to him all of them are alive

Jesus said to them, ‘Those who are considered worthy of a place in … the resurrection from the dead … cannot die any more, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.’ (Luke 20:34-38)

For me the key words in this Gospel passage are “children of the resurrection” and, even more so, “to him all of them are alive.” 

As we approach the Lord’s Table we go to meet the Lord — who is alive and those too who are alive in Him, alive in the Resurrection. And even, I’ve been thinking, we go to meet those who are yet to come.  

Hope for the future, as well as peace about the past, and faith — both comfort and challenge — for the present, are all proclaimed to us in this gospel.

For in Christ we are in communion with all the saints, all who live and die and are raised with him. 

So as we go up to the altar to take communion we go up not for ourselves only but for all who share in the joy of the saints.

This is a sacrament that we take never so for much for ourselves as when we take it as members of the body of Christ: one bread, one body.

From Isaiah (25:6) we receive this vision of a feast at the end of time:

‘On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples

   a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines,

   of rich food filled with marrow,

   of well-matured wines strained clear.’

The heavenly feast! If we take resurrection seriously, a couple of things happen. 

For if we take resurrection seriously, we take each other seriously. How shall I regard you if I know you are an eternal being, that you will live forever, that in Christ you have a home in his heart? And how then shall I look at myself - at my own actions, at my self-regard or self- envy, my self-criticism or my downward looks, if Christ is real? 

“Eternal life starts here” could be written over the gates of your life - today, any day, as you enter the church, as you approach the communion rail, as you start again, today, to live life as you want it to be lived. 

Even the sorrow of life cut short — or spent badly — is redeemed in the resurrection. And its hope is in us, and we in it. So we can resist despair and live on, live now, in the fullness of that hope, the assurance of redemption.

Father Fuller (from St. Frances Cabrini) said: “Our faith in our future resurrection must affect our lives now.” Knowing who we are and believing in the future changes how we treat each other, how we treat ourselves, how we approach life. 

We are called to live in the fullness of confidence that death is not the end — the end is in Christ — the finality of the goal of all life… as all things are gathered to him.

To live now with the resurrection life before us means living now not only for ourselves but for others: in our sacramental life, in our workaday life, in our home life, in our social and political life…

How we treat one another,  how we treat ourselves, how we live— is in the light of the life of Christ, that frees us, empowers us, and leads us — into strange, new places.

Now, we may not all agree on particular actions — I’m thinking of the social-political realm — but we know of one another who sends us, why and what is behind our actions, the source of our motivations.

The Baptismal Covenant calls on us “to seek to serve Christ in all persons” — and uphold their dignity as children of God, affects how we conduct our public lives — not just how we vote, but in how we speak to others with whom we disagree. Our attitude of certitude or frustration or despair or even anger over public policy must be leavened with hope — with knowing that we are children of God.

How are we then to live? as God’s children, as transcendent beings of infinite value, — as creatures of dust and glory whose mortal acts of the moment are significant in light of our immortality, of the hope of the resurrection, that is, of our presence now in Christ. 

And this presence of Christ in us, which we enact and celebrate as we go up to communion, motivates us, not only to kneel or stand before him Sunday morning, but to stand with him in all the moments of our lives.

In Christ we are all one people. Using political divisions or election anxiety to separate us does not, ultimately, work. For we know that our redeemer lives, and on the last day he will triumph — and we with him. 

We begin to realize, as Christ draws all people to himself, that we are already one in the Spirit, and those boundaries we may seek to draw will all evaporate, dissolve, and blow away in the wind of the Spirit. That Holy Breath that in the Beginning moved across the face of the waters has not been still since creation’s dawn — it is still moving. And as it moves, what the world puts up against it will not stand.

The Rev. Dr. John Leech serves as priest associate at the Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew, Tucson.

The Arizona Daily Star published a version of this essay in the Keeping the Faith feature of the Home + Life section on Sunday, November 20th 2022, page E3, under the title “Stand with him in all moments.”

Ruth and Facebook

My sermon this Sunday begins on Facebook:

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John Leech

November 1 at 7:35pm ·

733 pm during World Series game nov1 first xmas related commercial aaagh

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Diane   Hallmark channel started showing 24-7 holiday movies a few days ago. Last year, I think they ran into January. Do you have any idea how many really bad holiday movies there are? Yikes!

