You may recall that I love the poet Mary Oliver. I love the way she tells the truth about the world—its beauty, its ache, its ordinary holiness. She had this gift of looking directly at what is real and still finding, tucked somewhere inside it, a glimmer of wonder. There’s a poem of hers called Don’t Hesitate , that is fitting for Advent. It begins: If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. And she goes on: Joy is not made to be a crumb. Joy i

There is something about Advent that asks us to sit with holy discomfort. While the world is already singing carols, stringing lights, and racing through to-do lists, here in the church the tone is different. Advent is slower. Advent is spacious. Advent is honest. It asks us not only to remember that Christ came long ago, but to prepare our lives and hearts for Christ’s coming now — and Christ’s coming again. Last week, we heard Jesus in Matthew 24 speak unsettling words: Two

O God, Creator and Ground of All Being, We come together because we need you, We need each other, And we need to hear your Word.  And if we hear it here, may we be so possessed by it  That we become servants of it out in your world. We pray this in Christ who was, and is, and is to come. Amen.   It is told that Jesus of Nazareth was crucified on a cross between two other crosses, on each of which hung a convicted thief. One of the thieves joined in the chorus of an unruly cro

There are weeks when the lectionary readings feel uncomfortably close to home—like a “ripped from the headlines” TV episode. When Jesus talks about the destruction of the temple, the collapse of kingdoms, wars and uprisings, earthquakes, families divided, people betrayed—it can feel painfully familiar. There’s war and unrest. Political tension and distrust. People struggling to buy groceries or navigate a healthcare system that so often feels impossible. Families stretched to