ELCA Church Council Report

The bishops from each of the 9 regions of the ELCA select one of their number to serve as a liaison to the ELCA Church Council for terms of 4 years. I serve as the Region 4 liaison bishop, and I attended my first ELCA Church Council meeting in Chicago April 11-15. What follows is my own reflections on the meetings; here is the link to the official news release from the Churchwide office.

What struck me most deeply in our time together was the wide scope of our church that is represented in that relatively small body. What we see in our local experience is only one part of who we are as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; sitting with council members from across the country it is much easier to see just what an amazing array of people we are (and the people themselves are pretty amazing in their own right). The denomination is well-served by this group of leaders. 

I’m one of two bishops working with the Faith, Society, and Innovation Committee, and we spent a lot of time wordsmithing two documents: a Social Message on Gun-Related Violence and Trauma, and the draft of the Social Statement on Civic Life and Faith. Both are crucial statements in our current environment, particularly the statement on Civic Life and Faith, which will be in its public feedback period until Sept. 30, 2024. I encourage you to make time to read and provide feedback. 

Other items of note:

• Presiding Bishop Eaton has returned from her time of personal leave and is very much back at work. In particular, she is working toward concrete action steps related to the Future Church and God’s Love Made Real projects, utilizing an implementation team that will be conducting online Town Hall meetings with Bishop Eaton in each region of the church in coming months. She was thankful for the time away to rest and recharge, and for the care given to her in that time, but is excited to move beyond research and studies into concrete action. 
• The co-chairs of the Commission for a Renewed Lutheran Church commented on a few findings within their work:
• The Commission has been amazed to realize how deeply the influence of the predecessor denominations still affects the ELCA, 35 years post-merger.
• The variety of practices in synods and regions is sometimes a contextual benefit and sometimes not. Some leaders genuinely lead and some are obviously carrying out agendas for others within the church. 
• It is clear that “Who are we?” is a question being asked throughout the ELCA. We have significant difficulty knowing where the ELCA fits as one slice within the worldwide church as a whole. 
• The institutions, organizations, and ministries which relate to the ELCA as separately-incorporated non-profits (think camps, campus ministries, service agencies, etc. which we often know as “serving arms”) are passionate supporters and innovators within the church. There was once some desire to begin referring to this group of folks as a “fourth expression” of the ELCA - it has since morphed into a preference for “related institutions, organizations, and ministries” instead, which has, of course, morphed into an acronym: RIOMs. 

Finally, I’ll end with a reflection from the Rev. Dr. Betsy Miller of the Northern Province of the Moravian Church, who brought greetings as a representative of our full communion partners. In describing the reality she sees as a leader of a church with fewer than 50,000 adherents, she said, “We’re a mission movement. We never should have become a denomination.” As much as the people gathered in Chicago were there to conduct the business of the denomination, I did have a definite sense that the mission, GOD’s mission for the ELCA, was in the midst of all our conversations. I think this will be the challenge of our time as the ELCA: in an age of institutional transformation, will we be captive to supporting the denomination at the expense of mission, or can we pivot to being a mission movement with a denominational structure that supports that mission? I'll be pondering this for a while yet; it's unsettling in the most spiritually enlightening sort of fashion.

Yours in God’s restless peace,

Bishop Scott Johnson  

A Sermon for Christmas Eve 2023 - "In the Mess"

I’ve been a pastor for 20 years, and over all of those years, Christmas Eve services have been and remain some of my favorite worship experiences. Sanctuaries tend to be full, people tend to dress their best (in my case, that only brings so much improvement, but you all look great tonight), and of course, there’s the Christmas hymns that mean the most on this night. 

Sometime during my first few years as a pastor, I came across the option to include a proclamation of the nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I started inserting it at the end of “Silent Night” for those services. I thought about asking Amy if we could do that here at First this year (because when you’re the bishop you can ask for those kind of favors), but when I read through the text this year, I got stuck in one place. See if you get stuck, too. 