Like · Reply · November 2 at 6:02am

John Leech The hallmark movie plot : she finally meets the right man. Grandma is happy.

Like · Reply · 1 · November 2 at 8:25am

John Leech The hallmark Christmas movie plot: she finally meets the right man, just in time for Christmas. Grandma is very happy.

Like · Reply · November 2 at 8:26am

Diane  Got it in one, unless it's the equal opportunity version where the guy is looking for the right woman! LOL

Like · Reply · November 2 at 8:26am

The story of Ruth that we read today is a lot like a Hallmark Channel movie - at first glance. A capable woman meets a righteous man, marries him, settles down, and they have a child. Grandma is happy. 

But the story did not start that way. The four-episode story of Ruth begins with a much graver situation than you'll find in any Hallmark movie.

As the story begins a woman leaves her hometown of Bethlehem - where there is no bread: it's a time of famine - and travels with her husband and her two sons across a couple of boundaries. They cross the valley of the Jordan to an unlikely place, the unfriended land of Moab. But there is food there. And her sons find wives. But her husband dies and after ten years her sons die as well. She is left, in that ancient patriarchal culture, without male support. Husbands and sons were the security for women. Without them the woman - the women - fall to the bottom of society.

The woman hears that the famine is over in her homeland, and so she makes plans to return. Her daughters-in-law accompany her part of the way but she discourages them. She has no husband and no prospect of sons. She cannot hold out hope to them that, in-laws as they are - but now to become foreigners in a strange land - they would find any comfort there.

Orpah goes back. Fair enough. Ruth surprises her mother-in-law and vows to continue with her, to stay in relationship with her, and indeed to adopt her homeland and her family - and her God - as her own. So forsaking all others she goes with the older widow on her journey.

And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:
Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

When they arrive it is early spring. The barley harvest is beginning. It's the first sign of hope, as episode one closes.

In episode two, the women of Bethlehem welcome home their relative, Naomi. But Naomi is bitter at this point and sees no happy way out of her circumstance. Bereft of husband and sons, and prospect of a child, she has little left. Except Ruth.

Ruth with permission from her mother-in-law becomes a gleaner, one of the poor ones following the harvesters as they reap the grain. And she is seen. The owner of the field approaches, speaks his appreciation of all she has done. She has taken care of her mother-in-law, leaving all her other support behind her. He blesses her for seeking protection under the wings of God.

The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

The man, Boaz, sees that Ruth has placed her total trust in God. He praises that. And he looks after her that day and sees that she does not go home empty-handed. Naomi is glad to hear how the day went for Ruth and indeed notices that the owner of the field was none other than her own close relative. A hopeful ending to episode two.

Episode three begins some weeks later as the harvest season is coming to a close. Naomi, now in much better spirits, has come up with an idea. And so Ruth seeks out Boaz - and the upshot is here in today's reading. She seeks shelter under his wing - for life. And in episode four, we get the happy ending. Ruth and Boaz marry, and Naomi gets a grandchild.

But remember where we started and see the story as a whole. The book began with six characters, three men and three women, only two of whom survive to the second chapter. From exile the older woman returns to her own land, and with her comes a woman who is seeking safety, shelter, and a new home in a place she has never been before. God bless you, says a new friend, for what you have done. And the story turns away from famine, scarcity, and sorrow to abundance, fullness, and joy.

That is the story of Ruth - an immigrant and a widow - who found a welcome in the household of God, among the people of God in a place she had never known, that now she would make her home.

Questions I am asked and challenged by:

What do you do to make a home of a place you have never been before? And what do you do to make your place a home for the alien, the widow, the stranger, and those seeking a new life in a place they have never been before?

Ten or eleven years ago at the bishop's conference on the border (organized by Tom Buechele) some one asked if there were any Bible passages about borders and migration. Three came to mind, right away:

"My father was a wandering Aramean,..." or, as the King James has it, "A Syrian ready to perish was my father,..." (Dt 26.5) This is the story of how Jacob, patriarch of the Hebrew people, migrated to a foreign land in a time of famine.

"You were strangers once in Egypt...." (Dt 10.19) "Love ye therefore the stranger: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt."
 This is an admonishment to the people of Israel to extend hospitality to foreigners. And even, at Passover, to welcome them into their homes for the family dinner on an equal footing with themselves.

