating this nation has not been distributed justly. Not only was the early work done by enslaved people, but their descendants are the ones on whose shoulders the heavy work continues to lie to this day. Our progress has been made possible by demeaning and dehumanizing those upon whom we rely.

We have made advances toward a more equitable society, but the persistent, deep inequities that endure overwhelm our evolution. These inequities of opportunity, health and health care, education, safe and affordable housing, food security – in short, inequities of everything that makes up the so-called “American dream” – are an ugly ongoing reality for our black, brown, and Native American brothers and sisters. Demonstrable, measurable forms of racism reveal that justice is delayed; hence, justice is unequivocally denied.

In the midst of all the losses brought on by the corona virus pandemic, it might seem that now, even after the precipitating horror of Mr. Floyd’s murder, isn’t the time for urgent calls to end racism. However, the pandemic has revealed the imbalances of our society in the starkest ways. Racial injustice has made the pandemic even worse than it might otherwise be. A significantly disproportionate number of African Americans have contracted and died of Covid-19 due to systemic inequities – lack of access to adequate health care, densely populated living situations, polluted air and dirty water, and employment that does not readily allow “work-at-home” opportunities, to name only a few. Even a global pandemic has consequences that grow directly from racial injustice.

Just as the pandemic has touched every corner of our nation and the earth, the crisis triggered by the tragic and painful death of Mr. Floyd has aroused the consciences of citizens in virtually every state in the union, and beyond. As we watch the coverage, I regret that I can’t join the marchers at this time. But I am in community with them as they so spontaneously respond to the horror that occurred in Minneapolis.

Nan and I have been heartened by emails that have come from all the academic institutions we’ve attended, as well as other groups with which we’re associated. We’re learning about new venues for discussion, a task that institutions of learning do quite well, as well as more immediate, concrete actions. We’re hearing both about programs that have been underway for some time and new ones now being developed. This is more than just lip-service; these are programs that are reinforced with funding and well-informed, experienced leadership. Thoughtful people are working with passion and humility to more concretely identify and correct practices that, consciously and unconsciously, aid and abet racial inequality. I am sure you, too, have become aware of encouraging examples of commitment and genuine work towards racial justice.

This work and these marches are citizenship at its most challenging. But we are not just citizens of the U.S.; we are Christian citizens, and the call to Christian citizenship is even more demanding. The call to do justice in the context of Christ’s love is fundamental to our faith, and we are called to live our faith.

Luke 10:27 records Jesus’s commandment that “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” This commandment was basic to Jesus’s own faith. Verse 27a is from Deuteronomy 6:5 and 27b is from Leviticus 19:18. Matthew 22:37-39 shares a similar imperative. In both Matthew and Luke, Jesus holds up this charge – this call – as the essence of our faith.

For the past 2,000 years, we have tried to follow this foundational commandment. Sadly, however, we have too often failed. We have allowed ourselves to be distracted from this essential demand of faith. We’ve built barriers, foolishly trying to figure out just who are neighbors are and then questioning how we should love them. We’ve gotten so lost in the minutia that we’ve missed the big picture.

Jesus gives us the guidance we need, if only we follow his words without creating contrived obstacles to our understanding. He gives us a precise, compact summary of the law: to love the Lord and your neighbor as yourself. This is harder than it seems. To teach us how to implement this law, he gives us the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

You know the parable, but I invite you to turn to Luke 10:29-37 and read it again. Try to put yourself into the role of the man who was robbed, stripped, beaten, and left for dead. That man is our neighbor. And, my friends, the priest who passes by the dying man is also our neighbor, as is the Levite, and, thankfully, the outsider who is the Samaritan. If we are to try to truly engage in this difficult task of unwinding the racism that lives in each of us, and if we are ever to heal the deep, scarring damage it has caused, it behooves us to see the neighbor in each of the people in the parable.

Opening our eyes to truly see our neighbors is very difficult. George Floyd is our neighbor. Our neighbor is also the police officer who knelt on his neck. Our neighbor is a demonstrator marching for justice in the midst of a lethal pandemic. Our neighbor is the officer standing behind a shield, firing smoke bombs and tear gas into a crowd of peaceful protestors. Dorothy Day, the Roman Catholic activist and woman of deep faith, makes it even harder, reminding us that Jesus himself is in each of those people.

We think we know our neighbor, but clearly, we do not. Pay attention to that parable, for Jesus is using it to patiently teach us who our neighbors are.

And once we finally recognize our neighbors, how are we to love them? That question should always be foremost in our hearts and minds. Cornel West, contemporary Christian philosopher and activist, has said, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” As Christians, we are called to practice loving by acting justly with each of our neighbors, in each of our many communities. These include everyone we encounter in the places where we live, where we worship, where we eat, where we shop, where we travel, where we walk. We may not be able to experience their pain, or their joy, or their disdain, or their selflessness. But we can certainly love them. We can be quiet and listen to their stories.

If we truly love God with all our hearts, souls, strength, and minds, we might be able to recognize Christ in every single person we meet. And if we even begin to approach such an understanding, how can we help but love our neighbors? How can we help but work ceaselessly to repair the damage and pain that comes from racism, which is rooted in our lack of love?

I invite you to hear an important statement addressing our current social situation made by the Reverend Dr. J. Herbert Nelson, II, the Stated Clerk of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). You may find it on the opening page of pcusa.org.

Perhaps what will help us most in these lonely days of sheltering in place is to be together in prayer. Let us pray these prayers taken from the Book of Common Worship of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and the Book of Common Order of the Church of Scotland. After you pray them, consider spending 8 minutes and 46 seconds in silent meditation. This is the amount of time that a police officer knelt on George Floyd’s neck, including over two minutes after he was no longer breathing. May you begin to find resolve and understanding in these prayers and in those long minutes of contemplation.

O God, you created all people in your image. We thank you for the astonishing variety of races and cultures in this country and in this world. Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of friendship, And show us your presence in those who differ from us, Until our knowledge of your love is made perfect In our love for all your children; Through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

God and Father of all, in your love you made all the nations of the world to be a family, and your Son taught us to love one another. Yet our world is riven apart with prejudice, arrogance, and pride. Help the different races to love and understand one another better. Increase among us sympathy, tolerance, and goodwill, that we may learn to appreciate the gifts that other races bring to us, and to see in all people our brothers and sisters for whom Christ died. Save us from jealousy, hatred, and fear, and help us to live together as members of one family at home in the world, sons and daughters of one Father who live in the liberty of the children of God; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Pentecost, May 31, 2020

Dear Friends,

Today, the Day of Pentecost, is the day when Christians celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit to the disciples. It is also often considered the birth of the church because it marks the moment when the disciples were empowered by the Holy Spirit to take the message of Jesus to the wider world.

Like many of our Christian holidays, Pentecost coincides with a significant Jewish holiday. This one, called “Shavuot” in Hebrew, is the “Feast of Weeks” or “Feast of 50 Days,” celebrated on the fiftieth day after Passover. The Septuagint, which is the most significant Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, translates this feast as “Pentecost,” and that is the term by which Christians identify this day, which occurs fifty days after Good Friday.

Pentecost marks the end of the days of Eastertide and our return to what’s called “Ordinary Time” in the liturgical calendar. Sadly, however, this year seems like no ordinary time.

We will return to Ordinary Time after a singularly tragic and unordinary week. It saw the number of virus deaths in our nation soar past 100,000. Over 6,000,000 cases have now been confirmed across the globe, and close to 370,000 have died world-wide. Every one of those numbers is a unique, irreplaceable human being, with value and beloved by someone. And each of those deaths has occurred in isolation, leaving those who mourn them isolated as well and apart from the company of loved ones. As E. J. Dionne said in the Washington Post last week, “Mourning death is an intensely private act that calls for public ritual.” The pandemic has robbed us even of the comfort of ritual and the solace of a gathered community of shared support.

And Covid 19 has had a cascade effect on nearly all aspects of our lives, making everything far from ordinary. We continue to live in isolation from one another. We wear masks whenever we’re in public. Because of the virus, over 40 million in the U.S. are now unemployed. Countless businesses are at risk of permanent closure.

The pandemic has also revealed immense inequity in our nation, as we see the poor and people of color suffering and dying in measurably greater disproportionate numbers. The injustice thus exposed has become intolerable for many, and fuses are very short. People across the country are demonstrating and rioting in response to the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis; his death is one of far too many in a long string of racial injustice and police brutality. In the first three months of 2020, 228 civilians were fatally shot by police. The demonstrations are as much about that as they are about the singular outrageous horror of Mr. Floyd’s death. And they are one more reality in the panoply of racial inequality revealed by the pandemic statistics. The disproportionate illness and death rates due to Corona virus and to police brutality among our black and brown sisters and brothers are symptoms of persistent, systemic racial inequities of our society.

And as we have been self-isolating to help limit the spread of the virus, it seems that our nation is isolating itself as well, as it continues to withdraw from leadership on the world stage. We’ve pulled out of vital nuclear weapon and arms control agreements. In the midst of a still-expanding, lethal pandemic, we’re threatening to leave the World Health Organization. We’ve withdrawn from the Paris Climate Accords even as the effects of climate change relentlessly continue, with this year’s hurricane season starting weeks ahead of the usual start date. The list of calamities seems endless.

As I write this, our lives are in flames due to this vicious virus. Our cities are in flames because of racism, injustice, and indifference. Our future seems like it, too, is in flames. And yet, God and the Spirit prevail; today, on this Day of Pentecost, we celebrate the gift of flames – the flames of the Spirit that God gives to us all as a call to extinguish injustice in our communities, our nation, and the world. In brief, Pentecost is a call to Christian witness.

Before you read Acts 2:1-21, today’s reading, I invite you to pray the following prayer of illumination.

God of all nations, who sent Jesus among us as a messenger of peace, grant us your living water to quench our thirst for understanding.

Speak your word to nurture our faith, and enable us to hear and understand it.

Send your Spirit to empower our service.