The Proclamation of the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ 

The Twenty-fifth Day of December, 

when ages beyond number had run their course from the creation of the world, 

when God in the beginning created heaven and earth, and formed humanity in God’s own likeness; 

when century upon century had passed since the Almighty set a bow in the clouds after the Great Flood as a sign of covenant and peace; 

in the twenty-first century since Abraham and Sara, our parents in faith, came out of Ur of the Chaldees; 

in the thirteenth century since the People of Israel were led by Moses in the Exodus from Egypt;
around the thousandth year since David was anointed King;

in the sixty-fifth week of the prophecy of Daniel; 

in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad; 

in the seven hundred and fifty-second year since the foundation of the City of Rome; 

in the forty-second year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus, the whole world being at peace, 

JESUS CHRIST, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father, 

desiring to consecrate the world by his most loving presence, was conceived by the Holy Spirit, 

and when nine months had passed since his conception, 

was born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem of Judah, and was made human. 

This is the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

It’s beautiful, right? Poetic? Sounds a lot like scripture itself? So - where do you think I got stuck? Some of you probably got stuck here, too:  “The whole world being at peace.” Tonight, war continues to rage in Ukraine, Sudan, Israel/Palestine, and other places. Closer to home, our political leaders squabble and accomplish next to nothing of substance while an endless cycle of violence, blame, and arguments repeats, over and over. I’m 49 years old and I don’t think I’ve ever been more anxious about the state of things in our church, our communities, and our world. We are definitely not a world at peace. 

Line all of that up against this proclamation of the birth of Christ, and what appear to be the cultural expectations of the Christmas holiday, and things get anxious. We strive to give the perfect gift, to enjoy the perfect Christmas meal. Christmas carols started on the radio the day after Halloween in some places, and if I’m honest they sort of sound like a nightmare after two months of solid airplay over and over again, particularly in a year like this year when the weather has been unseasonably warm and not the least bit frightful. It would be incredibly easy to lose hope with so much cognitive dissonance and so many failed expectations. Yet, even in this present anxiety, tonight we gather to celebrate a light that continues to shine. 

Your theme here at First this Advent has been “The Light of Grace,” celebrating the 250th anniversary of the hymn “Amazing Grace.” This is one of our most beloved hymns, for many reasons, but one thing you’ve not discussed much is the origin of the hymn itself. Here’s the story: John Newton was a captain of a slaving ship who got caught in a storm at sea, and after some of his crew were washed over the side, he prayed to God for salvation. After steering the ship through the storm all night, morning found Newton and the rest of his crew safe and saved (to say nothing of the "cargo" of course). It wasn' the last time Newton captained a slaving ship, but it did mark a moment of spiritual conversion for Newton, and in time he became an ardent abolitionist. The story doesn’t excuse who he was or what he did for a living, however. John Newton was a person who had made a living from the capture, transportation, and sale of God‘s children. This is not the story of a simple prayer recited out loud in a revival meeting by a person, feeling guilty about cheating on a test or getting caught speeding. Newton was exactly what the first verse says he was: a wretch. ’Twas grace that redeemed Newton because that’s how grace works. Grace doesn’t apply to the deserving or the perfect. Grace is for those who truly need it. Grace shines best when it shines into the what we most want to hide from the world. 

