This coming Sunday has some of my favorite and least favorite passages from scripture.

  I almost always just use the Gospel lesson as my source scripture when I preach. The reason I give most people is that the Gospels are specifically about Jesus, so it makes sense to start there. Probably a more honest reason is that I preach right after I get done reading the Gospel in front of Church, so it’s what I have on my mind when I start talking. Don’t get me wrong, I think about my sermon way before I preach, but it feels weird to read the Gospel like I mean it and then go preach about the psalm or whatever. All of this is to say, I am getting nothing about this week’s Gospel.

  This has been a very special year for me. This was the only year in my life where both of my sons are in St Luke’s Day School. Theo is in the two-year-old “Kangaroo” classroom, and Andrew is in the oldest class we offer which is the “Elephant” kindergarten room. Mondays are extra special as we begin the week with chapel, and you can’t have chapel without Rev. Vanilla Bean. Considering Vanilla Bean lives with us, she gets to ride to Church with us on Monday mornings. 

One of my best friends from Seminary was the last of our rag tagged group to get ordained. Not due to a lack of sanctity (he probably had the most of our lot), but just because that is how his Diocese’s bureaucracy worked. When he did finally get his date for his ordination, he did something remarkable. He made fancy invitations and just didn’t send them to his family friends, but he also included the Pope, the Queen of England and the President of the United States. He immediately got a legit nicely hand-written note from the Pope’s office giving the pontiff’s regrets but still offered a genuinely encouraging message. He heard from the Queen’s office a month later. Less personal than the response from the Pope, but regardless, it was nice. Then from the President, a standard letter well after his ordination giving the president’s regrets.

Friends,

It’s strange how fast time is going by. The altar guild just got done putting on the red altar hangings in preparation for Palm Sunday, bulletins are getting finalized, and in a weird way I feel like Easter is imminent even though we have eight more services to do before we reach Easter morning. Next week there won’t be a ton of time to sit and write e-mail, edit things and try to do things intentionally. I’m sure the week after Easter we will come up with a list of things to do differently the following year, but right now we are on the cusp of it being too late to much differently this year. Regardless of our preparation level, we will start Holy Week with Palm Sunday this coming Sunday, which sets the stage for the darkness of Maundy Thursday, the absence of Good Friday, then to the new light of the Easter Vigil, and the sheer joy of Easter Sunday. It is going to be an emotional roller coaster, and we will undoubtedly be exhausted by the end of the 10:00 am Easter service. With all of the expectation, nervousness and excitement, I can’t help but still worry about paperwork.

We grew up going to the Roman Catholic Church, and I hated it. Don’t get me wrong, when I was ten, I hated the Episcopal Church too. I couldn’t stand Church for the same reason that I couldn’t stand school assemblies; I was being forced to sit, be still, be quiet and to occasionally do the school motto, prayer, hymn or whatever. It wasn’t like going to the movies where I had some choice in being there. In Church I was a hostage and I learned the liturgy (order of service), for the sole reason of being able to determine when it would be over. In our case, this was immediately after communion, as we didn’t stay for the post communion prayer and final hymn. By sixteen or seventeen I was considering myself a Christian again, and we were all attending the Episcopal Church, and this time we stayed for the whole service. I had warmer feelings for the whole thing at this point, but I always signed up to be an acolyte just so I wouldn’t have to sing the first and last hymn, as I would be carrying the cross in and out. Not having anyone to chastise me if I choose not to sing the hymns is one of the benefits of being a priest. Church is weird.

When we tried the Lenten Burger Night for the first time two years ago, I thought it would be a one-off thing and we’d be lucky to get a crowd of fifty or so. In general, I like the idea of changing up stereotypical Lenten practices that feel penitential for something like Burger Nights, but we took this approach for a very specific reason. We were at the tail end of the pandemic, and we realized that people were simply having a hard time getting accustomed to being back around people. It was hard to be apart, and it was hard to be back together, so we tried to facilitate being back together by creating something appealing. Instead of selling a Lenten event with something like, “you should probably come to terms with your mortality. Join us for some plain soup and uncomfortable conversations.” We said, “Let us make your life easier. Show up, let us feed you with the burger of the week, drop off your kids, and meet someone new.”

Friends,

In midst of chaos, frustration and uncertainty, I am greatly encouraged by some events that have been happening around St. Luke’s.

  Legend has it that the living embodiment of German pessimism, Director Werner Herzog, saved actor Joaquin Phoenix when he wrecked his car in 2006. According to the story, Herzog witnessed the wreck, calmly walked over to Phoenix, said, “just relax” and pulled him from the car. Once Phoenix was safe, Herzog simply walked away to avoid any attention. I find this story remarkable, because Werner Herzog desperately wanted to avoid what most of us would have embraced, which is to be noticed when we do something good. I believe that if I had witnessed that wreck, I would have helped without hesitation, because that is simply the right thing to do. Unlike our hero Herzog, I would have gotten a selfie with the grateful actor to share on my socials.