The Reality of the Resurrection

A redacted sermon preached on Easter 2 and inspired upon readings from 1 Peter 1: 3-9 and John 20: 19-31

The word liturgy literally means, “The work of the people,” and participating in the liturgy – specifically the Holy Eucharist – gives us a glimpse of what it means to live into the reality of the resurrection. At its best the Eucharist will show us how to remember resurrection reality out and about in the world, and gives Christians a model of how God participates in His creation. For a moment, let us focus on the reality of the resurrection through the lenses of relationship, renewal, and resurrection as Ultimate Reality.

Resurrection Reality through the Lens of Relationship

Many of you know my affinity for spiritual direction. Put simply, spiritual direction is the art of holy listening, and when invited, the spiritual director offers questions and suggestions as to where God may be present in the directee’s life. Like the disciples who locked themselves up in a room out of fear, persons often come to spiritual directors with locked hearts. Just as the resurrected Christ bypassed the locked doors and offered His peace, the spiritual director reminds the directee of the peace of Christ found in the midst of locked doors, fearful storms, and broken hearts. The peace of Christ is always there; however, we need faithful friends in our lives to remind us of this reality. Any spiritual director will tell you there are some people who find the peace of Christ through the lens of faith, while others have the healthy skepticism of Thomas within them. Whether by faith or something more tangible, the peace of Christ is found out of the relationship that is grounded in Christ.

One of the first spiritual directors in my life was my Memom (my paternal grandmother). Every time I speak with Memom she always tells me, “Brandon, I pray for you every day.” In my younger days I said to myself, “Yea Yea, that’s just what Memom does. I’m thankful, but maybe not as grateful as I should be.” These days I’m extremely thankful and grateful for her faith, and for her prayers. What I did not realize back then that I see today is that Memom prays for me and my family everyday because of her thankfulness and her gratefulness for Jesus Christ. She has a relationship grounded in love through Christ that each and every prayer is not only an extension of her love, but is an extension of Christ’s love for all. In other words, my Memom’s prayer life is grounded in the reality of the resurrection. My Memom’s prayer life is grounded in the reality of her relationship with Ultimate Reality. In her life, in her prayers, and in her very being I experience the peace of Christ.

Resurrection Reality as Renewal

From our reading out of I Peter, the author writes, “By [God’s] great mercy [God] has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…” What does it mean to have a new birth into a living hope? Hope, so it seems, is alive and well through the resurrection of Christ, and if we are participating in the reality of His resurrection, then cannot new births happen all the time? The truth of the resurrection is that love has conquered death, and because of this we are born anew in that same love which Christians boldly proclaim as Christ. Ultimate renewal is found in and by and through our relationship with Christ. When we display these renewals in the form of peace, forgiveness, or mercy then God is revealed through us.

Getting back to my relationship with my Memom: I said that her relationship was grounded in love through Christ (so much so) that each and every prayer is not only an extension of her love, but an extension of Christ’s love for all. Putting this in the context of renewal: Anytime we pray (or through our actions) we bring forth peace, forgiveness, or mercy, those small renewals of peace, forgiveness, and mercy point, reveal, or renew our sense of Ultimate Peace, Forgiveness, and Mercy. In other words, these acts remind us that what is ultimate is Resurrection. What is Ultimate is Love. Through these tangible acts and through the lens of faith, we pull back the curtain and true reality is revealed to us. That’s why the love of God is a peace beyond our understanding. We understand it through the action of resurrection, but we do not fully understand this reality. The moment we seem to grasp it is the moment in which it disappears leaving us longing for something that cannot be explained except with prayerful words, liturgies, and actions of faith.

Resurrection Reality as the Ultimate Reality

I strongly believe that there is homelessness, hunger, war, famine, and exploitation (to name a few) in the world today because we forget, “He is Risen.” We forget love has already conquered death. Roofs over heads, bellies that are satisfied, peace, conservation of the earth, and the dignity of every human being can be a reality now when we choose to remember the reality of resurrection. Did you know that the word “sin” comes out of the archery community? When an archer pulls the arrow back with the help of his bow, takes aim and fires, he either hits his target, or he sins. Sin literally means missing the mark, or missing the target, and like the arrow forgetting its bull’s-eye, humanity is constantly forgetting resurrection. Humanity is constantly sinning. The mark is already there. The mark is Christ. The mark is Love, and Love is the Ultimate Reality. When we try to tackle the problems of our world without an eye on Love, we also miss the mark. We cannot solve the problems of the world on our own. We need Jesus. We need his teachings. We need his healing. We need to remember His resurrection.

