Advent Sermon

Sermon – 12/2/12

Earlier this year, at the beginning of summer, a number of family members came to visit the Bay Area. Trying to be good hosts, Adolfo and I brought them to a number of places, including sites in San Francisco and the East Bay, along with a trip down the coast along Highway 1. When we reached the area around Half Moon Bay, as anyone who has travelled in the area will be familiar with, we came across a number of small stands selling fresh local fruits and vegetables.

Thinking we might find some fresh figs—a favorite of one of our visitors—we stopped at one of the stands, only to learn from the farmer that it wasn’t quite fig season yet, but, it sure was the season for any number of other delicious things: strawberries, watermelon, zucchini, artichokes, and so many other wonderful treats. It was a veritable banquet of nature’s bounty, all laid out before us as the fruit of the season for that time of the year.

Now, I bet that if we were more familiar with that particular area and drove through more often, we would not only learn the parameters of fig season much better – but also might grow accustomed to the seasons of all the amazing crops that grow there, and benefit even more from the rich bounty of the many harvests that take place throughout the year.

Still, few of us probably have the opportunity to drive through Half Moon Bay every day and learn the rhythm of the seasons in that particular place. For most of us it’s probably enough simply to visit once in a while and be surprised and delighted by what we might find. But, though we may not travel Highway 1 daily, no doubt many of us drive or walk or ride or spend time passing through other places with great frequency each and every day.

Whether it’s driving to work, commuting on the train, walking to the park, or visiting a friend or family member, we all likely have daily routines that take us to and through places that we grow familiar with. Now, it’s likely that not too many of these places are areas where actual fruit and vegetables are growing or being sold on the side of the road. But, as Jesus shares with us today in our gospel reading, there is a fruit—a kind of plant, in fact—that’s in the process of sprouting up all around us, no matter where our daily journeys may take us.

Whether we’re on a bus, at work, caring for a loved one, volunteering in the community, or simply going out for a walk, whatever it is that we’re doing, wherever we are, in whatever circumstances we happen to find ourselves, the seedling plant that’s growing all around is none other than the living reality that is the Kingdom of God. Jesus today compares it to a fig tree, but really any plant would do. The analogy is in fact the same – the Kingdom of God is a living, growing, fruit-bearing thing that’s alive all around us. It spreads seeds, grows, and bears fruit in due time. And, just like a farmer who knows the season for a plant to flower, so we too can learn to discern the growth of God’s reign all around us.

In truth, it doesn’t take going to any special place or extraordinary lengths to do this. All we need are the circumstances of our daily lives, the surroundings and realities that God has given us, in order to learn to see God’s kingdom at work.

We might find it in a friend who moves us with a simple gesture of compassion // or in a child who shares a fresh perspective on life’s wonder // or in a movement for change or renewal or justice in the community, that touches and inspires us.

Whatever these simple and yet profound manifestations look like in each of our lives, no matter how we each encounter the Kingdom day in and day out, the key is that we learn to realize that it’s there. As Jesus reminds us, the more we learn to read the signs of the times—the more we train in paying attention to how God is at work among us—the more we too will grow in our own vocation as bearers and heralds of that same Kingdom. As we learn to encounter and celebrate grace, justice, mercy and all the other signs of God’s reign, we too will find that we can share those same gifts with others.

This Advent season, as we begin the observance of a season of waiting for the birth of Christ among us, we do so with the awareness that the Kingdom is both already here among us and still not fully realized. We stand in the in-between time as we look for the signs of the times—the in-breaking God’s reign—and also learn to be humble instruments of the flowering of that same reality among us.

Like travellers on the road who learn the growing seasons of the living things they pass by along the way, we too—in this sacred season and throughout the year—take up once more the invitation to look all around, to discern the flowering of the Kingdom among us, and to share the fruit of that living plant everywhere we go, both now and always. Amen. 

Article on Christian America

Interesting article that's well worth reading, on the question of the church's role in society:

"Goodbye, Christian America; Hello, True Christianity"

Reformation Observance

Great recent article on ecumenical efforts to continue in the journey toward unity among Catholics and Lutherans in preparation for the 500th anniversary of the Reformation in 1517.

Sermon - July 29, 2012

In recent decades here in the United States, one of the most frequently reported and familiar manifestations of piety has centered around the end of the world. Popularized through novels and films such as the Left Behind series, these stories weave tales of sudden, catastrophic vengeance wrought upon a sinful, fallen humanity. A fortunate few individuals are “raptured” and thus spared the destruction, but for almost everyone else—and certainly for the rest of creation—the outlook is decidedly bleak, to put it mildly. 

In contrast to this extreme pessimism and resignation to earth’s destruction, another strain of popular culture takes almost the opposite view. Going all the way back to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and the other transcendentalists, there’s an equally powerful tendency in American culture to celebrate nature as quasi-divine. Forests, streams, meadows, oceans—and, yes, the mountains we honor today—all take on a kind of mystical aura that enables the individual to escape the hardships of life in the city and “get away from it all.”