Awaken in us the gifts you have granted us, that your vision for the world may become our vision. Amen.

As Luke relates the Pentecost story in Acts, the coming of the Holy Spirit was clearly a dynamic, life-changing event. The disciples, still trying to understand the events of Good Friday and Easter only fifty days earlier, were gathered together when “suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind.” (Acts 2:2) Tongues of fire emerged from the wind and divided and “rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.” (Acts 2:3b-4)

Can you even begin to imagine yourself as one of the disciples when this occurred? Would you be terrified? So stunned that you were frozen in place and time? Confused? Or, even in the midst of so many conflicting emotions, might you feel genuine peace? Would you be aware of the indescribable comfort and reassurance of the Holy Spirit?

The commotion of this event of wind, fire, and language was so great that the people in Jerusalem rushed in to see what was happening. And all of them were astonished to hear the rag-tag group of disciples speaking in their respective languages. Remember, the disciples were fishermen and farmers from Galilee; they were very likely nearly illiterate and barely able to speak their own Aramaic language well. And the people who came running in had come to Jerusalem from so many distant places that it takes three verses to list all their home countries, each with its own language. It’s tempting to skip over all those awkward, hard-to-pronounce place names, but don’t skip them; try to give some thought to each of them. They include people who came from nations ranging from the southern shore of the Mediterranean Sea to Egypt, to the Middle East, to Europe, and to parts of the Roman empire stretching as far as northern England. In other words, the entire western world was represented, and yet every single person among those many peoples was able to hear the Good News of Jesus Christ in his or her own native tongue.

We hear the term “Good News” so often that its meaning has lost its potency and value. It’s far too easy to take this revolutionary, world-changing concept for granted. With the Holy Spirit to guide us, with wind and tongues of metaphorical fire to cleanse our minds of preconceptions and misunderstandings, it seems like a good idea to consider what the Good News means for us, especially on this Day of Pentecost.

First, the Good News is that God speaks our language. We are known by God, and the Spirit that is God communicates with us in a way and in a language we can understand. God’s ways are not foreign to us but are comprehensible, accessible, and available to each and every one of us. We have only to allow the wind and fire of God to open our hearts.

Second, God’s spirit works to give each of us our own language – our own expression of God – our own witness to God. We Protestants recognize this as the priesthood of all believers. We do not need a translator, go-between, or mediator to interpret the faith to us. Of course, guidance from fellow-travelers is helpful and much needed at times. But ultimately, when we encounter God (or more likely, when God encounters us), we realize that we speak God’s language and God speaks ours. This is as true for me as it is for each one of you. Indeed, it is from you that I often hear the word of God.

Finally, we see in this first Pentecost, and in all the days since then, that though our languages and stories and gifts are dramatically different from one another, all have immense value. Since the first Pentecost, more words about God and faith have been spoken and written in more languages than we can possibly count. Nevertheless, our oneness – our wholeness and our unity – as God’s people comes, not in spite of those differences, but rather in and through them. Complex as it may be at times, our rich diversity mirrors the diversity of our God, who is made known to us as a triune God: Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer.

Thanks be to our complex yet comprehensible God, whose holy breath in the rush of wind and whose holy warmth in tongues of fire descended on us at the first Pentecost and continue to embrace us to this very day.

Joys and Concerns

For the family and friends of George Floyd who mourn his violent death; for the people of Minneapolis; for all the cities and towns of our nation as we continue to struggle with racism, violence, and a lack of justice for all people.

For all our leaders, including the leaders of our congregation, as they and we contemplate how to move safely into Phase 1 of our reopening process.

For those who struggle with unemployment in this emerging economic crisis, and especially for those whose new loss of income means they face hunger and loss of access to the vital necessities of life.

For all whose long struggle with food and housing insecurity is now further complicated by lack of access to health care during a pandemic.

For the birth of the church that we love and that loves us, celebrated this day.

Let us pray together,

O Holy Spirit, Divine Breath, whose very presence sustains our lives: inspire us with knowledge of you. You are the forces of air. Blow open the doors we use to shut you out of our souls; blow away anything that clouds our ability to see you.

O Holy Spirit, Divine Fire, who tempers our lives: ignite in us the desire to witness to your love. You whose voice spoke from the burning bush, use your flames to burn away the dross and chaff of our anxiety and fear so that we may emerge purified and refined, worthy and able to risk taking up our task as disciples.

Burn out of us narrow-mindedness; breathe into us respect and compassion.

Burn out of us dragging apathy; breathe into us quickening vitality.

Burn out of us hunger for power; breathe into us the generosity of love. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Prayer for May 29, 2020

Dear Friends,

After such a painful week for our nation, I have no words and believe only prayer can comfort and guide us. Let us share and pray together these prayers from the Book of Common Worship.

God of ages, in your sight nations rise and fall, and pass through times of peril. Now when our land is troubled, be near to judge and save. May leaders be led by your wisdom; may they search your will and see it clearly. If we have turned from your way, help us to reverse our ways and repent. Give us your light and truth to guide us. Through Jesus Christ, Who is Lord of this world, and our Savior. Amen

Grant, O God, that your holy and life-giving Spirit may so move every human heart, that the barriers which divide us may crumble, suspicions disappear, and hatreds cease, and that, with our divisions healed, we might live in justice and peace; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Rev. Knox's Post for May 24, 2020

Dear Friends,

Memorial Day has a very long tradition in our culture as a day to remember those lost in battle for a nation’s honor. Within the western cultural tradition, the first known public tribute to war dead was in 431 BCE, when Pericles, an Athenian general and statesman, delivered a stirring funeral oration praising the sacrifice of those killed in the Peloponnesian War. So moving was his tribute, recorded by Thucydides, that it is still remembered today. After two and a half millennia of honoring the memory of those who have given their lives for the nations they cherished, it seems like memorials have always been with us.

Given that we’ve marked such sacrifice for centuries, including over two centuries for us here in the United States, you can imagine how surprised I was to learn that Memorial Day did not become an official national holiday here until 1971. Perhaps it was residual divisiveness from the Civil War that slowed the process of nation-wide recognition and a national observation. But even though Memorial Day didn’t enjoy official status until 1971, a vast number of communities and states throughout our country have recognized and celebrated some form of memorial celebration since the Civil War, and even earlier.

Tragically, we’ve had very few decades without war, which means the number of those honored on Memorial Day has continually grown. War after tragic war, we remember the courageous men and women who have died defending our country and the freedoms we hold so dear. One of my earliest memories is hanging our flag on our porch for the Memorial Day parade. It’s part of our national DNA, with almost thirty different towns laying claim to being the holiday’s “birthplace.”

Yet, because it’s observed late in May, the solemnness of the day is often forgotten in the music and drama of the parades, and even more, by those who mark it as a delightful way to celebrate the “unofficial start of summer.” Beaches open officially; boardwalk shops stock their shelves; people picnic in parks and backyards; nearly everyone spends Memorial Day celebrating the coming summer.

This year, however, is different. There is nothing this year that resembles any of our beloved traditions. We can’t gather together to watch a Memorial Day parade or march in one. Community bands are unable to provide their patriotic, inspiring music. There’s not a chance we’ll invite the neighbors over for a picnic or barbecue. Everything about this unique, scary year is much more complicated than we remember it ever having been, and that’s true for Memorial Day as well.

This year, the entire Memorial Day weekend is made more somber and complex as we mark and continue to mourn the deaths of nearly 100,000 Americans and almost 350,000 globally, in just the first three months of this pandemic. By presidential order, our flags flew at half-staff on Friday, Saturday, and today to commemorate those who have lost their lives to Covid-19. Tomorrow, on Memorial Day itself, we’ll think about all those who have lost their lives in service to our country, and the flag will continue to fly at half-staff in honor of their memories, service, and sacrifice.

This year, it feels like lowering the flags, placing wreaths on graves, and listening to speeches are not sufficient for Memorial Day; our awareness of loss is simply too great. Maybe it’s because our contemplation of the death toll from the Covid virus makes our war deaths somehow more vivid. All our traditional commemorations somehow seem not quite adequate in this highly emotional, terribly fraught year. I suspect that in the months and years to come, new ways of mourning our losses and remembering the gifts of those who have died in war, and in this pandemic, will emerge. We mourn and we remember, and those two realities may well become the defining characteristics of these times and of Memorial Day 2020.

Funerals have been especially difficult, often impossible, these past months. Nan and I have lost friends to both Covid and other illnesses, and those losses are made worse because isolation and lockdown rules mean we haven’t been able to attend their funerals or memorial services, even when one was held. I know many of you are experiencing the same absence, the same sense of dislocation. It’s almost like being abandoned in an unknown, hostile desert. Services of remembrance are vital to all of us. They foster the mourning process; they are a necessary part of understanding and healing, but they haven’t been available to hundreds of thousands of loved ones who grieve alone and unaccompanied.

Mourning is a complicated process. We mourn as an emotional experience of deep loss. We grieve for those who are no longer with us. Psychologist J. William Worden has shared “Four Tasks of Mourning.” These tasks are not accomplished in a set order, nor in a prescribed amount of time. We mourn, he writes, to accept the reality of loss and acknowledge our feelings; to process grief and pain through expression, action, and ritual; to adjust to living in a world without the person who died; and to find a way to maintain a connection to the person who died while reconnecting to our own lives. All of these are, to various degrees, about connecting, which always involves remembering. In these days, when many of our traditional means of mourning are not available to us, we are compelled to explore other avenues of remembering. Tonight’s service may be one.

We remember for additional reasons as well. As philosopher George Santayana wrote, “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” That sounds like a never-ending treadmill of changelessness with no hope of progress, change, or salvation unless we do the work of remembering.

And I would add this corollary: those aspects of the past that are good must also be remembered if we are to find our way into a new and different future. Thus, the very act of remembering is a future-oriented task. We see this at two very distinct, over-arching points in the Bible.