And the kicker:

"I was a stranger and you welcomed me." (Mt 25.35) Jesus at the final gathering of all peoples responds with welcome to those who have been welcoming...



When I first came to southern Arizona eleven years ago I had to find ways to make it home. One advantage I had was a bit of history of my own from long ago: my grandfather was a forest ranger in the Arizona territory before the first world war. And my future parents-in-law met at the University of Arizona. But family connections are not enough. I had to get to know the place, the land, the fauna and flora. And I had to get to know the story of Arizona, the stories of the people who live here.

Those stories are many, and carry on. Among them are many stories of people who have come to Arizona for work, for family, or to start a new and better life. There are people who have fled war, civil strife, or natural disaster. Famine. And there are those who find here a fresh start in a place of abundance. They are welcomed. There are some who are greeted with an attitude of scarcity, of not sharing. (Where I once lived in another state, we called this "closing the door behind you" as all of us had been immigrants not long since.)

The story of Ruth - of Naomi and Boaz and the people of Bethlehem - gives us hope. It gives us a story of welcome and hospitality. It gives us in quiet ways a story of how God can work with what we have - even if it is only two women who stick together in hard times - and make a new thing begin.

How do we make something bloom in the desert? How do we make ourselves at home in a new time or a new place? How do we begin to welcome home those who have been long away? Or those who have never been under our roof before?

And how do we celebrate the welcome of God to all of us as God welcomes us into his house, his hospitality, and we find shelter under his wings?



8 November 2015
Twenty Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 27

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44


Notes for a sermon given at St. John's Episcopal Church, Bisbee, Arizona. JRL+

the widows’ might

Today we have heard a part of the story of Naomi, returning from exile, of Ruth, the foreigner in a foreign land, and of Boaz, who is there to meet them.

It is a story that moves from famine to harvest, from scarcity to abundance, from widowing to wedding, from poverty and widowhood to providence and safety.

Naomi, the tale tells us, was a woman of Israel who had traveled to the land of Moab in a time of famine. She had been married then, and had two sons, who married local women, there in Moab, Orpah and Ruth.

Those men, all three of them, had died. And so Naomi was left alone in a far country.

Could she provide new husbands for her daughters-in-law? No, she said, I cannot. All I can do is return, alone, to the land I came from long ago, and hope to make out some kind of living there among the people who once knew me. Leave me, and return to your own people, she said. Orpah did so, turning back from the long road to Israel, and saying farewell to Naomi, but Ruth stuck with her.

Where you go I will go, where you live I will live; your God will be my God, your people my people; where you are buried there will I be buried also. And so the two of them set out, crossing the miles and miles from one side of the Jordan to the other and moving up into the hill country of Ephraim, to the little town of Bethlehem.

It was in this country, the home country Naomi had come from, that they hoped to live.

Would Naomi be accepted back? Would anyone remember her? What about her husband’s land, the inheritance she would have to reclaim to make a living from? Could she, with the younger widow working beside her, farm it and live on the produce? In the meantime, how were they to eat?

It is a harvest time. Ruth goes out, to gather the grain left behind by the reapers; she is gleaning, a traditional way the poor kept from starving.

She finds favor in the sight of the farmer. His name is Boaz, and he has heard of her selfless care for her mother-in-law; in fact, he is kin. And he knows the law of the land—the law that laid out a role for the next of kin, the closest male relative to Naomi’s late husband and Ruth’s, to serve as the redeemer, the one to take over the care of the inheritance and of the family’s future.

Imagine the sorrow and loneliness Ruth felt; now turning to joy. She had been a widow from a far country, traveling among strangers and serving her mother-in-law. She had been gleaning in the fields, trying to make a livelihood out of poverty and forbearance, and had been rewarded with the regard of the man in whose fields she had gleaned.

Her mother-in-law, a widow too, saw this and, savvy to the ways of men, saw a way out of poverty. Put on your best clothes, my daughter, and go to the threshing floor tonight, where Boaz will be resting. Quietly go to him in the night. He’ll take it from there.

Ruth comes home that night to Naomi, bearing grain in her cloak— and good news. It must have been clear from her face.

