I grew up singing in church choirs. Before I could read words, much less music, my parents sat proudly in their pew of Kirkwood Baptist Church beaming at me singing “Jesus Loves Me” with the Cherub Choir. From being a cherub, I went on to sing in many church choirs. Singing with others is a true delight as voices meld together in beautiful four-part harmony.

Don’t laugh. I have recently become obsessed with reading magical realism.

I didn’t mind the rain on Monday. It was a good excuse to take a nap rather than go for a walk. “April showers bring May flowers” so there’s that benefit to the rain as well. And yet, after a year of mostly being inside, I didn’t think I’d be saying this so soon, but spending a rainy day inside was a gift.

We learned this week that the tree that towers over our backyard is a water oak. The birds and squirrels love this tree and so do I. It’s a bit lopsided due to a storm that swept through several years ago causing a very large branch to fall and crush the roof of our neighbor’s garage. That was before our time, but we heard about it and wanted to ensure the stability of the tree today.

One of my ideas for retirement was to become a writer. There was no grand vision of being famous or even published. I simply imagined myself as a writer. So, once we had moved to Richmond and settled into our home, I enrolled in an on-line fiction writing class last fall through the VMFA.

“Are you there?” “Are you there?” “I can’t see you?” Dropped calls and loss of internet connection happen all the time.

This past week, I have been deeply touched by the notes and emails that I have received from many of you in response to the news of my impending surgery. I have said this before to a few of you, and it bears repeating: I have learned more about the pastoral elements of my ministry through the kindness and care I have received from others during my own times of need than from any textbook or training program or internship…and this week, I am learning a whole lot from all of you.

During this season of Lent I have begun each week spending some quiet time with our lectionary readings and paying attention to what word or phrase or concept strikes me the most. For those of you who read my message last week, it was the sense of resilient hope that permeates our stories of faith. This week, I’ve been pondering the difference between knowledge and wisdom, something that I am more aware of as I enter my 60s.

As we enter this 2nd week of Lent, I have been thinking about what we were doing this time last year, and how little we knew what was in store for us. There is no way I could have imagined that in a few short weeks, we would launch upon a Lenten fast from corporate worship that would last a year or more.

In our Gospel reading for this Sunday, we will hear Mark’s version of Jesus’ forty days in wilderness. His telling of the story is very short. He says only that Jesus was tempted by Satan, was with wild beasts and was ministered to by angels.

Every year, on the Last Sunday in Epiphany, we hear the story of Jesus’ transfiguration, when he takes three of his disciples to the top of Mount Tabor, where they see him “trans-figured” into a dazzling form flanked by the great prophets, Elijah and Moses. Just as soon as Peter cries out, “let’s build some tents and stay awhile” a voice from God booms from a cloud, “This is my Son the Beloved…listen to him! Then cloud leaves, the prophets disappear, and Jesus becomes just plain Jesus.

As we move into February, the season of snow and ice, grayness and short days, I am reminded of the wearing effect that these last months of winter can have on us. This is compounded by the fact that the COVID pandemic keeps us isolated from one another in a season when we need each other’s warmth and friendship the most.

As I reflect upon last Sunday's Annual Congregational Meeting. along with all we been able to accomplish together during this unprecedented time of change, challenge, and chaos, something occurred to me. We have been blessed, deeply blessed, in spite of and perhaps even because of the change, challenge, and chaos we have faced.

As we stand in the wake of the inauguration of our new president, I found our readings for this Sunday particularly resonant. In each, we hear about summons and response, the call of God to drop what we’re doing and change direction, to stop seeing the way we’ve been seeing and begin seeing anew. “Get up and go,” God says to the prophet Jonah. “The appointed time has grown short,” writes the Apostle Paul. “Follow me,” Jesus says to his first disciples in the gospel of Mark.

As I have moved through these early days of Epiphany, I have paid attention to ways that God might be revealing something new and true to me in ways I may not expect in the midst of these tumultuous times.  Yesterday, our Junior Warden Paul Broughton shared with me a beautifully written essay by his daughter, Inder Coppola, in her weekly blog, “Wanderings,” which considered the birthing process of a new year in the midst of national turmoil. Inder grew up attending St. John’s…some of you knew her as Rebecca.

On this First Week of the Epiphany, and in the midst of one of the most tumultuous episodes in our nation’s history, I am struck by the appropriateness of our scripture readings for this Sunday, particularly our reading from Genesis, and what it has to say about creation in chaos. And yes, we have seen chaos.

Our reading from the first Chapter of Genesis says that “In the beginning,” the primordial soup of pre-creation was a formless void, an unformed, chaotic waste.

When I was growing up, I always used to look forward to Life Magazine’s “Year in Pictures” which would make its way to the newsstands right around Christmas.  The last edition was published about 20 years ago, so if you are too young to remember what these colorful retrospectives offered, I encourage you to do a google search!