In Exodus, God instructs the people whom Moses led out of Egyptian captivity to remember the Passover and all that came before that fateful night, which finally launched them on their flight from slavery. To this day, during the eight days of Passover every year, Jews remember God’s actions in freeing them and guiding them to the Promised Land. At the Passover seder, adults and children sit at the same table, sharing food and laughter. The foods on the menu remind them of their captivity and flight, but the real anchor for the meal is the annual reading of the story of their liberation. Thus it is passed down to successive generations, so that they will remember their past and also be reminded to trust that the future, like the past, will be guided by God. It’s a compelling story. We learn it in Sunday School and include portions of it on Maundy Thursday every year because its overtones so concretely remind us of salvation and liberation to come in Christ Jesus.

As a Christian, I find the idea of remembering particularly resonant. We regularly remember how Jesus took bread, gave thanks to God, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, as he also gives it to us, saying “Take, eat. This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way he took the cup, saying: “This cup is the new covenant sealed in my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this in remembrance of me.” This event is so significant, so imperative, that repeating it is a sacrament, a holy event of the church. We rely on it; we are inspired by it; we are literally fed by the extraordinary, self-sacrificing love of Jesus. By remembering the event of the Last Supper and by participating in it, we do, indeed, remember Jesus. We remember the gift of his sacrifice and his teachings. And we derive both fulfillment and strength to take on the challenge for the future that is implicit in remembering him: to love one another and be an example, so far as we’re able, of his teachings.

Even as we pause during this memorial weekend to look back on our losses and recall stories and acts of immense sacrifice, our faith is always future-focused. It comes full circle, nurtured by our remembering. As we remember the mighty acts of Jesus, the creative acts of God, let us also remember those who died while serving our country and those loved ones who are no longer with us, but will never be forgotten. Thanks be to God for the gifts bestowed upon us.

Joys and Concerns

For the joy and pride that comes with remembering the service to our country that so many, known and unknown to us, have made to protect our freedom and democracy.

For solace and comfort as we contemplate those who have given their lives for our nation, and those whose lives have been cut short by the Corona virus.

For all the people who seek to model the life of Christ with generosity and selflessness.

For our leaders as they wrestle with all the complexities of dealing with the pandemic.

For all the helpers who are working so hard to guide our confused and frightened children through these unusual and difficult days.

Let us pray together,

Great God of the universe, as we turn our thoughts to the past sacrifices of those who died so that we might live in freedom, grant us hearts and minds that are truly thankful.

Help us to fully appreciate the price that was paid at places like Bunker Hill, the Battle of New Orleans, the Alamo, Gettysburg, San Juan Hill, the Ardennes, Omaha Beach, Iwo Jima, Pork Chop Hill, and more recently, in Lebanon, Grenada, Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

Thank you for those who gave the “last full measure of devotion” and laid down their lives for this country. As we remember these fallen comrades-in-arms who died in both long-past and more recent conflicts, fill us with resolve that we might be willing to lay our lives on the line to defend the precious freedoms we enjoy today.

But most of all, enable us to trust you, the living God, and to entrust to your keeping ourselves and our country. For we know that no person or nation can enjoy the blessings of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without your gracious intervention in the affairs of us, your children.

We pray for all who mourn the deaths of loved ones during this pandemic. Grant them peace of soul that as the bitter sting of their grief and pain begin to wane, they may remember in life-affirming ways the gifts of those who will not be forgotten even though they’re no longer with us. May remembering those gifts empower and inspire those who mourn.

We ask all of this, and so much more, in your holy name. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for May 21, 2020

Dear Friends,

Today is the day in the Christian calendar when many churches celebrate the Ascension of Jesus. Observed primarily by Catholic, Anglican, and Orthodox churches, this feast day, which always falls forty days after Easter, has waned in significance in recent decades. As you’ll recall, the Orthodox churches celebrate Easter on a different day, so this year, our Orthodox sisters and brothers will mark the Ascension of Christ next week. Even though the ascension is not a major event on our Protestant liturgical calendar, it seems an important part of Jesus’s story for us to consider.

Before we try to unravel the remarkable story of the ascension, let us first open our hearts to understanding with a prayer for illumination:

Come Holy Spirit, open our minds to see the power of Scripture that gives us life. Enlighten our hearts that we might see Christ in all whom we meet. Hear our prayer, which we offer in the name of the one holy and living God, to whom we give all glory. Amen.

It’s widely accepted that Luke and Acts are a two-volume set, written by a single person. We’ll call him Luke, though we don’t know the name of the actual writer. The Gospel of Luke, like the other three gospels, focuses on the story of Jesus’s earthly life and ministry, including his death and resurrection.

But Luke is unique among the gospel writers; he alone includes an account of Christ’s ascension into heaven. He ends his gospel story and completes his narrative of Jesus’s ministry by describing the ascension: “While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.” (Luke 24:51-53) Then, almost as if Luke had stopped simply to take a breath and have a quick sip of water, he transitions seamlessly into the Acts of the Apostles, his next book. After a brief reminder of what he had recounted in his gospel, he begins the next book by invoking the ascension. “In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven.” (Acts 1:1-2a).

With our perspective from centuries later, the ascension seems a given, but this is the first time it’s mentioned in the Bible. It’s so dramatic, even cinematic, that it has become a subject for many great artists. You can see how inspiring it was to Rembrandt in his magnificent painting of the ascension. The painting is both inspired and inspiring, just as careful thought about the notion of Christ’s ascension is for all who take some time to consider it.

I suspect that after seeing how these two books flow together, some of you may be wondering why the Gospel of John interrupts the flow of the narrative of Luke into Acts. When the creation of the canon (the set of texts defined by the early church as definitive scripture) began in the second century, decisions were made to keep the gospel accounts together, and to place them at the beginning of the New Testament, where they served as the foundation for the rest of the story. And just as the canon organizers chose to keep the gospel narratives together, so, too, they kept the epistles together. These are the letters – mostly from Paul, as well as some attributed to Peter, James, and others, including John (a different John from the writer of the Gospel of John) – that reflect the diversity and range of the expanding communities of faith.

The book of Acts, however, is neither a gospel nor an epistle. While it clearly follows directly from the Gospel of Luke, it’s not about Jesus’s ministry on earth; it concentrates instead on the emerging and expanding church. And so, it nestles between the gospels and the epistles. The apparent interruption by the Gospel of John of the narrative begun in Luke and continued in Acts is an unintentional consequence of the organizational priorities of the creators of the canon.

Like the liturgical calendar and the lectionary, the selection and order of the books of the New Testament were established over centuries of worship as a means for Christians to experience – to live – the central aspects of our faith. Ideally, the story of our faith is remembered and renewed each time we journey through the cycle. Like great drama and art, the practice reveals vital truths, which we perceive not only by watching the story unfold, but also by our participation in the life of our faith.

Of course, as we engage in this discerning practice, problems of consistency inevitably come up and clutter our minds. Despite such obstacles, God’s ongoing revelation of divine truth must remain foremost to people of faith. One such example of inconsistency occurs with a close reading of the closing verses of Luke and the opening verses of Acts. In Luke, Christ’s ascension occurs in Bethany, late on the day of his resurrection, while in Acts, Jesus’s ascension occurs forty days later: “After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God.” (Acts 1:3) (Those forty days are the source for the dating of the Feast of the Ascension.) The essential concept here is the ascension itself, not when it occurred. It is more important to the development of faith to focus on the notion of Christ’s resurrection and ascension to God than on the exact day on which they occurred.

The ascension has three significant dimensions for us. First, it assures us that Jesus’s ministry and commission to the early disciples, and to us twenty-first century disciples, come from God. The ascension is confirmation that Jesus has returned to sit at the right hand of God, a place of power and importance to the people of his time (and ours). Recall how the disciples debated which of them would be seated at the right hand of Jesus, in the coveted place of prominence and distinction. An ancient saying held that “the right hand of God is everywhere.” This phrase underscores our assurance of the triad of virtues that help define God – all-powerful (omnipotent), all-knowing (omniscient), and all-present (omnipresent – everywhere). The risen Christ’s ascension to sit at God’s right hand assures us that Christ and God are one and the same, and that Christ Jesus’s presence and power are everywhere.

Second, Luke and numerous other New Testament writers state repeatedly that Jesus will return to us. With the ascension, Jesus returns to the right hand of God, where he was before his incarnation in human form. During the unknown duration of time before Christ’s return to us, thanks to God’s (Christ’s) omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence, we may rest assured that Christ/God is with us always, because God is everywhere and at all times.

Finally, the imagery of Christ/God ascended to the presence of the one who is sovereign over all creation implicitly contrasts earthly power, which can be seen as the dominion of Caesar, with that of Jesus. We see yet again that the one who seems weak by earthly standards, the one who is humiliated and crucified, is ultimately the one who is all-powerful and sits at God’s right hand. Mortal beings in Rome, or anywhere on earth, who claim divinity and power over all the earth ultimately fall, and that fall is inevitable in the face of God’s eternal reign.

Luke’s account of the ascension, particularly in Acts, moves us to the next step of witness to Jesus’s teaching, resurrection, and salvation. The ascension brings a greater maturity to the developing theology of the New Testament and solidifies the notion of salvation. When asked by his disciples, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6), the risen Christ responds with a hint of the second coming that will result from their (and our) response to his mandate to witness to what they’ve seen and learned. “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (Acts 1:7-8)

The disciples expected that Jesus would immediately inaugurate a new age of God’s reign on earth. And yet, here they were: Jesus was about to leave them, to abandon them. The disciples were impatient for the restoration of the kingdom, but Jesus counseled that they wait. One can only begin to imagine their confusion and concern. “While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is what you have heard from me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit, not many days from now.’” (Acts 1:4-5)

This was Jesus’s assurance that they were not to be abandoned; the Holy Spirit would descend at Pentecost. Nor are we abandoned; we have only to wait for ten days longer to experience the miracle, consolation, and inspiration of Pentecost, when we will celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit that empowers us to take up the commission that Christ gives to us all. It’s fair to say that the same commission that was given to the early disciples is given to us today; our task, like theirs, is to bring the gospel message to our neighbors by our witness in both word and deed.