I believe the Church (not just our own) but all churches throughout the world are going through some birth pangs right now, and are about to experience renewal, rebirth, and resurrection. The Church of the past was tied up in the culture. The Church of the past was part of the establishment and status quo. I believe the resurrected Church must always be counter to the culture or else it miscarries. What this means for liturgical churches such as ours is to do liturgy – to do the work of the people on Sunday – as an example of how to do the work of God Monday through Saturday. Parish churches can no longer exist for the purpose of self-preservation. Parish churches must exist for the purpose of reminding the world “He is risen.” We cannot do it on our own, so small churches must join other small churches, dioceses, and provinces that extend beyond denomination. Through partnerships with religious institutions, non-profits, and philanthropists small churches can make big differences in the lives of people that extend beyond their walls. We do this together and through our relationship with the Resurrected Christ. The world can no longer rest in dogmatic formulas that only assure the faithful as to the resurrection of Jesus Christ; instead, the world needs Christians who actually live into this belief, this love, and this reality. The future Church is a missional church grounded in the relationship (and resurrection) of Jesus Christ. The future Church will worship joyfully, serve compassionately, and grow spiritually, and by doing so live into the resurrection reality here and now.

This Easter and beyond let us all use our imaginations, our gifts, and our relationship with Christ to truly be a liturgical church doing the work of God with our hands, hearts, and minds. Let us seek out partners who proclaim in thought, word, and deed, “He is Risen.” The reality of the resurrection is now. Together, may we never forget.


Happy Advent

The Advent Season

What is Advent, and what does this transitional season represent to Christians? How do the traditions, liturgy, and prayers of the Church allow hearts to be transformed during this time of year? Why does the Church caution Christians not to jump into Christmas after Thanksgiving Day? Let us live into these questions as we remember the counter-cultural expression of this beautiful season called Advent.

Traditionally, the Season of Advent represents the preparation and coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In fact, the word, Advent, literally means, Coming, and its readings, liturgy, and music all point to Christ coming into the world with three different expressions: We remember Christ coming into the world at Christmas, within our hearts, and the expectation of Christ coming again at the end of time. The mood of the season fills the soul with great mystery, tension, and anticipation. For four weeks, hymns, prayers, and Bible readings grace the liturgy with metaphor, simile, and prophetic signs. Words such as restoration, prophecy, and repentance will help to enhance this tension filled season. There will be reminders to keep awake – to not get distracted by all the noises around us – and to remember and reflect on the eternal. Advent invites all to melt into its spell where senses develop an awareness of light and darkness, evergreen trees and deciduous ones, mountains and valleys, the future and The Now.

The Advent Wreath

We can thank our 17th century German sisters and brothers for the development of the Advent wreath (Bishop J. Neil Alexander, Celebrating Liturgical Time, 44-45). What started out as a domestic devotion was later adapted (and adopted) by the Church as its own countdown clock (Ibid.). That is why there are four candles in Advent wreaths representing the four weeks of this season. The Advent wreath, like the Tenebrae services of Lent, reveals humanity’s fascination with the lengthening and shorting of days (Ibid). Advent occurs during the Winter Solstice where the earth’s Northern hemisphere tilts from its sun making the nights longer and the days shorter. Advent is a transitional season anticipating Christmas where the son, or the light of the world will be revealed making His light more abundant on earth, and within the hearts of mankind.

Advent wreaths are made up of evergreen tree branches. Evergreen trees are symbolic of eternity because they do not change with the seasons. They are firm, steadfast, and constant year round. When Christians put Advent wreaths on their doors or in their homes, they symbolically point to both the eternal and the now – or better – the Eternal Now.

The Readings of Advent

In the readings from Advent I, we symbolically remember what it is like to experience the daytime (light) and the nighttime (darkness). Paul says, in his Letter to the Romans, “salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day” (Romans 13:11). Jesus echoes this when he teaches, “Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour” (Matt. 24:42).

The Experience of Advent

You know those vacation or holiday nights when you’re visiting a friend, relative, or loved one you haven’t seen in a long time, and you stay up all night talking and catching up? You might have a good drink in your hand, and a fire going on in the fireplace. Table lamps are lit instead of overhead lights. There’s some soft music on in the background that mixes with your moments of conversation yet leaves room enough for those still small moments of nonanxious silences. “You say it best when you say nothing at all” yet when a word is spoken your beloved, perhaps, says it better than you because they know you…you have a history together, and being in the moment is more important than being right. It’s with this revealing picture that I envision Paul and Jesus’ words. Even though it’s dark outside, even though the world is a big fat mess, and when I’m out in it (half the time) I’m distracted by competing voices, for this moment and with my friend, I’m living in the light of Now with God, with my loved one, with the music, and I’m soaking up every simple yet complex thing because for that moment I’m awake. I think that that’s a different type of anticipation, a different type of tension where one can honestly and in the moment stomp on fear and anxiety because there is no fear and anxiety. Something deeper is going on. These are Now moments of anticipation where everything has changed; yet, everything has stayed the same. In Advent, we say that Christ has come into our lives…that the light of the world has come into our hearts yet again. The world is still the same; yet the world is vastly different. And that’s as much as I can describe (with words) the experience of Advent. Paul did it one way. Jesus another. Me another; and you have your own as well.