Naomi may have thought things would progress farther than they had, in one way. Boaz had a good heart and saw that Ruth had one too. He continued to look after her, and did offer her protection, not the warmth of a night’s blanket but a lifetime of husband-hood.

Already he—a man of means, and of generous manner—saw in her his equal, calling her a worthy woman, that is, a person of honor and wisdom, like the capable wife, the accomplished life-partner, extolled in Proverbs (31:10-31).

He went to the city gate in the morning, where such business was transacted in that land, and there he made the deal— to a closer kinsman of Naomi, the one who had prior rights, he said, you are the redeemer, if you choose to be, of the inheritance of Naomi: a parcel of land, to farm, and a daughter-in-law, with whom to marry and raise a family. This is what you have to redeem, if you will be the redeemer.

I cannot do it, said the other man; I have an inheritance of my own to protect. And so he sealed the deal with Boaz, clearing the way for the marriage— and a new life for Ruth, and Naomi.

Soon there would be children, and this stranger to Israel, this sojourner in their midst, became one of them. Her faithfulness, her steadfast loyalty to her mother-in-law, her sacramental love and care for her, would be recognized and rewarded. She who had been a foreigner, daughter-in-law to Naomi, the returning exile, would marry the man who had stayed in the land—she became included among the people of God.

There is something more than blood kinship at work here; there is more than fulfilling an obligation of law. There is grace, and welcome, and faith made effective in love.

The story goes on to tell us about the children of Ruth, her son Obed (which means “servant”), her grandson Jesse, and of Jesse’s son—David, who would become king.

This widow, in her steadfast love and loyalty, her selfless care, is not the only widow extolled in today’s stories. She is not the only example of God’s care, of what it is to live in faith.

In the gospels we hear parable after parable to tell us what the kingdom of God is like. It is like a treasure buried in a field, it is like a pearl beyond price, it is like a mustard seed; it is like a father welcoming home his prodigal son.

Today also we have what amounts to a living parable, the poor widow that Jesus watched in the Temple, as she gave without stinting her last two coins, all she had to live on—in effect, her whole life—given over as a free gift to God.

Look, Jesus said to his men: there it is.

This is what the kingdom of God is like. It is like a poor widow, who on reaching the Temple gave without reserve her whole life as a sacrificial offering to God. She, unlike the others who came there that day, had no prominence in the eyes of men: she had no large gift to catch the eye, nothing that would show off well, just a simple gift—of everything.

Where is the good news in this story?

The good news is manifest in God’s unfailing love, open-handed beyond caution or common sense, acted out by this woman at the Temple treasury.

The good news is in God’s open-handed love, beyond precedent in the lives of men or women, which would soon be shown by Jesus himself, as he offered himself as a sacrificial offering, once for all.

The priests who entered the Holy of Holies, Hebrews reminds us, did so every year: not so our Lord, who once in his lifetime offered his whole life to God, for the redeeming of us all.

This is what the world looks like when God is truly in charge: a world in which all comes from God, and everything we have we have from God. All we offer to God—our gifts, our work, our offerings of thanks—comes from God and it is to God that we return.

So Ruth is welcomed home to a place she had never been before; she is welcome, known, recognized, as one of the very own of God—generous, loving heart, faithful—she is home, for the very first time.

So we too are welcome, in the kingdom of God, a world characterized by what the Hebrews called chesed, loyalty or faithfulness arising from commitment, the steadfast love of a loving Lord, the God who first loved us.

The widows in the story of Ruth, the widow in the Temple—they are exemplars to us of faith in living. The widow in the Temple does not give her whole life, her two coins, as a bet—she is not placing a desperate wager on the generosity of the Messiah. This isn’t a holy lottery, hoping that last dollar will turn into thousands. She is, by what she does, showing us a picture of absolute faith in the providence of God, the one who has given her all she has, and of whose own provision she has made radical return. We don’t, most of us, give with that little thought for the morrow.

Giving out of the abundance God has granted us, with thanks, with obedience, with grace, and with the knowledge that all we have is his, is what we do: it is the human thing to do.

What we see in the widow’s mite is more than just a human response—it is a sign, of God’s grace, of God’s abundance, of God’s profligate generosity. For soon, as the story carries us forward, this same son of Man who watched the widow put her two coins in the Treasury, will himself be given—will give himself—as the gift of God for our own souls’ redeeming.