For us, in these days of self-isolation from the corona virus, the notion of waiting seems to dominate our every hour and action. Waiting feels beyond our control. We don’t know when the virus will subside, when we’ll develop an effective vaccine, when we’ll feel safe, when we and our communities will return to the lives we enjoyed just a few months ago, when we’ll be able to worship together in our sanctuary. We are fearful, anxious, and even depressed.

Thankfully, in the midst of so many unknowns, we are able to celebrate the unexpected goodness we find in waiting: new communities that we’re building with neighbors, families, friends, and one another, new perspectives on what matters and what is no longer important to us. And though we don’t know when the pandemic will truly end, we do know that the day will come when it will be in our past. I pray we’ll be able to act on the many lessons we’ve learned about ourselves and our faith once the pandemic is behind us.

These are challenging, complex times; they pose more questions than answers. Right now, even as we try to define our new reality, we must continue to wait for comfort, for health, for healing, for wholeness. I am as anxious as you may be, and yet, I’m heartened by knowing how many of us are waiting actively rather than passively. We’re looking up and outward, where we’re able to see Christ ascending to the right hand of God; we’re finding Christ’s presence even in our pandemic-defined lives.

Be assured that despite our questions, despite our fear, Christ is present with us. Even as he ascends into heaven, he is also here with us in a time of great need.

Thanks be to God for God’s abundant gifts, which we receive in faith and a sureness of understanding.

Let us pray together:

O God of glory, sovereign of all nations, the risen and ascended Christ calls us to carry your message of life to all people, especially in this time of so much death. Led by the power of your Holy Spirit, may we witness always to the hope to which we are called as we share Christ’s love to the far ends of the earth. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Note on Mother's Day, May 10, 2020

Dear Friends,

As you know, every Sunday, there are four Lectionary readings. For this, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, I’ve selected the Epistle Lesson, I Peter 2:2-10, as the focus for this occasional note.

Before you read today’s scripture, please pray the following prayer of illumination, knowing that as you pray in your home, you are not alone; you are joined by everyone in the congregation despite our being apart:

Faithful God, we are grateful that you reveal your marvelous light to us. Explain to us now what is necessary for us to know. Show us the way you would have us go, that your will may be accomplished among us.

As we examine today’s scripture reading, we are eager to receive your word. Thank you for nurturing our understanding and insight. May they equip us to do the greater work to which you call us, that the world may see you and believe. Amen.

This epistle, or letter, was most likely written in the last decade of the first century, making it one of the last epistles included in our Biblical canon. It is honorifically named I Peter, but we don’t know the name of the actual writer. The letter combines the theological perspectives of Paul and Peter into a unified witness to Jesus Christ at a time of deadly persecution of Christian communities. At the end of the first century, when this letter is thought to have been written, Emperor Domitian was the authoritarian ruler of the Roman Empire. He was a cruel despot who officially encouraged and promoted the brutal destruction of the Christian communities that were emerging throughout the empire. This epistle was written to a deeply suffering people to comfort and encourage them to hold onto their faith despite the anxiety of their times.

Looking beyond today’s reading to the end of this epistle, we find a further clue that the letter was written during the depths of Domitian’s reign of terror on Christians where it says, “Your sister church in Babylon, chosen together with you, sends you greetings.” (I Peter 5:13) Babylon was a cryptic code name for Rome, and Christians of that time would have known that the letter had arrived, not from the east, which would have been Babylon, but from the west, in Rome. This would have assured them that they were not alone; they had sisters and brothers in Rome who had not forgotten them in the midst of Domitian’s persecution.

The letter addresses Christians who were living in five areas – Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynoia – in Asia Minor, now known as Turkey, as specified in I Peter 1:1. In that verse, these early Christians are called “the exiles of the Dispersion,” echoing the image of Israel during its Babylonian exile. This theme of being exiles – of being separate and cut off – is continued in the verse immediately after our reading for today, where those for whom this letter is written are called “aliens and exiles” in verse 11. What a lonely image that is!

In the six short decades after Jesus’s resurrection, the growth in the number of believers was extraordinary, and the new Christian church had expanded throughout the vast Roman Empire. The call in I Peter 2:1 to “rid yourselves, therefore, of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander” was a mandate for these new Christian communities to live differently from the Romans, who didn’t worship the God of the Christians and Jews. The clear implication is that malice, guile, insincerity, etc. were the hallmarks of the polytheistic world. So, too, are we called today to live as God nurtures us and calls us, rather than as the dominant culture might promote and even honor.

Today’s scriptural passage continues by likening Christians to “newborn infants, [who] long for the pure, spiritual milk.” (I Peter 2:2) This metaphor envisions God as a nursing mother who nurtures and sustains her infant. For us today, the idea of “spiritual milk” encourages us to recognize that as Christians, we are fed by God, and, as the verse goes on to say, “the Lord is good.” Our call is not just to become more of who we already are, not simply to grow from newborn infants into adults. By receiving the spiritual nourishment that God provides, our call is to “grow into salvation,” to become a people whose faith is grounded in the commandment to love one another. Our call is to find security in God’s love, even when we feel exiled from God, even when we may be living through anxious and forbidding times, as indeed, we are today.

And then the writer shifts the metaphor the rather mysterious concept of “living stones.” What, exactly is a “living stone”? A stone is “living” if it is uncut and still in its natural place. The epistle writer calls Jesus and all of us living stones. “Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” (I Peter 2: 4-5)

The writer confounds us a bit as he continues, “See, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious; and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame.” (I Peter 2: 6b) Here, Jesus is also the cornerstone, which is quite different from a living stone. A cornerstone must be accurately cut and chiseled, and it must be laid precisely in place. The cornerstone gives both support and orientation for the entire building. Within normal construction, it would be impossible for a living stone to also be a cornerstone. But the construction built by Jesus is not normal; it is a spiritual house.

The epistle writer then pushes the metaphor even further. He includes us as part of the actual structure of the spiritual house of God. We are first called to “come to him,” to Christ, who is a “living stone.” (I Peter 2:4) Then we, the followers of Christ, are called to be like the living stone that is Jesus; we are called to “let [our]selves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” That’s quite a mandate.

In verses 6-8, we find references to Jesus as the cornerstone that recall numerous passages from the Old Testament. For example, verse 6 echoes Isaiah 28:16, where the coming messiah is called “a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation.” In I Peter 2:7, when the writer proclaims, “To you then who believe, he is precious, but for those who do not believe ‘the stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner,’” we hear the proclamation from Psalm 118:22 that “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.” The concept of the cornerstone is echoed in the gospels as well, and the writer of I Peter would have had access to those gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all recall the words of the Old Testament when referring to Jesus as the cornerstone (see Matthew 21:42, Mark 12:10, Luke 20:17, Acts 4:11). Another epistle, Ephesians 2:19-20 carries it further: “You are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.”

Together, we living stones are the spiritual house that relies on Christ as the cornerstone, giving us both support and orientation. This is the working definition of the church in I Peter.

This “spiritual house” is boundless. It is more than any single people; it is more than any single location. In I Peter 2:10, the author loosely quotes Hosea 2:23, saying, “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people.” I Peter reminds us that as a people, Christians are closer to the experience of Israel than of any people defined by nation or city-state. The passage we’re reading today is a masterful interweaving of the prophesies of the Old Testament and the witness of the gospels.

Though we have no boundaries, though we’re not limited by geography, we are called a “holy nation.” “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.” (I Peter 2:9) For I Peter, holiness is obedience to God. Since the “spiritual house” is the church, and we are God’s people, we must recognize the communal nature of this new life we have in Christ. We are a new people, though I am not a new person. Holiness is not any individual’s own possession: it exists in community when we love one another. Let us live faithfully in that community together. Even in times like these, of self-isolation and, often, despair, we are together in community with one another and with God. As we worship by reading the Bible, by praying, by reading these notes, by caring for one another, and by protecting one another even as we distance ourselves from them, we are living stones in the new household of God, built on the foundation of apostles and prophets, whose cornerstone is Jesus Christ.

Let us pray together:

*Gracious God who dances in our lives and hearts as Holy Spirit, you are always present, always abundant and always calling us to yourself. We are humble in our gratitude for your presence. Awaken us today to what can be. Encourage us in the vision you have created for Scottsville Presbyterian Church. We long to be faithful, to be pleasing, to give back to you what you so generously give us. Rain down upon us, God, like the nurturing rains of spring. Drench us in your dreams and your breath that is life. In all things, may what we do, be for you.

Today we give thanks for mothers – for those who have given life and birth to us, for those who have cared for us and nurtured us, for those who stand by our side and raise us up when we are low – whether they bear the formal title of mother or are called sister, aunt, friend, grandmother; all who care for the helpless and nurture them into strength are fit to be called mother.

We ask your blessed embrace on those who are missing their mothers today, for those who long to be mothers, and for those who have no women to serve as role models in their lives.

The scriptures say you care for us as a mother hen does her chicks. We need you, God, and your wings of grace – sometimes for protection and sometimes to soar through the skies.

With tender compassion and transforming power, you come among us, O God, making us members of your household and part of the very structure of your house. Strengthen us in faith; expand our vision, and fill us with the hope of your Spirit, so that together, we may build up your dwelling place and become its “living stones.”

In the name of the cornerstone of our faith, Christ Jesus, we pray. Amen*

Rev. Knox's Post for May 7, 2020

Dear Friends,

There are two events that I’d like to share with you today. The first is in anticipation of Mother’s Day this coming Sunday. This is often seen as something of a commercial holiday, but its roots are deeply Christian; we can find them in the Bible and in our own history. And there are powerful movements of mothers that affect our nation and actions for justice in our contemporary world. The second event is the National Day of Prayer, which is celebrated today.