An Invitation

This Advent, contemplate the mystery of God in your life. Look back on where God seemed to have been holding you, or carrying you, or even dragging you along life’s path. Observe the novel that is your life. Observe the song, or the hymn that is your life intricately wrapped up in the life of the Divine. We only have four weeks, so let’s use our time wisely, anticipating where we know we will be distracted, and don’t be (with God’s help). It’s only four weeks. Instead, focus and occupy your mind, your body, your soul on God, self, and neighbor. Who is God? Who am I? Who is my neighbor? These questions provide an appropriate meditation for a few weeks that could start out for 4, and turn into a lifetime of living into those questions: Who is God? Who am I? Who is my neighbor? Advent, by it’s very nature of light and dark, mystery and metaphor, comings and goings will enhance these questions, question your answers, and help you find that friend you have (perhaps) always been searching for, and longing to stay up the whole night chatting and catching up. As today’s Collect reminds us to pray: “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life… [and] in the life immortal.” Happy Advent!

Loss, Intentionality, and Grace – Part II

I am about to create new heavens and a new earth” ~Isa. 65:17

Last week’s blog was really Part I of II. You are invited to read it here. I spoke of grief and loss, and how it is vitally important to allow the natural processes of grief to take hold. I also spoke of intentionality, and how a life well lived (also called the good life) can be defined by how one makes intentional efforts to better the self, and in doing so bettering society. I ended last week’s message with a quotation from Paul’s Letter to the Romans: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

Somewhat reading the tea leaves and anticipating passions being expressed about last week’s Congressional and Presidential elections, I knew that in Part II of today’s blog, I wanted to gift you with tangible ways of evolving one’s passions into com-passion. Put another way (and in question form) “How can we internalize and work through our passions, but with the ultimate goal being to release and transform our passion into compassion?” What helps me is to think about the breath: We breathe in our passions and the passions of others (coming at us from all sides), and if we hold our breath like we hold our anxiety and fear, then our body shuts down, or our bodies get sick. If we work (breathe) out our anxieties and fears with the help of Spirit, then new possibilities open up and compassion for self and society are realized.

I’m currently reading Richard Rohr’s new book, The Divine Dance: The Trinity and Your Transformation. In it, he helps break down the complicated language of defining God as Trinity, and he gives example after example of how Trinity is best thought of and experienced as – relationship. Not only can we think of God eternally relating and loving God’s self, but Rohr reminds us that God is constantly inviting us into the relationship as well. We are gracefully invited to banquet and be with God in every aspect of our lives. In fact, Rohr argues, this invitation is all around us in the form of God’s creation from the subatomic particles of an atom – proton, neutron, and electron all gaining energy because of how they relate one to another as they orbit around the nucleus – to the planets in our solar system orbiting around our sun, and while the sun orbits around the Milky Way galaxy every 230 million years. He gives an example of how destructive it is when the subatomic particles stop relating one to another. If they suddenly stop relating and the atom is split, then a nuclear reaction takes place. Put in a different context, when relationships are broken, compromised, and dishonored, all too often divisions, detachment, fear, and separation are the results.

On Tuesday night, the poll numbers revealed how split we are as a country. But if we are honest with ourselves, didn’t we already know that? Didn’t we already know, or can we now confess that our society is virtually composed of tribes? We have the Tribe of MSNBC, the Tribe of Fox News, the Tribe of Republicans, and the Tribe of Democrats. There are even tribes within the tribes: Are you a conservative, moderate, or progressive Republican/Democrat/Libertarian/Green/Independent? Are you a one-issue voter, or not? Research has even shown that the social media platforms we use that are supposed to bring us closer as a society (like Facebook and Twitter) use algorithms that keep us in our own bubbles and echo chambers so that any thought, word, or deed that is open to debate is kept far, far away from us out of “respect” for one’s personal simulation of the world in which the self, the ID, the me/me/me/me has created. These tribes, bubbles, and echo chambers make us literally forget what it means to be in relationship and harmony with God, self, creation, and neighbor. Put differently, we are creating a reality in which we create God in our own images. We are the Hebrew people, and our tribal golden calf is based upon the illusion that the ego is the one, true self (Exodus 32).

My friend and colleague, Fr. Zachary Thompson, Rector of the Anglo-Catholic parish in Atlanta, Church of Our Savior, had a passing thought on what some term as ‘identity politics’. He said, “We often use categories such as boomers, millennial, urbanites, conservatives, liberals, ivory tower intellectuals, activists, keepers of the status quo, secularists, fundamentalists etc. etc. to speak of cultural phenomena; and too often we can use these categories to dismiss certain people so that we can advance an argument that is suitable to our way of thinking. We need to be careful to remember that we are talking about particular human beings made in the image of God with fears, hopes, dreams, and failures. A more interesting way to think of ourselves (and one another) is in relation to our development in sanctity, holiness of life, humility, meekness, kindness ([these are] degrees of deification [or] growing in the likeness of God).”