Closer to home here in California, naturalists like John Muir did much to popularize this approach—identifying, as one recent commentator explains, “human health, vitality, and religious meaning with sensitive immersion in mountain wildernesses.” 

Now, on the surface of it, it’s understandable that both of these ideas—the pessimism about the fallen state of  “this world,” and the optimism about the wonders of creation—would have broad popular appeal. We have only to read the news each day to see the excesses and destruction we’re capable of as a species.

And, at the same time, here in this region where we’re fortunate enough to live, we have only to drive a few hours to take in the wonders of Muir Woods, the Pacific Ocean, Lake Tahoe, or the Sierra Nevadas. In fact, since we’re lucky enough to live where we do, it would be pretty easy to put two and two together and say: “well, since the world’s a mess, let’s just retreat into nature and escape from it all, back to the way things are supposed to be…”

In many ways this is an understandable response to the thorny problems and issues that surround us, especially in a big city like San Francisco, where we live. And yet, it’s not the response that the deeper spiritual tradition represented in scripture would call us to.

Instead, as we hear today from the prophet Isaiah, God’s dream for creation—which we know God created good—is not for its destruction but for its renewal and rebirth. Creation is groaning, as Paul reminds us as well—not out of trepidation at its impending doom, but out of hope that it might be restored and revitalized—that it might give life and glorify its creator in the process.

What’s so key, then, is our role—our part as human beings in this story. As we’ve discovered and affirmed throughout these four weeks of the Season of Creation, we don’t exist in isolation from creation. We’ve not been placed here as if from outer space, simply to use up resources at will and then be plucked back magically to safety, if we’re lucky. Rather, we are part of creation. Our life, our existence is inextricably linked to that of the entire rest of the planet—earth, sea, sky, mountains, plants, animals—everything. Together with all of creation, and only together with it, we find hope for our own destiny as well.

And yet it’s not so simple as merely retreating into the woods and “getting away from it all.” As anyone who’s ever actually tried it knows, there’s no such thing or place as a pristine, utopian, problem-free retreat from life’s cares. Rather, no matter where we may go, the truth is that life is always about interdependence. Wherever we may be, whether surrounded by the urban dynamics of San Francisco or the rural woods of the Sierra Nevadas, the key question to ask is not: “When will I be raptured?” or “Where can I escape to?”…but instead: “How can I, how can we, start living in ways that honor and build up all of creation—including ourselves—in a lasting and meaningful sense.

Here at St. Mark’s we’re well on our way, simply through the awareness of creation that we’ve been cultivating these past few weeks, as well as in all the ways we reach out and seek justice and peace in our community and the larger world.

But perhaps as we conclude these four weeks of the Season of Creation, we might also reflect on how we can continue to grow in this call to serve creation. For example, what more can we do as a participating congregation in Interfaith Power and Light, which Rev. Canon Sally Bingham spoke about a few weeks ago? // Or, how might we honor creation through supporting the ELCA’s recent advocacy work for prison reform? // Or, how can we continue to continue to work for justice and peace in our local community? //

All these and more are just some of the ways we might respond to God’s call to be good stewards of creation. In a popular culture that celebrates escapism of either the extra-terrestrial or naturalist sort, it’s good to remember together that the kind of renewal that really works and actually lasts—both for ourselves and for the creation of which we’re a part—is the kind that honors our connections to earth and immerses us in the vitality of a life lived not for self, or group, or nation, or even species—but for creation itself. Amen.

Sermon - June 10, 2012

Today’s readings talk a lot about evil. In the Book of Genesis we have the iconic story of Adam & Eve and temptation—in which the serpent exploits their insecurities and plants doubts about God’s trustworthiness, resulting in what’s come to be known forever since as “the fall.”

In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus himself refers to the very real presence of sin and evil in the world and the need to oppose it—even when others don’t or won’t.

In short, there’s lots of talk of sin, the devil, Satan, evil, and temptation—things we just don’t tend to hear much about anymore.

And, on the one hand, that’s probably very appropriate. The gospel isn’t supposed to be about scaring us or filling us with a lot of guilt. It’s rather a message about God and God’s love—how we are God’s children and that Jesus came to set us free to be precisely that—to be who we really are.

Still, on the other hand, maybe there is some wisdom in the tradition that comes down to us through today’s readings. Perhaps there’s an importance to remembering that there’s something in human nature that can lead us away from God – that tempts us to believe in the illusions that we can completely control every aspect of our lives; or that we can achieve total happiness if only we grab hold of some or other particular thing; or that kinship ties and maintaining an approved public image are the be-all and end-all of life.