Just this past Wednesday night, many of us gathered in the mission center for a celebration that included a living nativity, and a prayer service here in the sanctuary. It was lovely. There was something of a petting zoo here as well - a camel as well as some sheep, goats, and other animals - and I couldn’t help noticing that they stayed outside. If we really wanted a living nativity that would re-create what it was like when God came to us in the flesh, we would’ve brought the camel and the sheep and the goats and the llamas and the pigs right into the mission center with us. Now, I’m not actually suggesting we do that, mostly because I’m pretty sure your deacon for faith formation (My wife Kristin) would require me to be the one who shovels out the mess afterwards. But I mention it because there are parts of that story of Jesus’ birth that we don’t acknowledge, because they’re messy. They’re inconvenient. To put it bluntly, they smell. We often tell a sanitized version of the story of Jesus’ birth, and the picture it presents is one of perfection: beatific Holy Child Jesus in the manger (which is filled with sweet, clean hay), beaming Mary resting in peace in beautiful, simple clothing which shows no sign of having just delivered her first child, Joesph silently…being there, stars in the sky, humble shepherds coming to worship (and not losing a one of the sheep entrusted to their care in doing so). There is an entire industry centered around this ideal, this perfection of Christmas peace. The unhealthy danger of this is the anxiety it amplifies in us when things are not perfect in our own Christmas celebrations. What do we do when the gifts are a mess, or when there aren’t any gifts at all because it’s been a hard year? What do we do when family is as much a burden as a blessing, or when we’d give anything for that burden of family because we’re alone? When it comes to Christmas, all too often we are most definitely not a world at peace. 

God did not wait until the world was properly, perfectly prepared to become incarnate. God entered the world as it was, into all the mess, in a scene that in its actual happening would not be the sort of thing that fits ever so beautifully onto a Christmas card. If the world was at peace on that night, 2000 years ago in Bethlehem, just a short walk from Jerusalem, it was a peace that had been imposed on the population by Rome, an occupying power from a foreign land. Jesus was born in Bethlehem because the political power of his time told his parents they needed to go to a different city so they could be taxed. Joseph and Mary were refugees in their own homeland; roaming in search of shelter while the world around them was gripped by anxiety and violence. 

This was the world into which Jesus was born on that long ago night in Bethlehem.  

In a stable that smelled of sheep and goats, of hay and dung. 

In the mess. 

Among the wretches. 

In a world that was definitely not at peace. 

Years from now, when I think about Christmas 2023, the image that will live seared into my brain will be this, the nativity at the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Bethlehem.

  

Yes, this is a statement about the current state of things in Israel/Palestine. 

Yes, that is meant to be rubble of buildings destroyed by rockets and bombs fired by both sides of this horrible conflict. 

Yes, that is the baby Jesus there in the midst of the rubble. 

In the mess. 

Among the wrenches. 

Born into a world that is most definitely not at peace. 

In a minute we’re going to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It’s one of my most beloved Christmas hymns because of one line: “…the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Christmas has never been about a perfect Christmas peace. 

Jesus means to meet us in the rubble. 

In the mess. 

In our wretched anxiety. 

 

Jesus knows we live in a world that is not at peace, and to be honest, rarely has been. Jesus meets us there because that’s how you make this wretched world holy: you start in the rubble. In the mess. You shine the light of grace where it is most needed, and the redemption of the world begins. 

Christmas is wherever Jesus meets us, and in meeting Jesus, we meet peace, wherever he finds us. Merry Christmas, friends. May all your hopes and fears be met in Jesus, tonight and always. Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent: "Hard to Get"

The gospel according to Matthew.    Glory to you, O Lord.

    When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

    As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."

The gospel of the Lord.    Praise to you, O Christ.

    "He emerged from the metro at the L’Enfant Plaza Station and positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play. 

    It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant….

…No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made.” “Pearls Before Breakfast”  Gene Weingarten, Washington Post, 8 April 2007.

2022 Books: A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I was...not in a great place when I read A Psalm for the Wild-Built. It is now my best read of 2022 for one reason: by the time I finished it, my heart and soul and mind were more at peace than I'd been in months.

I've been recommending this little novella and its successor, A Prayer for the Crown-Shy, for months now. They pack a surprising wallop of laughter, joy, humility, simplicity, and peace for such little volumes. I've very much enjoyed Becky Chambers' other novels, but A Psalm for the Wild-Built is a volume I know I'll revisit on multiple occasions in the years to come.