So how do we mend our brokenness and division? How do we allow God’s love to enter in through the cracks? How do we compassionately respond to God’s grace that is constantly being gifted to us?

Isaiah Chapter 65 might give us a clue to some of these questions. The context for the chapter is this: We have a broken, exiled people returning to their homeland, but when they arrive home the brokenness, anxiety, and fear continues. The Temple (which was destroyed before the exile) was still in ruins. The cities were still in crumbling disarray, but the compassionate voice of God through the prophet Isaiah uses the language of creation to give hope to God’s people. God says, “I am about to create new heavens and a new earth” (Isa. 65:17). This throwback to the scene East of Eden permits the people to reimagine a New Jerusalem, a new city, a new homeland. These words of God also extends an invitation to the people to remember how to relate with God, self, and neighbor. Mary Eleanor Johns sums up this passage from the prophet Isaiah with these words,

“[W]e seek to participate in God’s new creation not as a means of earning it, but as a way of responding to God’s grace extended to us. Through our restored relationship with God and our relationship with all of God’s creations, we are given new lenses of hope by which can experience a foretaste of the new creation that Isaiah prophesies” (Feasting on the Word: Year C, Vol. 4, p.294).

The key word for me in Mary Eleanor’s insight is the word, “respond”.

May our prayers this week ask for the grace to know the difference between re-acting and re-sponding, and passion from com-passion. May God also soften our hearts, and guide us in developing an intentional life that grows in sanctity, holiness of life, humility, meekness, and kindness. May our fears turn not into realities as we seek further relationship with God, neighbor, and enemy.


Loss, Intentionality, and Grace – Part I of II

A sermon (somewhat redacted for this blog) that was preached on Sunday, November 6 at St. Julian’s Episcopal Church in Douglasville, GA. The lesson was Luke 20:27-38.


The Christian tradition teaches God has gifted humanity with great freedom. We have agency (sometimes referred to as free will), but agency does not necessarily translate into control (Gen 1:27-29; Gen 2:16-17). Rules, laws, and boundaries are created, but as any parent, or grandparent, or citizen knows, control of the situation is oftentimes an illusion, a farce, a wicked game that demands loss. Ironically, with the various experiences of loss, we find ourselves not only like broken containers – emptied; yet full – full of grace: A grace not dependent upon ourselves, our faculties, or our resources, but a grace utterly dependent upon God. It is at those times when we begin anew, and create out of the chaos new ideas, new evolutions of the Spirit that point us to transcendence, yet include what is important here and now (Gen. 1:1).

The fallacy of the Sadducees’ question was that their hearts were in the wrong place (Luke 20:27). Jesus saw right through their questioning. They were more concerned with the technicalities of the Law of Moses instead of the Spirit of the law. These technicalities led to a morbid sense of the finality of death; yet as Jesus pointed out, “God is the God not of the dead, but of the living” (Luke 20:38).

The Christian Church is a church that honors death, and allows those who must mourn to mourn. Mourners are gifted with prayers, liturgies, rituals, and an intentional community to walk alongside. These are technicalities that do indeed help, but at the end of the day God has the final say. When the noise of loss finally settles, and silence starts to stir, one gets the feeling of utter abandonment (Luke 22:42; Matt 27:46). It is with this feeling of loneliness where; ironically, God is closest to us. The Scriptures reveal that, “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning,” but those of us who understand significant loss oftentimes pray not for joy, but for relief (Psalm 30). When we find ourselves on the opposite end of grief, there is a childish temptation to give advice to those who mourn thinking your good word, deed, or even intentionality will be enough to stop the pain. This way of thinking reveals an ignorance of the self instead of the other. Any family, church, or society that does not let the mournful grieve, will be hindering the griever more than helping. Again, it goes back to God – not us. Just about the time we think we cannot take more, our empty and cracked container, our broken heart begins to be filled once again. Relief seems to come from outside ourselves and a sense of peace beyond our understanding is graced upon us (Phil 4:7). “I am with you always,” Jesus said, “even until the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20). Hope, grace, gratefulness, and yes – maybe even joy – start to return once our sense of God has been restored, or better, deepened through our experiences of grief and loss.


Last Monday, the Church marked its 499th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. This gradual and grace filled re-formation released the stranglehold of the status quo built around the illusion that the Church was “too big to fail.” The Episcopal Church’s theology is rooted in this protest, and is forever thankful for the reforming work of John Calvin, Martin Luther, and Thomas Cranmer – to name a few. Because the Protestant Reformation was such a fulcrum in world history, it is little surprise that another movement within the Church did not get the same historical attention; however, both contributed heavily and influenced all manner of life that brought about a Renaissance of art, culture, religion, economics, science, philosophy, and politics. The beautiful nation we live in today finds its roots firmly planted in this time period history labels, The Renaissance. But what is this other movement that does not get much play? Historians have labeled it the Counter-Reformation. The Counter-Reformation was a Roman Catholic response to the protesting Protestants, and the Counter-Reformation can be summed up with the phrase, “an inward turn” or as some like to say, “an inward move” (Carter Lindberg, The European Reformations, 336).