He is the one who did not count equality with God as a thing to be held onto, but will be the one of whom it is said, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believed in him, whoever trusted him so completely as to put their whole life into his care, would not perish but live eternally.

Everlasting life—and the love that is its source—is what stands behind the widows’ story.

Love, loyalty, life itself: time, talent, treasure: all we have, all we give, comes from God—who gave himself for us.

Guide me, God of grace, to give, as you would have me give, of what you have given me.

AMEN.


+


The Lessons appointed for use on the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost;
Proper 27, Year B, in the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL):

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17 and Psalm 127
(or 1 Kings 17:8-16 and Psalm 146)
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44


The Abingdon Bible Commentary (Abingdon Press, 1929)

The HarperCollins Study Bible, Revised Edition (HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). Galatians 5:6, n.

The New Revised Standard Version Bible (National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America, 1989)

+

the widow's mite

Merciful Father, compassionate Son, Spirit of
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.

Let us then love God purely, without expectation
of reward or fear of punishment.

Remember how bereft a widow was in ancient
Palestine - the bottom had fallen out of her life
- she was in a dark place. Scripture knows no one
more desolate than the widow and orphan.

And here it was that Elijah went. He had just
announced to the king, Ahab, that there would be
no rain until he, Elijah, gave the word. Then he
hid out - first in a ravine (or wadi) where there
was a trickle of mud - then he picked up and left
Israel entirely.

He went into Sidon, on the coast - in the
territory whose god was not Yahweh but Baal. And yet
there Yahweh provided. As Yahweh lives, said the
widow, I have nothing ready to give you -

[She had nothing to offer him but bread, oil, and tears.]

just a little last meal, a little oil and flour,
with some sticks to make a fire. We are going to
eat it, then die.

I picture a campout kind of cooking - johnnycake,
bread on a stick. In any case,

after this rude meal, there would be nothing left
to eat and they would starve.

Remember the Psalm: Yahweh loves the righteous,
Yahweh cares for the stranger; God sustains the
orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the
wicked. (Ps 146.8)

Poverty and bereavement came close together - and
the grief was not just personal but economic and
political. This woman on the edge of the land had
no livelihood. There was no provision for her
care. Left alone with no support, she was
composing herself for death.

Politically it was a dark and turbulent time.
Ahab, the cruel king of Israel, had driven Elijah
out - and he thought he had driven the Lord out
as well. He thought Yahweh was a tribal god, a
local god, one who could be replaced - with a
flashy imported model, Baal.

Yet here in the heart of the land of Baal, Elijah
runs for refuge - at God's command. And there the
wonders begin - with simple sustenance, the
plainest meal. Bread. Oil. God works through
these things. In these simple things, in the
offering of them, these destitute people affirm
their faith. And neither the bread nor the oil
failed - they lasted until the rains came.

(At first when I read these passages I thought of
Jesus, in the gospel of John making provision for
his mother. She was about to lose her son, her
support. And from the cross Jesus saw her
standing next to the beloved disciple, and said,
"Mother, there is your son." "There is your
mother." (John 19.25-27) And the disciple took
her into his home from that moment.)

God provides for the widowed and the orphaned.
But these lessons are about more than taht. They
are about the radical faith and unstinting giving
(service) of the women in the stories. They love
without fear of punishment or hope (expectation)
of reward. All they have, they give.

The faith the widow of Zarephath shows is an
absolute trust in Yahweh. He is no tribal god to
her - she has no tribe. He is no territorial god
- she is in exile. He is Lord of their lives, and
she returns to him an offering from all he has
provided.

(All I have needed thy hand hath provided, great
is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. ...and now she
gives in turn.)

Again in the gospel we meet such a woman of
faith. We are warned, first, about the
rule-keepers, the people who try to earn their
place. They keep the rules.

Just as there were rules of hospitality there
were rules of giving - and as Jesus witnessed the
rules were kept. But there was someone who went
beyond the rules.

"She had less than enough, and gave all that she
had to live on." (REB)

It is one thing to give out of your wealth,
another to give out of your poverty. Here again
was a woman with next to nothing. What would
happen to her when she left the Temple? We don't
know.