Good books have an impact, so I'll give A Psalm for the Wild-Built my Book of the Year award for this reason: it had, by far, the greatest impact of any book I've read this year.

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2021 Books: Walk the Wire by David Baldacci

Walk the Wire by David Baldacci
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I've enjoyed the previous novels in this series much more than I did Walk the Wire. The main character, Amos Decker, remains as sharply written as ever, continuing to struggle with the mental and emotional issues that have marked his story thus far. The pacing of Walk the Wire is ramped up, however, to a frenetic pitch, and the addition of a second plot just leads to jumps in logic and action that feel unjustified and far too rushed.

The second plot is a crossover of characters from another Baldacci series. While other authors have pulled this off well (I'm thinking particularly of Without Remorse, Tom Clancy's masterpiece that details John Clark's origin story), Walk the Wire doesn't hit home with the same impact. Some pieces are in place to make this an excellent story, but it's just too rushed, too busy, too slipshod to work as well as previous entries in this series have done.

All that said, I did devour this one pretty quickly on a brief summer getaway to Minnesota, which can be a lot of fun in its own right. It's not a terrible novel - I've read plenty of those along the way. This one just could have been better, and it's a shame it wasn't. I'll look forward to the next Amos Decker book in the hopes that it'll be more like its excellent predecessors than Walk the Wire turned out to be.

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2021 Books: Cross Sections by Matt Schur

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Cross Sections is a thought-provoking, passionate collection of poetry aimed squarely at American Protestant Christianity in the early 21st century. This century has been a target-rich environment for critics of the American church, but what makes this volume particularly poignant is that the author offers his critique from within the institution itself, with an eye toward redemption and healing rather than destruction.

Writing in the vein of authors like Anne Lamott, Martin Bell, and Annie Dillard, these poems are filled with humor, rage, anguish, regret, hope, dismay, reflection, and a thematic underpinning that whatever this age is, it is not the beacon on the hill that large parts of the American Christian community believe it is, nor has it ever been. These poems ask big questions, take big swings, and sometimes make for incredibly uncomfortable reading - the kind of reading that shows you the cracks in the foundations of your thinking and makes you consider whether you've assumed too many things were true that just don't have to be, and maybe shouldn't.

If you're uncomfortable with the way things are, Cross Sections might be a collection of poetry that shows you you're not alone, and gives you hope that the moral arc of the universe is still bending toward justice. If you're comfortable with the way things are, this collection might move you into that uncomfortable place, and then show you you're not alone and give you hope as well. Highly recommended for Christian and non-Christian readers alike.

DISCLAIMER: Matt Schur and I have been good friends for almost 30 years, and I was an advance reader who offered some editorial suggestions for Cross Sections prior to publication. That having been said, I wouldn't post a review if it wasn't genuine, not even for a friend, and I did not request or receive any compensation for this review.

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The Bird that Sang in Color by Grace Mattioli
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I accepted a free electronic copy of The Bird That Sang In Color with a promise to post a review when I had finished. I am somewhat regretting that decision because I don't like giving less-than-favorable reviews, save for authors who are either a) dead or b) well-established enough that a lousy review isn't going to harm their livelihood. But I did promise, so here we are.

The Bird That Sang In Color isn't a bad story - I should be clear about that from the start. It's a family tale, one of several in a series told from the viewpoint of several family members. Donna Tucci is the first person narrator of this volume, and it largely deals with her relationship with her brother Vincent. Donna tells her version of the Tucci story, moving through childhood in the 1970s to adulthood in the present day, and there's a lot to tell.

I think the reason I couldn't be more positive about this book is the narration itself. From the first few chapters to the very end, Donna's voice felt scattered and flighty, jumping from one paragraph to another without any real sense of a unifying theme or a clear vision of why this story matters. It felt like a first draft of an autobiography or memoir by someone who isn't actually a very good writer. Entire years get jumped with little warning, it's difficult to keep characters sorted except for Vincent and Donna, and the title seems unconnected to the one element which does move through the entire book, identified in the final chapters. The thought did occur to me that perhaps the disjointed narration is a compositional choice by the author, given that other family members are narrating many of the same events in their own volumes of this series; if so, it's a choice that didn't work for me as a reader. I asked myself "Why?" quite often in reading this book, and didn't get nearly enough answers to that question in the end.