Carter Lindberg, in his book, The European Reformations sums it up this way, “What unites the various forms of Counter-Reformation spirituality can be said…to be the stress on the individual’s relation to God,…whose first object was not to ‘reform the Church’…but to order their own lives to the doing of God’s will and the bringing of the benefit to their neighbor. It was exacting, in that it demanded continuous heroic effort at prayer and self-control and self-improvement and good works.”

So how is the Roman Catholic Counter Reformation different from the Protestant one? Luther was more concerned with re-forming the theology of the Church. That was his starting point – if you will. The Roman Catholics put their emphasis on moral and ethical renewal. There was a desire to live a more devout life (Lindberg, 336). What branched out of this movement within Catholicism was a deeper look at the individual lives of the saints, as opposed to grouping them all together. Ignatius of Loyola, John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila all became extremely popular during this time (Ibid.). Also, the Counter-Reformation way of thinking eventually influenced Roman Catholics in this country within the 20th century. This movement, at the quarter of the last century, was called the Catholic Workers Movement, which emphasized the sanctity of the family, and how a healthy, working family is the basic building block towards a great society.

With all this in mind, let’s take a look at intentionality. Luther and the Protestants said intentionality begins with having the right theology. The Counter-Reformers said, ‘no,’ it begins with morals, ethics, and character because the individual has been baptized into Christ’s Church. To put it in philosophical terms: Each group was trying to describe the starting point for the good life. Catholics said the good life was lived out ritualistically through the sacraments of the Church that by their very nature teach us how to live. Reformers put more of an emphasis on faith and belief. Anglicans, with the help of Thomas Cranmer’s, Book of Common Prayer (1549) split the difference: Because of our turn to God through faith (i.e. Baptism), we participate in the Body of Christ through intentional acts of prayer, worship, and meditation that assist us in learning how to love God, self, and neighbor. Without the intentionality of living a life of faith through the rituals of the Church, and bearing witness to Christ through their actions, one was considered lost, one had forgotten God. Put another way, one was not living out the good life because it was a life stripped of intentionality.

With all this history in mind, I believe the Church at its very best models for society what it means to limit itself for the greater good. Within these limitations freedom is found, humility is remembered, and dignity is experienced. The Church can remind us to focus on what matters, mainly the eternal; otherwise, we’re like the Sadducees who got too caught up in the anxiousness of processes, speculation, and hearsay. “God is the God not of the dead, but of the living,” reminds us that a life of faith requires getting comfortable with loss, wanderings, and doubt, but when a life of intentionality is lived out, the good life also remembers resurrection, and teaches it to others through one’s own intentional actions. The very best evangelism a Christian can perform is through their actions, their morality, their character, and their faith. This is what both the Reformation and Counter-Reformation can teach us. Put this all in a biblical phrase from Matthew’s Gospel, “You will know them by their fruits” (Matt 7:16).

On Tuesday, our nation will elect its next president. On Tuesday evening, many in our nation will experience profound loss and grief. On Wednesday morning, Christians have the opportunity to show others what a grace filled faith full of intentionality looks like by answering the call to walk alongside our fellow countrymen as they grieve and heal. Put another way, make up your minds now to, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15). Give one another space. Grant each other grace; and may Lady Julian of Norwich’s famous maxim that all shall be well start in our minds, and with time, love, and care reveal its truth within our hearts.


Dancing with Trinity

This past Sunday was Trinity Sunday. Although there are many explanations, allegories, and metaphors for what the unity of Trinity expresses, my favorite has always been the image of the Holy Trinity in an eternal, cosmic dance. Think the three muses of antiquity skipping and dancing with one another, or children clasping hands dancing in a circle to Ring Around the Rosies.

One of the many grace-filled miracles held in this Cosmic dance is we are invited to participate in it. Sometimes we stand or sit in the middle while Father, Son, and Spirit dance around us. Other times, we are invited to hold hands and sway in both clockwise and counterclockwise rotations dancing, twirling, swirling, laughing. Still there are other, more intimate times when the dance calls for a lift, and the Trinity acting as One lifts us up, and pulls us close like a mother to her child.

Unlike Trinity who dances for eternity, we get tired. When this happens, we are invited to sit, stand, or kneel at holy tables gathering strength for journeys ahead. Even at table, the Trinity greets us as Host, as Substance, and even as the One whom we are praying- humming along with our words, smiling because of their familiar pace and cadence. 

Whenever you feel lonely, or anxious – whenever you feel happy, even joyful – Trinity is always inviting you to join in the dance; and when you get tired, Trinity holds you, sits you down, and nourishes you with God’s very self. The invitation is always open, and the music never stops. Come. Dance. Take. Eat. Go.


