There is a sentence in our Genesis 12 reading today that our faith often falls short of. God is asking Abram to leave everything — his country, his kindred, his father’s house — and walk toward a land he cannot see. The call is dramatic. The obedience is immediate. Abram packs up his household and goes. Altars get built. The story moves. But before any of that — before a single step is taken, before any structure exists to carry or contain what is beginning — God says this: “

There is a kind of thirst that water doesn’t fix. You may know what I mean. It’s the feeling of longing, of searching, of seeking. Like something is missing. Like you keep returning to the same familiar wells and leaving still wanting. We do not often name that kind of thirst. But it is exactly the condition Jesus speaks to when he stands up in the Temple and cries out: “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.” And where he says this ma

So this week, on Thursday, marked the feast of the Ascension. We hear the Acts account of this experience today. The piece of this story that I want to explore today is not the ascension itself — though that is plenty to sit with. Instead, I want to begin with what happens just before. Jesus has just been lifted into the sky. A cloud has taken him out of sight. And the disciples are standing there, staring up. Just… standing there. Necks craned. Mouths probably open. And then

The fourth Sunday of Easter is known as Good Shepherd Sunday—you may notice many of the readings have to do with this idea of God as shepherd. But the season after Easter is also a time that we are given snippets of the Book of Acts to wade thru. Acts opens a window into the life of the very first Christian communities: ordinary people figuring things out as they go after the resurrection. What unfolds is not just a story of belief, but of a community being reshaped into a p