Mother’s Day is celebrated annually as a day to honor mothers, motherhood, and the influence of mothers on society. It’s observed in various months (usually in March and May), in over forty countries throughout the world. Anna Maria Jarvis (1864-1948) of West Virginia is most often credited with the founding of Mother's Day here in the United States. Quite an accomplished woman, she was encouraged and supported by her visionary and much beloved mother. With her mother’s support, she attended college at the Augusta Female Seminary in Staunton, Virginia, today’s Mary Baldwin University, and created a professional life for herself. She worked as a teacher in Virginia and as a bank teller in Tennessee before moving to Pennsylvania, where she became the first female literary and advertising editor at an insurance company. She remained close to her mother throughout all these moves and welcomed her to her home in Pennsylvania when her mother’s health began to fail. Her mother died in 1905. In 1908, Anna Jarvis held a memorial service at her church to honor her and all mothers; that was the first official observance of Mother’s Day. In 1912, she created the Mother’s Day International Association, and two years later, in 1914, President Woodrow Wilson formally designated the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day in the U.S.

As a people of faith, we remember faithful women and beloved mothers from the scriptures. In Genesis 15-18, we read of Sarah, old, childless, and despairing of ever having a family with her husband. As part of God’s covenant of faith with Abraham, she gave birth to Isaac. Her faith remained despite her surprise at her own unlikely pregnancy.

And we remember the first mother, Eve, the mother of Cain and Abel, in the opening chapters of Genesis, and Hannah, the mother of Samuel, who gave birth late in life after promising God that she would raise her child to serve God, as recorded in the First Book of Samuel.

We remember the story in Exodus 1-2 of the courage of the unnamed mother of Moses, who defied the Egyptian king’s orders to kill her own son and instead hid him in the reeds of the Nile. This ruthless king of Egypt had ordered the midwives – mother-figures all – to kill all newborn Hebrew male infants at birth, but they secretly and bravely defied him. In a genocidal rage, he then commanded that the people themselves kill their sons by throwing them into the Nile. And we remember the daughter of Pharaoh, who found the infant Moses and raised him as her own son in the very court of the one who had decreed his death. One gave up her son that he might have life, and the other took him in despite the risks to him and her own power.

We remember Ruth and Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law. Naomi loved Ruth so much that, after the death of Ruth’s husband, her son, she urged her daughter-in-law to leave her and return to her homeland, where she was likely to find food, security, familiar relatives, and comfort. But Ruth chose the less secure path, staying with her vulnerable, also widowed mother-in-law and journeyed with her to Bethlehem, a place she did not know. The love between these two women transcended all boundaries of geography, culture, and society.

From the New Testament, we remember Elizabeth and Mary, cousins who gave birth in strange and unexpected, but faith-filled, circumstances, to sons. One, John the Baptist, was destined to inaugurate and proclaim a radical new movement of faith, and the other, Jesus, would save the world with a message of peace, justice, and love. Both mothers lost their sons to violent deaths, when both sons gave their lives as young adults to the proclamation and creation of what would become our faith.

In the early history of our church, we remember Monica, who raised her son, Augustine, in a faith that was neither supported by her husband nor yet widely recognized by the Roman culture. And that son became Augustine of Hippo, St. Augustine, whose writings are an essential part of the development of western Christianity.

Women through the centuries have modeled their work for the church and society on the nurturing, sustaining love of mothers. We remember ministries in churches that are often created, led, and supported by women in a life-giving response to God’s love for us – food pantries; feeding programs; Christian education programs (which were almost always led only by women until very recently); Vacation Bible School programs; and in missionary programs, where they teach, serve in medical roles, and proclaim and represent the depth of their faith throughout the world. I suspect you can think of others.

We remember those mothers who, having lost their children to violence and injustice, witness daily to their children’s too-short lives. We remember the fearless mothers of MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), who for forty years have made our communities safer after their children had been killed by drunk drivers, and Mothers of the Movement, a group of women whose African American children have been unjustly killed by misguided police officers or gun violence.

We remember our own mothers and the many women of our communities who have helped to mother us into the people we are today. That the word “mother” can be so easily and understandably used as a verb says it all! For all those who cared and continue to care, we give thanks to God, and to them.

I pray that my list may be our list, and yet I know I have left far too many mothers out. Remember them now and on Sunday.

As you may recall, on March 15, we observed a national day of prayer that was specifically related to the current pandemic. Prayer has unique and lasting effects on our national psyche, providing hope and solace in a time of great sadness and anxiety. The power of prayer is further evidenced by the fact that as a nation for nearly seventy years, we’ve designated an annual National Day of Prayer on the first Thursday in May. The National Day of Prayer is meant to serve as something of a bookend with Thanksgiving, which is about six months from now, on the fourth Thursday in November. Its origins stretch back to colonial days, when American colonists proclaimed days of prayer and fasting to protest British laws and actions. Virginia led many such events, protesting, for example, the British Port Act in 1774 with a time of fasting and prayer. Thomas Jefferson summed up that event with great admiration. “The effect of the day through the whole colony,” he wrote, “was like a shock of electricity.” Such is the power of prayer that shortly thereafter, Virginia moved to choose delegates for the purpose of establishing self-rule. There were many national days of prayer throughout our history, and in 1952, the first Thursday in May was formalized into law as the National Day of Prayer by the United States Congress and signed by President Truman. The law asks us “to turn to God in prayer and meditation.” Every year since then, the president has signed a proclamation encouraging Americans to pray on this day.

On this National Day of Prayer, the United Church of Christ, a partner denomination of the Presbyterian Church USA, is offering prayers every hour, that this day might be an International Day of Prayer. You may find all the prayers at UCC.org/IDOP. I have chosen one of the prayers for us to share together. It was written by the Rev. Dr. Allan Boesak, a Dutch Reformed Church cleric from Cape Town, South Africa. He is an author, public theologian, politician, anti-apartheid activist, and Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Award Laureate.

As the sun sets here in Virginia, let us join in prayer with people of faith from around the world:

Oh God of endless grace, refuge of steadfast, boundless love, thank you that we are among the living today. In our bewilderment, helplessness and confusion, hear us. Death and destruction surround us in ways we have not ever imagined, cannot follow, cannot fully understand, and have no power to overcome. It is through your mercies that we are not consumed, because your compassions never fail. We are afraid of what we hear, yet like moths drawn to a deadly flame we turn daily to news that drowns us in fear and hopelessness. There is no comfort or safety in numbers now; it is in solitude that a way to life now lies. Help us not to resent our isolation, but to embrace the stillness, so we can hear your voice. Speak to us now of your mercies that are new every morning. Assure us once again that our lives are precious in your sight. Help us overcome our many fears, for you are our light and our salvation. Like Jesus in the wilderness, help us to discern and resist the temptations that in our anxiousness we call survival skills: of selfishness and mindless self-preservation that make us instant hoarders of what all must share; of desires to in our panic claim you for ourselves as if you are not the God of all; of securing our own security even at the cost of that of others. Teach us to pray for others, especially those who are our first defenders now. Help us to keep the love for your other children in our eyes for love’s own sake, even as we have to hide half our face behind the mask we wear for safety’s sake. Let our enforced isolation never become a substitute for lasting solidarity. We have to keep our distance. Do not be distant from us. Help us hear the breathing of your Holy Spirit as she whispers to us of a new tomorrow. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post on Prayer, April 30, 2020

Dear Friends,

To our shared dismay and anxious sadness, the pandemic continues, growing more complex with each day. We hear about too many people falling ill, and we learn of some who die; we see shuttered businesses and know their owners are suffering, as are their employees; we see long lines at foodbanks and know that far too many are hungry; we know our children are struggling to continue learning from home, and that they miss their teachers and friends; we learn of the enormity of the challenges that our health care providers, service providers, and first responders continue to take on so willingly. We see ever greater vulnerability among the most vulnerable, here and around the world. We know that even those who don’t suffer directly are threatened by confusion and fear. We all put off the self-care we need because our doctors and caregivers are consumed by more urgent demands.

I find myself praying a lot in these days of crisis.

Prayer is central to our faith as Christians. Before the pandemic, we prayed when we gathered together for Sunday worship. We prayed at Bible studies and church fellowship events. We prayed at services that marked the most significant times of our lives – baptisms, confirmations, graduations, weddings, funerals. Prayer has most often been a powerful part of our communal life together.

Prayer is amazingly flexible; it’s appropriate for us communally and also as individuals. It goes well beyond our formal worship life, adapting to our needs as we make our way through our lives. For many, prayer is so comfortable that it’s a “knee-jerk” reaction. How often, especially when we receive good news in the midst of a crisis, do we quickly utter, “Thank God!” Many of us pray when we wake, or when we go to sleep, when we sit down to a meal, when we hear sirens, when we receive good news or bad – at any of those times when we feel the need to be closer to God. There’s no maximum or minimum time limit for prayer. Prayers can be said in the space of mere seconds or in long contemplation. We pray in the solitude of our private spaces – in our homes, in the car, on walks, at our favorite places, almost anywhere. We pray whenever we need to step back for a moment or longer and just take a break to “be alone.” But are we truly alone?

God is with us. Prayer is the basic practice of communication with God. By praying, we affirm that ultimately, we know that we are never totally alone. There might be times when, in our human finitude and pain (physical, emotional, or spiritual), we can’t grasp that God is with us, and we might feel abandoned. And now, in this time of pandemic, when we’re dealing with communal, governmental, and self-imposed isolation that extends even to our beloved sanctuary, we might wonder if we are isolated from God as well. It is at times like this that prayer, in and of and by itself, reminds us and makes us more fully aware that we are not alone.

Even if you don’t have a specific reason to pray at this moment, take a breath now and offer up a prayer. It can be short or long, no matter. Just the act of praying will empower you and remind you, emphatically, that you are not alone, and your solitary prayer is very powerful.

I’ve met so many people who confess with great unhappiness, even some shame, that they don’t know “how” to pray. “What must I do?” they ask. Be assured; God doesn’t judge your prayers; on the contrary, God hears them.