Open Doors, Open Hearts

The parish where I serve as priest is named, Saint Julian’s Episcopal Church. We have a parish hall where members can gather and rehearse choral music, cook up delicious food in the kitchen, and fellowship while breaking bread with one another. St. Julian’s also lends meeting space out to community groups like political parties (Republicans and Democrats), Master Gardeners’ of Douglas County, and the Girl Scouts of America. This past “Super” Tuesday, St. Julian’s was a polling place, and about 600 folks walked past the church and into the parish hall where they could cast their ballots in the presidential primary race. This was not unusual. St. Julian’s is normally a polling place in Douglas County. What was different; however, were the doors of the church. They were not closed. They were opened. Not only were they visibly opened up, I parked myself outside the doors of the church on one of our porch benches dressed in my cassock and clergy collar reading a book. I was not there to suggest anything political. I was just present; and the doors of the church were simply opened up for any and all who passed by to get curious, wonder, and possibly explore a space that had not been opened up to them before. Through this simple act, I was able to listen, overhear, and take part in conversations and actions that I never would have been gifted had I decided to read my book behind the doors of the church that day. Below are a few of the things I witnessed. Thank you for making my Tuesday truly a “Super” one. I am forever touched.

“May we come in? We’d like to see how your church compares with ours.”

“Can I stop in and pray?”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Look, the church doors are open. Maybe we should go in and pray?”

“I need all the prayers I can get.”

“This country needs all the prayers it can get.”

“Can I stop by and clip off some fresh rosemary next time I’m cooking?”

“God bless you.”

Someone, upon seeing me in a cassock,

“Are you from this country?” She then continued, “I am from Paris, France. I joined a Roman Catholic convent to escape the Nazi Army in WWII. They had us wash their clothes. They were nice to us, but not the Jews. My husband is Episcopalian…how do you say it…Episca?… Epis??…such a hard word…Oh well; now, we’re both Baptists.”

“Now that’s what I like to see…a man of God outside the walls of the church. Good for you, brother.”

“Nice socks…my mom would love them…they are her sorority colors…have a blessed day.”

“I think what you’re doing is just great.”

One man, upon seeing a hopscotch board outlined on the pavement in chalk, jumped through the game like a child in play. He then turned to me, and simply smiled, waved, and went on his way.

Finally, what a little girl said to her mom while pointing to the building, “Mommy, what is that?” Her mom replied, “It’s a church, sweetie. It’s a church.”

Even though the people I came into contact with on Tuesday were truly amazing, if I am completely honest about that day, I would have to say that I’ve been haunted by the image of those open doors. I’ve been haunted by them because although I would like to say that the doors of the church have always been open; in reality, I know that they have not. Upon deeper reflection of those doors, I’m reminded of the Church’s long, long history of shutting out, shutting down, and shutting up prodigal sons and daughters everywhere. This saddens me, but I also have faith and hope in the Church’s future. Here’s why:

We now finds ourselves in the Season of Lent. Lent calls us to repentance, but it is also begs us to remember: To remember all the isms and phobias and illusions we create that separate us from God, ourselves, and others; but like the doors of an open church, we are also called on to remember that God’s grace and mercy are the same grace and mercies that can be given out and gifted to ourselves and others as we try to live into the abundance of God’s love; or better, to live into the reality of God’s love. True repentance is turning from what we are doing, and turning to God. Turning around, and with God’s help, we are called to the discipline to contemplate how we possess, and try to be possessive (and controlling) of others – How we label others as “less than” in order to build ourselves up because our illusions of scarcity might be mitigated by fear, anger, and anxiety. Once we start contemplating these things, we are invited to pray for forgiveness, and once we start praying for forgiveness, we are then invited to start practicing forgiveness, grace, and mercy as we listen to others tell their stories, come together and work for social change, and take prophetic action against racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, xenophobia, and all the rest.

Last Tuesday was a day to remember, to seek forgiveness in a stranger’s smile, and to practice loving like Jesus loves. For a moment, the world was not divided up into parties, tribes, or ideologies. For a moment, tender hearts were opened, and new doors remained unlocked.

~The Rev. Brandon Duke proudly serves Saint Julian’s Episcopal Church in Douglasville, GA. In this season of the Church, he is trying to #GrowForLent and #LoveLikeJesusEDA.


Epiphany is for Seeker and Believer Alike

Every story we tell represents a light. That light, your story, represents you. But what about all the light we cannot see? What about other people’s story and stories? What about their lives?

Epiphany teaches us that our narratives are wrapped up in God’s ultimate narrative. And even though we cannot see all the light in the world, or know all the stories out there, by following the light of God – the light of the epiphany star – we are being led to Him: The light of the world – who does know the stranger, the neighbor, the other. He knows us all by name; and along that journey to wherever the star leads us, we meet others who bear the light – who know the story – because, really and truly, it’s everybody’s story: both believer and seeker alike.