(Since the first days of the church care for the
poor, the suffering & the bereft has been part of
its work. And of course there have been rich
widows - last week Mrs Kroc left $200m to NPR.)

What we do know is that she gave, without hope of
reward, without fear of retribution, without
stinting or holding back anything for herself.

All she had, she gave.

Six years ago at the General Convention in
Philadelphia I was selling Bibles and
prayerbooks. A friend helped me carry them in to
the exhibit hall, then we had lunch. We talked
about the issues of the day. He said, "well,
there are some rules, you know." And I found
myself retorting sharply,

"Your rules need to give way to some compassion."


Good words. Wrong target. I should have been
saying them to me!

Jesus carries us into a world beyond rule-keeping
- Jesus breaks the rules open to reveal
compassion, mercy & wisdom. Beyond the rules he
shows us radical faith, and a self-giving that
knows no measurement.

God does not meet us halfway.

This gift comes present to us as we share simple
sustenance together: Bread. Oil. Water. Wine.

Through them we find that he, like the widows,
has given all he has with an open hand - this
sacrifice of himself was made once when he freely
accepted the death he suffered at the hands of
the rule-makers. Bearing the message of
compassion, of infinite mercy, came with a cost
he could not measure - and did not measure.

As the widow of Zarephath claimed in the promise
of the prophet,
As the widow at the Temple opened her hand and
let it all fall to Yahweh,
So Jesus, sustaining himself only in his faith,
opened his heart - and cast himself on the mercy
of God.

[God is with us. Pray boldly. Give
wholeheartedly, openhandedly; live faithfully.]

This radical reliance on the providence of God,
this going beyond obedience to sacrificial giving

How do we live with that?

Where in our lives is there a place
to welcome the stranger
to give up our treasure

Perhaps it is not about the money
Perhaps it is about something else we treasure

Perhaps wherever we stand on current issues
Our rules need to give way to some compassion

It is about giving up self-righteousness, about
admitting that we, wherever we stand, could be
wrong - and opening our hands and our hearts and
ourselves to each other and to God.

(We need to blend the confidence, the courage, of the prophet, Elijah, with the compassion and care of the shepherd.

(The church has been through times of turmoil before. At one time there was a new prayerbook, and the ministers all looked different. It took 150 years, from 1537 to 1688, to find a workable solution. That was the English Reformation.

(How are we to live in the meantime?)

***

[It is not about the coins, not even the bread or
the oil. Perhaps it is about giving up our
treasured right to be right, to admit we could be
wrong, to open our hands and offer ourselves to
God and each other.

[DO try this at home.

[Next weekend at diocesan convention in Redding
there are a heap of resolutions to consider and
to vote on. Beyond that there are the people of
our diocese to gather and celebrate together the
goodness of God. It would be easy to get stuck on
the money - or it get stuck to us - to give or
not give, where I feel good or bad. But the money
is not a vehicle of self-expression, or a vote,
it's a gift of God. Beyond that what we really
have to give each other more than time, talent,
or treasure, is our obedience to the Lord, who
commands us to love one another. Our gift is to
go beyond compliance, to sacrifice our stampbooks
of debts owed, and out of radical reliance on God
to open our hands to the stranger and our hearts
to the Lord.]

Merciful Father, compassionate Son, Spirit of
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.

Grant that we may live faithfully, and,
undistracted by fear of retribution or
expectation of reward,
love purely for Christ's sake.

__________________________________

Thanks to: Bill Adams, Don Kraus, Dorothy Nicholl, Jane Williams; Kate Aldrich, Margaret Bock, Hutch Gibb, George Hunt, Bette Leedom, Greta MacLeod, Ann Peters, John & Else Redmond, Sally Skanderup, Hugh Stevenson, George Thoresen, Julie Wizorek, Wendy Wood. Mrs. Paul H. (Sara S.) Leech.

The Lectionary Page www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/Bprop27.html
Geranium Farm www.geraniumfarm.org Barbara Crafton
Out of Nowhere www.covenant-journal.org Lane Denson III


Year B Proper 27
1 Kings 17.8-16, Psalm 146.4-9, Hebrews 9.24-28
Mark 12.38-44 The widow's mite

St Patrick's Episcopal Church, Kenwood, California
Sunday, November 09, 2003