The singular, fundamental essence of prayer is that it is a way to open us to be touched by God.

There is no set formula for prayer. We pray as we are moved to pray, or as God moves us to pray. That said, professors in divinity schools, teachers in Sunday Schools, ministers, and people who want to get at the essence of prayer try to help those who seek to know the “how” of prayer, and they’ve developed some foundational forms of prayer. I offer them to help you organize your prayerful thought and contemplation. They’re meant only to guide you, if you wish such guidance; they’re not prescriptions for prayer. Again, be assured that God hears your prayers; it’s not important to God whether or not your prayers are sophisticated or that they include all the suggestions below. There is power in all prayers.

With the understanding that there is no perfect way to pray, no required “how,” wise thinkers like those professors and Sunday School teachers have come to see four basic aspects to prayer: adoration, contrition, thanksgiving, and supplication. A prayer does not have to have all four, or even any, of these qualities. But I hope that knowing these four traits of prayer will help to “prime the pump” for our personal prayer lives. And I encourage you to pray; the more often we pray, the easier it becomes to reach out to God.

Adoration We often begin prayers with words of adoration. “Almighty and powerful,” “Always caring, all knowing God,” “Blessed Jesus,” “Ever-present Holy Spirit.” The list goes on and on. When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, he began his prayer with words of adoration: “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Adoration is how we praise God, how we revere and glorify God. It’s how we acknowledge how central and significant God is in our lives.

Contrition The counterpart to our reverence for the majesty of God is our awareness of the limits of our finite humanity, and so we confess our limitations and shortfalls. We share with God, if no one else, our wrongdoings – great or small – as a way of recognizing that God is perfect and we are not. And we are able to share those deficiencies and sins because we know God to be not only majestic, but also unconditionally loving and forgiving.

Thanksgiving An essential part of authentic relationship (with God and with one another) is gratitude for the gifts we are given as part of that relationship. In prayer, we accept and acknowledge the many ways God cares for us; we recognize God’s abundant gifts to us. An attitude of gratitude is the foundation of thanksgiving.

Supplication Here is the part of our relationship with God that seems to pose the most problems for us, for it is here that we ask God for what we need. It’s uncomfortable for many of us to ever admit to needing anything. Perhaps it will help if we try to discern the difference between wants and needs, and even that can be difficult. “Want” can mean famine or hunger, but it more often has to do with desire, rather than the essential requirements for life, and for abundant life in the Biblical sense. (We’ll learn more about abundant life on Sunday.) In this time of pandemic isolation, we’re learning that there are all sorts of things we want, but those are different from what we need. “Need” is more fundamental, more essential to life, which includes physical, emotional, and spiritual life. There is a difference between being selfish and recognizing our needs. In our prayers of supplication, we pray for people in need who are close to us and people whom we may not know but only know of, and we pray for our own needs. We pray for our families, our church, our community, our nation, and our world. We pray for loving ways to relate to one another, to God’s creation, and to causes that might seem far beyond our abilities to affect but need our prayers. God welcomes these prayers, whether they are for ourselves or for others, known and unknown, to us. God’s love, remember, is unconditional and eternal.

I’ve said several times here that prayer is powerful. But what is the power of prayer? It’s something we discover as and when we pray; the act itself of praying is powerful. George MacLeod, a minister of the Church of Scotland and the founder of the Iona Community (a retreat and prayer center on the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland), gives a wonderful description of the power of prayer. He writes:

“Where people are praying for peace the cause of peace is being strengthened by their very act of prayer, for they are themselves becoming immersed in the spirit of peace.”

Let us pray together,

All-loving God, we come before you in humbleness and humility, recognizing our inabilities to make the world into a place that would foster and nurture all of your children, our sisters and brothers. We are awed by the abundance of your life-giving love for us all. We thank you for gifts of community, and for moments of peace in our individual lives, in our families, and our global community. Yet we are bold to ask for your loving grace to cascade upon us even more. Be with us, and be with those who are sick, those who mourn, those who are suffering loss of livelihood, those who are afraid, those who hunger, those who are lonely, those who face death. Be with them and be with us, we pray. In Christ’s name and by the power of the Holy Spirit we raise our prayers to you, Almighty God, now and forever. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Note for Ramadan, April 24, 2020

Dear Friends,

Yesterday evening at sunset, the Islamic month of Ramadan began. This is the month during which the 1.8 billion Muslims around the world fast from dawn to dusk every day. The fast (Sawm in Arabic) is undertaken to encourage a feeling of nearness to God. During the fast, Muslims express their gratitude for and dependence on God, and they atone for past sins, practice self-control, and think of the needy. The fast is not required for those for whom it would be an undue burden. The traditional greeting during these holy days is “Ramadan Mubarak” (“RAH-mah-dahn moo-BAR-ahk”), which means, “May God give you a blessed month.” The traditional response is “Ramadan Karim” (“RAH-mah-dahn KAH-reem”), which means, “May God give you a generous month.”

When the month of Ramadan is completed, Muslims celebrate Id al-Fitr (“id AHL-fih-ter”), or the Feast of the Breaking of the Fast. This holiday lasts for three days, during which family members gather to feast and exchange gifts.

Ramadan is one of the five “Pillars of Islam,” or rules of the faith, which comprise the framework of Islamic belief and worship. The others are: the creed or belief (Shahad), prayer (Salah) five times a day, almsgiving (Zakat), and the pilgrimage to Mecca (Hajj) at least once in a lifetime for those physically and financially able to make the journey.

I share this very basic introduction to Islam as a way for our community of faith here in Scottsville to broaden our awareness and understanding of this major world religion. More importantly, I share it so we’ll enjoy a deeper understanding of the people themselves, including the 3.5 million Muslims in the United States, some of whom may be our neighbors and friends.

In this time of unyielding pandemic anxiety and suffering, I invite you to remember that God is with us, now and always. God loves us, now and always, and God invites us to love one another as God loves us. I hope the simple, but challenging, act of contemplating the immensity of God’s love will bring you solace, comfort, and peace in these anxious times.

The three Abrahamic faiths – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – all worship the same God, and all of us are especially focused on God at this time of pandemic and within our respective religious calendars. Passover ended last week; Ramadan began last night; and we are in the midst of the fifty-day period of Eastertide.

I offer the following prayer for you this day from Beliefnet.com. It seems a most appropriate prayer to share as we worship the one God whose love for us and our Jewish and Muslim sisters and brothers is eternal and unconditional. Let us pray together:

O God, you are the source of life and peace.

Praised be your name forever.

We know it is you who turns our minds to thoughts of peace.

Hear our prayer in this time of crisis.

Your power changes hearts.

Muslims, Christians, and Jews remember, and profoundly affirm, that they are followers of the one God, Children of Abraham, brothers and sisters; enemies begin to speak to one another; those who were estranged join hands in friendship; nations seek the way of peace together.

Strengthen our resolve to give witness to these truths by the way we live.

Give to us: Understanding that puts an end to strife; Mercy that quenches hatred; and Forgiveness that overcomes vengeance.

Empower all people to live in your law of love. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Note for Earth Day, April 22, 2020

Dear Friends,

I was amazed the other day to realize that Earth Day is celebrating its 50th anniversary today. I vividly remember the first Earth Day, now such a regular part of our year that it seems like it was always on our calendars. We’ve watched with alarm as our climate changes with unanticipated speed, and Earth Day has become more important than ever. It’s observed annually in churches around the world as a day of gratitude to God for the gift of creation and as a call to protect and preserve the environment. I think it’s observed daily by all the gardeners and farmers in our little church, and I thank God for being in the company of such a group.

That said, I’d like to share a few thoughts on this Earth Day, and I welcome yours in response. In the creation stories found in the first two chapters of Genesis, God forms the cosmos, which, of course, includes the majesty of the whole creation. We now understand that to be the great galaxies and the tiniest parts of the atom, even all those bothersome mosquitoes and gnats. We are meant to cherish them all (though Nan might not agree right now, with spring inevitably bringing too many curious spiders into our house…).

As you reflect on Earth Day, recall the two creation stories in Genesis 1:1-2:25. In the first chapter, God gives us dominion over all that God had created. (Genesis 1:26) This is the verse that has generated so much discussion, debate, and argument in recent decades.

We seem to be able to find reasons to create divisions over just about everything, sadly, and care for the earth has been a contentious issue since long before the first Earth Day rally 50 years ago. Using these first two chapters in Genesis, some argue that since God has given us dominion over all the world, the world is entirely ours, and we’re authorized by God to use and even abuse it for our own self-interest. A corollary for many is that all-powerful God will magically heal what has been damaged. There are others who blame the church itself for the rise and perpetuation of such attitudes.

To these “dominion critics,” I respond that they aren’t reading the Bible with the care it demands. Yes, God gives us dominion, but that is far from all that God gives. Read Genesis 1:26 again, the entire long sentence that makes up that verse. There, God certainly does say, “let them [humankind] have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.” And in verse 28, God goes on, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over…every living thing that moves upon the earth.”

It’s easy to get caught up in these long lists of living things. But pay more attention to the beginning of verse 26. It’s deceptively simple, but it’s far more powerful than the lists. It changes the very notion of dominion itself, of the meaning of God’s gift of our dominion over all the earth. God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.”

This is the powerful, radical notion: we are created in the image of God. And, just in case we missed it (as we too often do), it’s repeated again as the entirety of verse 27: “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”

So, what does it mean to be created in the image of God, in God’s likeness? We all try to envision God, and I suspect many of us imagine God to be much like us. Great artists’ images of God are nearly always profoundly human representations. It’s easier for us to think that God resembles us physically, but nowhere in the Bible is there even a remote hint of God’s physical appearance. God is the burning bush, a whisper from above; God is Yahweh, the mysterious “I am who I am.”

