As we arrive at Palm Sunday and Holy Week, I have been reflecting on what it means to be a member of a faith tradition that follows a teacher who literally laid down his life in the name of justice and peace for all people. I’m not big on sacrificial theories of atonement that regard Jesus’ death on the cross as some cosmic transaction that wiped away our sins, but I do buy into the concept that through Jesus, God entered our human lives to show us just how far love is willing to go to make things right.

This year’s Lenten series on “Creation Care” is having a big impact on me, in ways I had not expected. Maybe it is all that we’ve got going on in our world, but I feel more connected to everything and everyone than I ever have, not to only the humans whose lives have been disrupted and dislocated through a two-year pandemic and now a horrible war in Europe, but to the plants, animals and elements whose very existence is at threat due to drastic changes in climate. Our discussions on Wednesday evening are reminding me how easy it to distance ourselves from the sources of water, food, energy, shelter, and clothing that are essential to survival.

In our reading from Psalm 27 for today, the questions, “Whom shall I fear? Of whom shall I be afraid?” have a particular resonance, as we grieve the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the toll it is taking on millions of people, even as we mourn the loss of loved ones in our own community.

By now most of you know that the word “Lent” is derived from the old English word lencton, meaning ‘spring.' It is is not only a reference to the season before Easter, but also an invitation to a springtime of the soul. In the words of Barbara Brown Taylor, “Forty days to cleanse the system and open the eyes to what remains when all comfort is gone.

This past week, as I was busy preparing reports for our Annual Meeting, I was reminded just how far we have come in the past year, and at the same time, how many times we had to shift gears, in fits and starts, to arrive where we are. And what struck me the was the creativity, energy, and teamwork that has been born from this time of pandemic and constant change, along with a new way of visioning possibilities for our beloved community.

This Sunday in church, we will be hearing some of Jesus’ most challenging teachings from his “Sermon on the Plain” in the Gospel of Luke.

“Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”

This Sunday we will hear the great Epiphany story of Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana of Galilee in order to keep the party going. This is one of my favorite miracle stories in the gospels, not only because Jesus was egged on by his mother to save a family from the embarrassment of running out of wine, but because I’m able to preside at so many weddings myself – which is among the greatest joys of my ministry at St. John’s.

This year, the season of Christmas has beckoned me to see and do things very differently as I’ve tried my best to keep the long-loved traditions kept by my family and our church community. Shared meals, gift giving, cookie making, once so spontaneous and free flowing, have been preceded by COVID rapid tests and no small amounts of anxiety. Our Christmas church services, a time when we open our doors and fill our pews, have required extra care and caution to seat people at a distance and keep them safe.

This past Sunday, as we gathered after morning worship for our annual “Greening of the Church” to decorate the sanctuary for Christmas, something happened in the space of my heart - something that I’ve experienced on a number of occasions at St. John’s, but which always moves me to tears.  It is this overwhelming sense of our place in the scheme of things, our connection to the long line of faithful people who have gathered here over the centuries, and to the One who created and unites us all.  

During the Season of Advent, our Sunday Forum participants have been discussing the songs or “Canticles” in Luke that punctuate the story of Jesus’ birth.  This Sunday in church, we will be singing the first and most familiar of these, Song of Mary, The Magnificat.  This is the song Mary sings when she visits her cousin Elizabeth, who confirms that the child Mary bears is indeed the holy child of God. 

This Sunday will bring us to the third week in Advent. This day has traditionally been called “Gaudete” or “Rejoice” Sunday.” “Gaudete in Domino semper,” Paul writes in his letter to the Philippians. “Rejoice in the Lord always.”

Each year, the lectionary for the first Sunday of Advent gives us a version of Jesus’ words about the end of days. This year, from the Gospel of Luke, we read of celestial signs, cataclysms of nature, and distress upon the earth. Jesus speaks of fear and foreboding that will come upon the people. He tells of how, in the days to come, the powers of the heavens will be shaken.

As I reflected upon last week’s beautiful All Saints Sunday Celebration, in which we welcomed 18 new members into the fellowship of our community, it dawned on me just how far we have come since last year when we were worshiping entirely online with limited physical connection between us. I owe this sign of new life to the fact that through it all, we have kept our focus on the business to which God calls us the most – the business of relationships. Real, loving, and supportive relationships.

This Sunday, we will be celebrating All Saints’ Day, and we will also be receiving a visit from our bishop, the Rt. Rev. Susan Goff, who will preside at the rites of initiation, including Baptisms, Confirmations, Reception, and Reaffirmation. Each of these are significant in the life of our parish family; they invite us to acknowledge our connection to the Saints who have preceded and follow us, and our connection to the beloved Saints of today throughout the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, including you and me.

This week when I came into the office, I was greeted by a beautiful, simple flower arrangement that one of our beloved parishioners had placed on my desk. When she stopped by later in the day, she said it was a token from the table decorations at the recent “Fine Arts and Flowers” exhibit at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.