For centuries the Church has taught that the magi represented the Gospel of Jesus Christ being spread to the Gentiles. They brought him gifts fit for a king, for the Divine, and for his ultimate sacrifice. Nowadays, we might say that the magi represent spiritual seekers who have heard of this person named Jesus, but are unsure as to who he is, or what his church truly represents? But instead of shooing seekers away, the Church must embrace all, and the gifts brought forth – the gifts of mystery, questioning, and humility. The Church must respond with love, compassion, and grace. After all, life together is recognizing the light in one’s self and the other, which then stems from the source of all life and light.

The magi were true seekers: They didn’t know where they were going, but they knew they had to get there. They at least had a guide (represented by the Epiphany star). They had some sort of discernment within themselves to say, ‘Yes,’ to every step along the Way. Like a moth to a flame, like a carnal desire, we often don’t know where we’re going, but we know we have to get to that source, to that light, to that life.

The beauty of the Church, I believe, is that it can help seekers (and believers both) discern where they are on the spiritual path, and not necessarily how to get to where they’re going, but how to get some help stumbling along the Way. The church can be a friend helping you up again and again and again when you trip up and fall down. And the church does this with simple things like a calendar (we mark off days in the middle of the week, where we get together and do strange things with everyday materials like: water, oil, wine, bread, laying on of hands, confession, spiritual direction, centering prayer, silence). That’s some seeker stuff right there, but it’s also some believer stuff too. A believer is a bit more specific or tangible with their faith. A seeker doesn’t want to get mixed up in all the details, but is still intrigued by them. Intrigued by that star, by the mystery of what believers say that water, wine, and bread actually are, or do. That’s some believer/seeker stuff mixing and mingling, showing their light to one another, and wondering if the story is true? They wonder together because they know what it’s like to have something born anew in them. They know what it’s like to have an epiphany. They know what it’s like to start over, and to turn over a new leaf.

Seeker and believer. Jew and Gentile. Human and Divine. Every light has to have a source, just like every person has a story. The Season of Epiphany reminds us that the source of our light – the source of our life – points to the Divine.


What Should We Do In Our Culture of Fear?* A Lesson from Luke 3:7-18

What then should we do?” The question, coming from a people to a prophet. I can tell John the Baptist is indeed a prophet, not a philosopher, because he does give the people something to do. He gives them a word, and invites them to make it flesh. Isn’t that what any prophet, or preacher, or even a politician desires? That the people whom they serve will actually live into that which they have been called? The trick, I believe, for any prophet, preacher, or politician is to examine themselves, and make sure before they say, or proclaim, or preach, that they are indeed doing the things that they are asking other people to do. They preach what they practice, and they practice what they preach, in other words. Society formalized this practicing what we preach in the form of liturgies, ceremonies, and services. And somewhere in the middle of these ceremonies an oath, or a vow is taken. It’s not taken in private, but in front of God and everybody else. This morning, I thought it be fun to look at a couple of vows and oaths that professionals take. I tried to keep it in the context of today’s story. So, for example, the question, “What then should we do?” Was asked by a crowd first, then specific professionals within that crowd. We have a tax collector and a soldier that forms part of that crowd. Since crowds don’t usually take oaths, I took the artistic liberty to think that maybe there was a couple in the crowd who was married. So, this morning, I’ll be reading marriage vows, an oath of office for a tax collector, and an oath of enlistment for those serving in the United States Army, and finally, since this group has been in the news so much this year, I found a police officer’s “oath of honor” to read to you this morning.

The Marriage Vows (Taken from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, 427)

In the Name of God, I, N., take you, N., to be my wife, to

have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse,

for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to

cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.

Each tax collector before entering on the duties of his office shall take and subscribe to the following oath in addition to the oath required of all civil officers:

“I, , tax collector of the County of , do swear that I will

faithfully discharge the duties required of me by law as tax collector, and

that I will diligently collect all taxes required by law for me to collect

and faithfully pay these over to the persons authorized to receive the

same. So help me God.” (

The wordings of the current oath of enlistment [in the United States Army] are as follows:

“I, _____, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.” (Title 10, US Code; Act of 5 May 1960 replacing the wording first adopted in 1789, with amendment effective 5 October 1962). (

Police Officer’s Oath of Honor. Slightly different than the oath taken at office. (

On my honor,

I will never betray my badge,

my integrity, my character,

or the public trust.

I will always have

the courage to hold myself

and others accountable for our actions.

I will always uphold the constitution

my community and the agency I serve.