What we are able to know from the scriptures are the attributes of God. God is the one who is just, merciful, loving. God may discipline us, especially in the Old Testament stories; even Jesus rebukes his disciples. God’s discipline, however, is a part of God’s love. God is the nurturer, the parent all of us wish we could be or that we could have had. And those attributes (which are actually far more complex and varied than I can get into in this Occasional Note) comprise the true image of God from whom we were created. Only when we claim and exhibit those Godly attributes may we lay claim to the dominion of God’s creation as God intends for us.

Voltaire, the French philosopher, wrote, “In the beginning God created man in his own image, and man has been trying to repay the favor ever since.” Voltaire was, of course, being quite sarcastic; he was saying it was we who created God in our image. But actually, it is our mandate to “return the favor” by living in God’s image – to rise to that immense challenge – in these times of threat to our only home, the planet itself.

The impact of humankind on God’s creation has radically altered it to such a degree that our rare, life-sustaining climate is changing in unpredictable and ultimately life-threatening ways. In creating us in God’s image, God also gives us free will. God will not magically heal the earth; that is our responsibility, and if I may be so bold, I believe that responsibility is God’s intention for us as part of the free will God has given us. We must change our lifestyles in order for God’s life-giving creation to continue to create and recreate life. By exercising our free will to protect and preserve the earth, we are also, paradoxically, doing God’s will for us and for the creation.

And that is the essence of today, Earth Day. We are meant to celebrate and nurture the earth, not to abuse it. Unlike the naysayers and nonbelievers who twist the words of the Bible to point the finger of blame at us (but not, of course, at themselves), we do believe we’ve been given the gift of dominion over our precious planet. But our dominion means protection, not exploitation. Our dominion comes with the responsibility and love that is true guardianship. We are meant to be caretakers, stewards. We are meant to reflect God’s love for us in creating us and our earthly home, to nurture it and ourselves with the fierce protectiveness of a parent, and to sustain it in order to enjoy its bounty and ensure that our children, and theirs, will be able to do so as well.

Let us pray together this prayer from the Book of Common Worship,

Almighty God, in giving us dominion over things on earth, you made us co-workers in your creation. Give us wisdom and reverence to use the resources of nature, so that no one may suffer from our abuse of them, and that generations yet to come may continue to praise you for your bounty; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Easter Sunday, April 12, 2020

Dear Friends,

Christ Is Risen! He Is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

If I were to ask you to sing right now, would you sing a hymn? Which one? Go ahead! Sing! It’s a glorious day, the day of Christ’s resurrection! Sing a song of joy and jubilation!

The glorious news of Christ’s resurrection is recorded in our gospel reading in John 20:1-18. Pray this prayer of illumination, if you wish, before you read our passage for this Easter day: Almighty God, by the power of your Spirit, roll away the stone and reveal to us the Word of Life and Love. Amen.

I miss church; I miss worshiping with you. Easter is designed to be loud, joyous, uplifting, and especially, communal. And yet, we are apart. It doesn’t feel right.

All three Abrahamic faiths – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – observe essential holidays every year, and this year, they’re very close to each other on the calendar. The eight-day observance of Passover began last Wednesday evening; we celebrate Easter today after forty days of Lent and Holy Week; and the month of Ramadan will begin on Friday, April 24th. In each of these faiths, people gather to remember the religious events that shape and define their spiritual history and that express their respective faiths.

But this year, everything is very different. Synagogues, churches, and mosques are closed up tight. Covid 19 doesn’t distinguish among religions; faith communities, like all communities world-wide, must self-isolate. Faithful families must limit the size of their in-person celebrations to those already living in their homes. It goes against everything we know, and yet, it’s the most faithful, generous, loving thing we can do at this moment in time. We are the people who celebrate an empty tomb on this day. An empty church is far from what we want, but this year, it’s how we protect ourselves and each other; it’s how we love one another! Thankfully, it seems to be working both here and in other countries around the world. But it still hurts.

We’re weary of home. Spring has arrived in all its glory, and we yearn to see all its signs – daffodils and forsythia covering the hillsides along our highways, in the mountains, on the trails. Blossoms are probably also nearby, in our yards and gardens, but we still long to just get away and be in the fields and mountains that are the hallmark of this beautiful part of Virginia. Seeing everything blossoming and unfolding is a wonderful way to re-connect, to remind ourselves that just as the seasons continue, so will we. Every year, Nan and I are touched anew that Virginia’s road crews have gone to the trouble to plant fields of daffodils along the major roads. It’s fantastic, and it’s also immensely reassuring – we are, and remain, a loving, caring people who are spurred to share the restoration and solace of nature’s beauty.

Many of our friends here have told us about their mini-road trips through central Virginia’s countryside. Taking a drive is a great way to remain isolated from the world and still be in the world. It’s safe. Enclosed in a car, everyone maintains their proper distance from others, and it’s a fine way to get out of the house for at least a short time. If you decide to take advantage of this lovely day and go for a restorative drive, please drive by Bird Street, pause, and say a prayer at 148. Pass other houses of worship. Empty churches on Easter! Who could have imagined? Pray for those communities of faith as well. It’ll be hard to be unable to go into our church, to be unable to greet everyone and share the triumph and victory that we celebrate so joyously this day. It may not feel right, but closing our doors is the right thing to do.

All that said, it still just feels wrong to be so alone. But remember how alone Jesus was, even when he was with his disciples. At the Last Supper, he was unable to share what was to come. He was alone at his trial and alone on the cross.

I’ve never really thought much about this until this year, but aloneness is actually quite a theme in Easter. Mary Magdalene came alone to the tomb. She called for Peter and the unknown disciple, “the one whom Jesus loved,” and they went with her. They each reached the tomb separately, alone. When each of them saw that the tomb was empty, the two disciples left, leaving Mary alone, weeping at her loss and what she must have thought was a terrible desecration. Everyone was alone, including the disciples mourning together or separately in Jerusalem.

In her desolation and lonely grief, Mary could not recognize Jesus when he came to her. But all he had to do was to say her name for her to recognize him. Her aloneness was instantly broken.

Even if we have family members isolating with us, we’re all lonely and alone on this day when we should be together with our church family and our extended families. Again, I miss you all, and I know that you miss one another. But we have only to listen to hear the risen Christ say our names to know that we’re never alone.

As you listen for the voice of the risen Christ, remember Jesus’s new commandment: to love one another. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34b-35) In this extraordinary year, and for this extraordinary Easter (though, of course, every Easter is extraordinary; how could the Easter event be anything else?), we must pay careful attention to that final commandment. Jesus commands us to love one another; he doesn’t specify all the myriad details of how to do so. This year, we have discerned in love that we should shutter our centers of worship as the best way to care for one another and all of God’s children.

But there’s no need to mourn that we are alone, that we must be away from each other this year. “Woman, why are you weeping?” The angels say at the tomb. (John 20:13) It’s not really a question; it’s a statement. There’s no need to weep. Jesus is risen! Jesus is ascending to God. We are here, perhaps alone this year, but we’re safe in our isolation, and we’re safe beside the risen Christ.

Empty tomb, empty churches – both are signs of love!

We continue to pray for all who risk their lives to care for us – for health care workers, all first responders, those who deliver our mail and our food, all those, seen and unseen, who bravely reach out in this pandemic season.

We pray for our leaders, for their wisdom and strength.

We pray that the love of Christ will be a blessing on all family gatherings this day, whether they’re in person, by phone, or on through the internet on Zoom, FaceTime, or Skype.

We pray for our Jewish and Muslim brothers and sisters whose celebrations this year are also affected by the restrictions of coronavirus. May they find the same love and fellowship through their faith that we find in Christ Jesus.

We offer prayers of thanksgiving for one another.

Let us pray together:

Living God, long ago, a faithful woman recognized you as the risen Lord and dared to proclaim the good news of the resurrection The world was forever changed. Teach us to keep faith with Mary Magdalene, that our witness may be as bold, our love as deep, and our faith as true. We give thanks for the blessings you bestow on us. Many people are working too much to heal people suffering from Covid-19, while others go without work, in order that the global spread of this disease might be lessened. Alleviate the pain, we pray, O God, of all who suffer. Help us to understand that the loneliness we feel comes from our communal work to love you and each other by helping to keep the virus from spreading. In the resurrection you broke the power of death and opened the way to eternal life. As the empty tomb witnesses to Christ’s triumph over death and your divine act of love, embolden your church to be a testimony to this enduring victory. Help us to understand that even though we can’t gather together on this holy day, we close our doors with love, and that alone or together, we are always a community that proclaims to the world, “Christ is risen, indeed!” Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Holy Saturday, April 11, 2020

Dear Friends,

Today is Sabbatum Sanctum, Latin for Holy Saturday. It is a day for contemplation and quiet, far different from the days of Holy Week that came before today. We’ve seen Jesus’s triumphant arrival in Jerusalem, Judas’s betrayal, the disciples’ confusion. In a single day, yesterday, on Good Friday, we followed Jesus in and out of Jerusalem as he was captured and arrested; we saw his sham trials before Annas, Caiaphas, and finally, Pilate; we witnessed the torture inflicted on him by Roman soldiers; we felt his pain at his crucifixion; and we learned of his rapid burial in a newly hewn tomb.

And now, all has come to a stop. Today, on this Holy Saturday, there is nothing. There is only profound, nearly bottomless, emptiness. Nothing about this day is recorded in the gospels. So, what scriptures should we read? Our lectionary suggests re-reading the last five verses of yesterday’s very long reading, and indeed, it’s well worth reading John 19:38-42 once again.

This empty day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday has always been a difficult day for me, and maybe for you as well. I’m able to grasp, at least to some extent, the hellishness of Jesus’s passion, and I’m eager for the glory of Easter morning. Today, though, is without events, without comment from Scripture.

For me and for many people of faith, it’s a day to mourn and grieve. This is genuine grief, with all the confusion and inability to think, all the physical, emotional, and spiritual weight that comes with the sorrow of profound loss. Everything seems dull and colorless; my attentiveness to my immediate surroundings and the people I encounter is off somehow. I grieve Jesus as deeply as I grieved my parents when they died, as I grieve all those whom I’ve lost.