Other reviewers had a far more positive experience, and I'm glad for that, because it means that Grace Mattioli connects with other readers in ways The Bird That Sang In Color didn't connect with me. I'm grateful for the chance to read and review a new author, even if it didn't wind up being what every author would like to hear about their work, and I'd encourage people who've read this far to try the book for yourselves and see what you think. At the very least, the story of Donna Tucci would tell you that happiness doesn't come the same way for every person, and if other readers find happiness reading The Bird That Sang In Color, I'm happy as well.
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2021 Books: Tales by H.P. Lovecraft

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Well, consider me... whelmed.

I know Lovecraft is a huge influence on Stephen King and many other folks. I can see what so many of them have come to love - when he was on his game, he was fantastic, particularly for his time. But perhaps I should have just stuck with a smaller compendium with At the Mountains of Madness and some of the best short stories, because by the end I was checking out every single time I read the following words: "the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred..."

High points: The Call of Cthulhu, definitely. At the Mountains of Madness and The Case of Charles Dexter Ward were both very good, and I'd never even heard of the latter. It was the longest of the stories, incorporating several different generations and an interesting, very sympathetic main character. The Dunwich Horror, The Colour Out of Space, and The Thing on the Doorstep were also new to me, and I'm very much looking forward to watching the movie version of The Colour Out of Space when I've got some free time. But page after page of 1st person narratives s-l-o-w-l-y developing from odd suspicions into full-on terror just starts to sound the same after a while.

It could be that if I actually owned this volume, I could pick it up every now and again to try a story on its own as some sort of palate cleanser, but trying to read it straight through turned into quite a slog before all was said and done.

My recommendation: look for a "best of" version or read Lovecraft one story at a time. Don't be a shoggoth and try to devour it whole - there may be unpleasant consequences for those who do.

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Book Review: Persepolis Rising by James S.A. Corey

Persepolis Rising by James S.A. Corey
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Extra time for reading in these days of pandemic lockdown has found me galloping through The Expanse, the excellent sci-fi series from James S.A. Corey. If you haven't read the series but you think it sounds familiar, you may be thinking of the also-excellent television series based on the novels, originally aired by SyFy but picked up by Amazon a few years ago. This is one of those few instances where the book and the movie/show are both excellent and worthy of all the time you can invest in either or (preferably) both.

Persepolis Rising moves the story considerably into the future of the Expanse universe. The crew of the Rocinante are dealing with aging bodies and a desire for changed lives, but as is often the case in this series, circumstances disrupt these plans and the final act of the larger narrative begins in earnest. To say anything more detailed would involve all kinds of spoilers, so I'll just leave the synopsis there and advise you to start all the way back at Leviathan's Wake so you can truly appreciate the story when you get to Persepolis Rising.

What I genuinely appreciate about The Expanse as a whole is the way its authors (James S.A. Corey is the nom de plume for Ty Franck and Daniel Abraham) are determined to build a world in which the science isn't actually fictional. There are no wings on the Rocinante- it flies with a theoretically possible fusion drive and maneuvering thrusters. In space, no one can walk on the floor of a ship without thrust or spin gravity. Speed is governed by how many G forces the human body can endure, not by hyperdrives or warp speeds. I love Star Trek, Star Wars, and all kinds of other space operas, but The Expanse universe is filled with plausible science AND compelling narrative AND deeply developed characters you come to love and despise and pity and cherish. There's so much here that even on this third time reading this novel, I'm discovering new plot points and being delighted by stuff I've forgotten is in there.