Many of my own, personal heroes and heroines, are the day-to-day people who put their head down, show up, and do the work that they are supposed to do. They don’t get a lot of praise, mainly because they don’t want the attention. Often times, they don’t even get recognized for the little and the big things that they do to make life a little easier for all of us. The people I’m referring to are definitely not the ‘brood of vipers’ that John is referring to. No. The brood of vipers was those persons and professionals who had forgotten the oaths that they took, had easily misinterpreted the vows that they made, or all together forgot who and whose they were. They were a people whom God had a covenant with, but for some reason, and somehow, they had forgotten this covenant, this promise, this peace. And along comes John the Baptist, and he calls them out. What a good friend John was for not letting the persons he was closest to get away with what they were doing, or how they were acting and reacting. In fact, he called them to repentance. And what exactly were they repenting of? They were repenting of their self-centeredness, their egotism, and narcissism. They had forgotten the oaths they swore to uphold. And what do oaths represent? They represent something that is huge. Some thing that is bigger than us. Something that is bigger than the person taking the oath. The sin (or at least the temptation) is to identify us as It. “I am the one true soldier/tax collector/citizen; therefore, I can take the law into my own hands. I can choose to share when it’s convenient for me. I can do whatever I want.” But like an oath that is bigger than we are, and will be around long after we are gone, John points to the ultimate promise, the ultimate covenant, and the ultimate peacemaker. He points to something paradoxically outside himself, but somehow and some way experiences it as a part of himself; and not only a part of himself but also a part of his brothers and sisters. He points to the Messiah; the anointed one; the Christ: Who was and is and will be forever and ever. Repentance reminds us that we are not It. We are not the center of the universe. That part’s already covered for us. So, when I feel unworthy, I look to God who is worthy. John reminds us of that. When I have forgotten the vows and oaths that I have taken, I turn to God who is still keeping His side of the deal. This is good news. This is grace. This is promised to all. And what a relief. Instead of pushing people to do what you think is right; you are invited to walk alongside of them. “Don’t just do something – stand there,” Bishop Neil Alexander used to say. In other words, pay attention. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none.” How can we tell who doesn’t have a coat if we are caught up in the cult of busy-ness? “What should we do,” was asked three different times, and John did give the crowd something to do or something not to do, but it was not for the sake of busy-ness. It was for the sake of Being: Being that which God already knew one to be, as well as standing there and living into the oath, the vow, the covenant one had promised to uphold.

In a moment, we’re going to renew our Baptismal Vows, our Baptismal Covenant (found in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, 292) or promise that we make and made to God, self, and one another. Are there times that we have broken, damaged and dismissed our side of the deal, or even ignored it all together? Are there times when John the Baptist might have called us a “brood of vipers.” Yes. I think so. I’m as guilty as anyone else in this room. But where I find confidence is in remembering who and whose I am. These vows help me to remember this, and challenge me to be on guard, to repent, and to turn to God time and time and time again. And on those weeks where I don’t renew my vows formally, I’m invited to the altar. I’m invited to the table of the Lord to receive something that I am unworthy to receive, yet I do receive it because I worship a God who is worthy. That’s what the people listening to John needed, and that’s what we need right now. Not a politician, policy, or procedure. Not a law, politically correct language, or luxuries. What we need right now is the Savior, the Messiah, the Christ to snap us out of our narcissistic ways, to take us by the hand and walk alongside of us in our day-to-day, moment-to-moment mundane lives. “He coming”, says John the Baptist. “I’ll wipe away your sins with water, but he’ll burn them in the fire of justice.” “I’m unworthy to untie the thong of his sandals, but he’s worthy, so pay attention, be alert, snap out of it, sleepers awake…he’s coming.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but when the whole world is scared, and anxious, and fearful, and falling a part. When hearts are hardened instead of softened, and the world seems to be going to hell in a hand basket, I (for my own sanity) have to look outside myself – not to a politician, policy, or new law, but to Jesus – my Savior. Why? Because there is no fear in him. There is no anxiety about him. He is walking alongside of me, and sometimes in my deepest anxieties, he is carrying me, holding me, and loving me. And it’s funny to say I go outside myself, because really I don’t. I go inside myself, to my inner room, to my heart of hearts where Jesus is whispering to me that everything is going to be okay.

It’s hard to follow Jesus in a culture of fear. It’s hard not to give into the temptation to hate, to suspect, and to ignore. And even though I said that my heroes are the ones who put their heads down, show up, and do the work that they were given to do, I also know that sometimes you just have to be, and let be. Sometimes we have to remember that we can’t figure all of this out on our own. That’s giving into our own narcissistic tendencies. Instead, we go outside our egos by going inside our hearts and discovering that still small voice who’s inviting us to keep alert, to keep awake, to be still and know that I am with you…with you [Brandon, Saint Julian’s, United States of America, Syria, Paris, Charleston, San Bernardino, in your cancer, in your broken family, in your loneliness, anxiety and fear]. I am with you always, says Jesus…even until the end of the age.

*Sermon preached at Saint Julian’s Episcopal Church on the Third Sunday of Advent.


The Hero With A Thousand Faces

Theology defined: The study of the nature of God. AND/OR The study of the Divine.

You cannot study the Divine WITHOUT examining the self. The self defined is what? Who? A hero? A heroine?

Why not view one’s VERY SELF as a hero going on a quest thereby discovering the Divine?

This is a blog about the self. This is a blog about the DIVINE. This is a blog about the hero’s journey: The Hero with a Thousand Faces.