But there’s something different about my grief on this day. I am somewhere else. And that’s actually literally true; I’m two thousand years away, suffering the loss of Jesus. As disciples of Jesus, we are called to hear and study his words and teachings and to live our lives as a reflection of his love and compassion. We are also called to know, in our limited human way, the enormity of his sacrifice, and to experience the same grief felt by his first disciples at his crucifixion and death. In order to know their grief, we must live it; we must “lean in” to the confusion and anchorlessness that marks this day. If we’re able to take on at least some of that burden, we may be able to even more fully appreciate his life, teachings, and resurrection.

Jesus’s absence is real to us today. The one to whom who we pray, the one to whom we look for guidance, the one to whom we look for solace, is not here. I’m well aware that I only have to wait until tomorrow’s sunrise, but it feels like the hours are moving far more slowly than usual, another hallmark of grief. The torment of the wait affects all of us communally, and it affects the church as well; even communion isn’t offered on this day. We are meant to bear the load of our great and real emotional heaviness alone, without the succor of spiritual union that is ours through communion…and in this terrible year, through community.

On Maundy Thursday, I wrote of Peter’s inability to comprehend what Jesus was doing when, in his divine servanthood, he washed his disciples’ feet. Jesus said that in a short while Peter would recognize what Jesus had done and more fully comprehend who Jesus truly is. I called that moment of coming comprehension the “hinge event,” the “before and after.” For Peter, for history, for us, reality is divided between Jesus’s earthly life and Christ’s resurrection. Yet today is neither before nor after. Today we rest, unsettled, in-between.

So much of our lives is lived with this in-betweenness. Every year, many high school students have to live for weeks or months through the in-between time after making their applications to their favorite colleges and before receiving word of acceptance or rejection. They’re waiting for their personal hinge moment. A similar process repeats itself with job offers, made so much more complicated now, in an economy that has lost all its predictability and security. Others live in the limbo of in-betweenness while they wait for results of medical tests, including, for some, corona tests. Some live in the nether world of waiting for loved ones to heal from the virus and from other threatening illnesses.

For me, the most intense, fearful time of in-betweenness was in June and July of 2012. As you may know, I have multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer. Currently there is no cure, but thankfully, there are new ways of managing and living with it. In late June of 2012, I underwent a bone marrow transplant, also called a stem cell transplant. My doctors intentionally and brutally killed my immune system with a massive dose of chemo and other drugs and then transfused some of my previously harvested stem cells back to me, with hopes that those filtered, cleaner cells would replace and renew my destroyed immune system, so that it could more effectively fight the cancer. After the transplant, my blood counts dropped to zero for just over two weeks. My immune system had effectively been destroyed, and I was susceptible to even the most minor illnesses while waiting, seemingly interminably, for the new cells to “kick in.” Each morning, after my blood tests came back from the lab, one of my incredibly kind nurses would come in and say, “not yet.” Finally, the day came when my nurse was able to whisper, “Yes!” with a huge smile behind her mask. This time of in-betweenness for me was literally a time between death and life. Had the transplant not worked (a 20% possibility), the counts would never have gone up, and I could not have survived.

We live in global in-betweenness these days. We live between pre-corona and post-corona days, looking forward anxiously to a time when the virus will be eradicated or controlled, and we can return to our normal lives, including worship together in a shared space. Some – far too many – literally live between death and life during these in-between times, relying on machines even to breathe. Their loved ones, unable to be with them, caress them, or see or talk to them directly, live in a cruel limbo as well. And our courageous, dedicated health-care providers live in the unpredictable in-betweenness of knowing they are exposing themselves every day to this lethal virus, and waiting to learn if they, too, have fallen victim to it. The same is true for the people who fill our grocery shelves and deliver our mail. Mr. Rogers told us to “look for the helpers,” and they are everywhere, voluntarily and faithfully living in a Holy Saturday world, an in-between world.

Our “new normal” will be different in ways that we can’t yet imagine or predict, but just as our faith gets us through the sadness, emptiness, and upheaval of this Holy Saturday, so, too, will it get us through this time of pandemic. We will emerge into a new landscape as a stronger, more loving, more whole people, just as Jesus’s followers did 2,000 years ago on Easter morning. God walks beside us on this liturgical Holy Saturday, this Sabbatum Sanctum. Even in despair and fear, the disciples were not alone, and neither are we. As a people of faith, today we wait for the resurrection of Jesus, and I am convinced our faith will strengthen us as we wait for an end to the pandemic that has so dramatically and tragically changed our lives.

Let us pray together,

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: As we live through this time between death and life, as we mourn the pain of crucifixion and the death your Son suffered, as we contemplate his body laid in the tomb, grant that we will know the solace and consolation of our faith. Grant that on this day when we mourn in limbo, we will be strong enough to recognize your Son when he greets the women in the garden on the third day. Help us to understand the sacrifice that is your love, so that we will know ever more fully the love you send us in your beloved Son. May we rise with him from our grief into the newness of life. We pray this in the name of the one who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Rev. Knox's Post for Good Friday, April 10, 2020

Dear Friends,

Our reading for Good Friday is two entire chapters. Please settle in and read John 18:1-19:42, the story of Jesus’s Passion. It’s quite long and complicated, and I’m not going to go into all the theological questions it raises. It would be better, I think, to use our time this evening to read these chapters slowly and carefully. Put aside your questions, and use your imagination to experience this most solemn and painful of days.

Jerusalem was a walled city. It was destroyed in 70 CE when Rome nearly razed it to the ground. The city walls are lost, except where they are revealed through the rigors of archeological excavation and analysis, but a remnant of the Temple wall survives to this day. This is the wall you see in photos and news footage. Everyday citizens as well as world leaders pray by this wall and insert prayers on tiny slips of paper into its cracks and fissures. The Temple stood intact and magnificent in the city that Jesus walked. At the time of Jesus, Golgotha was outside the city walls.

So, now you have a picture of the place. It’s time to get to the swiftly-moving story. This past Wednesday, we read that after Jesus had confronted Judas, “[Judas] immediately went out. And it was night.” (John 13:30) The sun had set and night had fallen. Good Friday began with that sunset.

After Judas left the Upper Room, Jesus gave his final discourse – his final teachings – to his disciples. (John 13:31- 17:26)

And now we arrive at our reading for today. “After Jesus had spoken these words, he went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden.” (John 18:1) That garden was Gethsemane. Try to imagine Jesus walking from the Upper Room in Jerusalem to the garden on the Mount of Olives. This was the place “across the Kidron Valley” that John describes. Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday from the Mount of Olives, and it was here that he was arrested on Good Friday.

He was then taken back into the city for an informal trial before Annas. Annas was the son-in-law of Caiaphas, who was the chief priest of the Sanhedrin, which was the ruling council in Jerusalem. The trial took place at the home of Caiaphas, located just north and east of the Upper Room.

From the High Priest’s home, Jesus was sent to Pilate’s headquarters, located in Herod the Great’s Palace at the northwest corner of the Upper City, sometimes marked on maps as the Royal Palace Praetorium. During his interrogation of Jesus, Pilate took him out of the palace to Gabbatha, the Stone Pavement (John 19:13).

After Pilate condemned Jesus to death by crucifixion, Jesus was forced to carry his cross to Golgotha, called the Place of the Skull in John. (John 19:17) It’s located outside of the city walls, north and east of the Royal Palace. He carried the instrument of his execution for approximately a quarter of a mile.

Here Jesus died. He was placed in a tomb just north of the site of the crucifixion. His crucifixion and burial were outside the city walls. Burials under Roman rule were never within city walls, and to this day in Rome, outside the city walls, we can visit catacombs that date to at least the first century.

Good Friday forces us to contemplate the torture and death of Jesus. It’s a day marked by deep emotional and spiritual heaviness for all Christians. And it’s a day marked by forewarnings and prophesies. Consider, for example, the single verse about Nicodemus’s gift of myrrh for Jesus’s burial in John 19:39. We’ve come across this costly spice before, in Matthew, when the Magi bring gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the newborn Jesus. And we’ve heard about gold and frankincense in Isaiah 60:6, which we consider a prophesy of the Messiah whom we know as Jesus the Christ, when we learn about costly gifts for a new king. In Isaiah, however, those gifts are only gold and frankincense; there is no myrrh.

What is the significance of these gifts, and then of the introduction of myrrh into the story of Jesus? All are costly, much like the perfume Mary used to wash Jesus’s feet. We know what gold is; it’s been highly valued since ancient times. Frankincense is an aromatic oil used to calm and soothe, appropriate for a newborn and for healing and comfort for all who suffer. Myrrh, on the other hand, is a bitter oil most commonly used as one of the herbs and spices for embalming at the time of Jesus. Thus, from the very beginning of Jesus’s earthly life, we have a hint of his kingship, with the gifts of gold and frankincense, and of his death, with the gift of myrrh from the Magi, and now, from Nicodemus. The same gift given at his birth is given at his death.

The story seems to have come full circle. “It is finished,” says Jesus in John 19:30 before he “bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” But the circle is not yet closed; Easter is yet to come.

I received an e-mail today from Ellen Davis, a professor at the Divinity School at Duke, as a Good Friday meditation. She reminded me of a compelling phrase from a Gregorian chant. “In the midst of life, we are in death.” Death is part of life, not the end of life. As Christians, we believe that though death may change our life in ways we cannot know, death is not the victor. Life is the victor. Today, we experience the death of Jesus. In the midst of Jesus’s glorification, he is dead. Yet be assured, my friends, the glory of Easter morning is fast approaching.

This evening, let us pray from the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship together,

O God, who gave us birth, you are ever more ready to hear than we are to pray. You know our needs before we ask, and our ignorance in asking. Show us now your grace, that as we face the mystery of death we may see the light of eternity. Speak to us once more your solemn message of life and of death. Help us to live as those who are prepared to die. And when our days here are ended, enable us to die as those who go forth to live, so that living or dying, our life may be in Jesus Christ our risen Lord. Amen.