The plan is for this series to end after 9 books, and I'm somewhat dreading that final page turn, because I haven't enjoyed a series this much in years - it might rank right up there with The Lord of the Rings in terms of holding the excellence all the way to the end (looking at you, Wheel of Time & A Song of Ice and Fire). Embarking on this series is a big undertaking, but trust me - the journey will be worth it in the end.


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Daily Online Chapel - Powers

Once Midland University made the move to remote classes, I started doing a series of Daily Online Chapel services. Here's today's version:

Living with Grace in Anxious Times

While scrolling through social media recently, I saw a colleague I really respect get blasted by someone in their community. Publicly. That's just one example of some alarming abuse that's been happening lately. Here are some others:

• A pastor receives the agenda for an upcoming Council meeting and "Accomodating Pastor's children in worship" is an agenda item. 
• Online video worship services being critiqued for not being professional enough.
• Pastors observing recommended social distancing & strict visitation policies at local hospitals being criticized for not visiting members in person in the midst of a pandemic.
• Furloughed ministers being asked to continue providing pastoral care for the communities which are no longer paying for that care. 

These are times of high anxiety, fear, and grief. Anxious, scared, and grieving people are rarely capable of exhibiting their best behavior. Even when accounting for the current environment, however, it's disturbing to hear these stories of abuse from colleagues I know are doing everything they can to provide pastoral care to the communities to which God has called them.

In this time of uncertainty, change, and fear, we can present a counter-narrative of faith, endurance, and love. In fact, we already are. The situations I described above are all true, but they are the unfortunate exceptions. I've seen congregations shift to video worship services and graciously laugh about our lack of sophistication & polish. Several congregations have scheduled parades of members, driving past the houses where their ministers live and honking, waving, singing, doing something fun to tell their pastors and deacons they are loved and appreciated. Phone trees have been set up so that every member of a congregation gets a call from a fellow member at least once a week. How many of us have hosted a Zoom Bible Study or caught up with friends at a distance?

Learning one new skill requires a period of trial and error, of failing a little bit less each time until we build up the competency desired. Most of us will never be Tour de France-level bicyclists, but almost all of us learned to ride a bike at some point in our childhood, right? We learned how to ride by falling down until we didn't, until that crazy balance clicked in our minds and bodies. We developed that competency over time, usually in private, and eventually we were able to not even think about how to ride a bike - we just hopped on the seat and took off.

This global pandemic has stripped away most of our former competencies and left us all juggling job and family requirements that were unthinkable less than six months ago. In a sense, we've all been told we can no longer walk, or even ride a bike: everything is on a unicycle now, everyone has to do it, and it all has to be done where everyone can see. We're building new competencies in every aspect of our life and work, all at once. We are falling down - regularly, often, and publicly. It's a painful time to be a person.

This is a time for grace if ever the was one. This should be our primary language in the church, but we've adapted so well to the cultural language of performance and production that grace is an unfamiliar dialect - it sounds familiar, but it'll take some time to be fluent in it again. This is a time for grace with ourselves. This is a time for grace with the limitations imposed on us by this pandemic we cannot control. This is a time for grace with our families and housemates who grow every more wearying and annoying with each passing interminable day of social distancing. This is a time for grace with co-workers who still don't know how to mute video conference calls or don't have a private spot where kids or spouses won't pop into the background. This is a time for grace with Council members who are insensitive or even absent because they're worried about losing their jobs. This is a time for grace with all of this and more. 

We once believed grace was easy, right? Here in the American midwest we are particularly good at the sort of grace that left room for grudges while presenting an outwardly peaceful countenance - the sort of thing Dietrich Bonhoeffer called 'cheap grace.' Now we're discovering how difficult the actual practice of grace can be, and also how essential it will be moving forward in a world which will long remember how we responded in this hour of pandemic. Faith, endurance, and love - this is how we live with grace in anxious times. May God's Holy Spirit fill you with this grace, and may it flow through you into the world around you, now and always.