These were all temptations in Jesus’ time and they remain a significant challenge in our own. And while we might rightly recoil at references to “Satan,” “the devil,” or “evil spirits” when this language is disconnected from our everyday experience, perhaps there are some other ways to frame it that might make more sense in our own context.

In my own reflections, two images came to mind. The first comes from a ceremony that took place in New York City a few years ago in the wake of the financial crisis. A group of local pastors gathered outside the front doors of a major investment bank to perform an exorcism—yes, an exorcism. For these leaders, as for so many people, the bank was a symbol of the mind-boggling greed of individuals and institutions who received huge government bailouts, and yet often continue to exploit the poorest and most vulnerable through their ongoing policies and practices.

Making use of some of the traditional language about evil, but in a new and updated way, these pastors pointed to a deeper, enduring truth: namely, that there is a side of us that can easily give in to the illusion of achieving absolute security; or to the temptation to value public appearance and reputation over one’s deeper worth.

As we know, it can easily happen. But, as we also know all too well, the consequences—the misery and injustice these attitudes produce—can literally result in situations we might liken to hell.

A second image comes out of the Christian mystical tradition. Blaise Pascal, a 17^th century French philosopher and mystic reminds us that we each have a “God-shaped hole deep within”—a space that can only be filled by the divine. St. Augustine, the early church theologian, perhaps said it best: “our hearts are restless until they rest in God.”

In other words, there’s a deep place inside each of us that longs for transcendence, meaning, and fulfillment. But, often we try to fill that space with all sorts of things – for example, wealth, power, gadgets, fashions, popularity, approval, or whatever they may be. Jesus’ own family succumbed to this temptation—as, sadly, do our own sometimes—when they prioritized the family’s public reputation and approval over how God was moving through Jesus’ life and ministry.

As Jesus knew—and we too can discover if we’re awake enough to reality—none of these things we do to try and satisfy our spiritual hunger ever really fill us. On the contrary, they often leave us more unsatisfied and less at peace than ever.

But why exactly is this? Why doesn’t this work, despite all of our ongoing attempts to the contrary? If we think about, it’s actually kind of silly. We’ve got this part of us that opens out into the transcendent and the eternal—and yet we try over and over to fill it up with things we think will fill it and finally give us the sense of permanence, stability and security we’ve been seeking.

But of course we know that that never really happens. Instead, hopefully with time and with God’s grace working in us, we come to learn that having a transcendent, eternal part of us means, well…having a transcendent and eternal part of us—in other words, a part of us and of our lives that’s that not fully in our control and that perhaps we’re really not supposed to be able to fully wrap our minds around.

Maybe the key, then, is learning to live with this ambiguity, with the inevitability of change, with the presence of uncertainty or unpopularity or in our lives.

Maybe it’s learning that having a God-shaped space inside us means having a part of us that’s at once both a bit beyond our control and yet filled superabundantly with love and grace and goodness. And seeing that when we recognize this truth and let go a little bit it’s precisely then that we can best access that love and goodness and grace—realizing that when we “let go and let God,” we’re not so tied to making everything go our way and, because of that, we’re set free simply to love and be loved, both by God and neighbor.

As we learn to walk this path, we might ask ourselves some questions from time to time. For example, What are some of the ways that I lose sight of God’s love for me? What are the things I try to use to fill the space inside, that I know God alone can fill? What signs and workings of the Spirit do I miss by my preoccupations with image or self? How can I let go of my attempts to control too much and let God be God in my life?

Whatever our individual answers to these questions, we know that what unites us is both our common human weakness AND the shared divine strength and grace which are ours in Jesus. We who follow after the one who was not afraid to live out God’s radical mercy, justice, and love—even when it conflicted with what made others feel secure—have big shoes to fill. But the good news is that we’re not alone. In this journey of profound trust—of letting go and letting God—we’re surrounded and supported by a community of fellow pilgrims. We take consolation in this truth and sustenance in the hope that is ours in the one who—even in the face of sin, death, and evil—trusted in God and witnessed once and for all the power of the most radical truth of all: love. Amen.

Holy Trinity Sermon

Water, ice, and steam. Light and its source, brightness, and warmth. Love, the lover, and the beloved. Over the centuries theologians and scholars have wrestled with how to explain and describe one of the most profound mysteries of the Christian faith: the Holy Trinity.

As today’s readings from Scripture attest, no one in the early church had yet fully articulated what this teaching might mean—other than in relation to the love of the ineffable, unapproachable God made intimately manifest in the life and person of Jesus. Later, some theologians, like the early desert teachers, conceived of the three persons as manifestations of light, while others like Augustine emphasized love. More recently, theologians have spoken of God in maternal and feminine terms, or have pointed to the Trinity’s presence in both the beauty of creation and the careful stewardship of it.

Still another way of meditating on God’s love—one in three, and three in one—that I thought we might reflect on today, is through the wonder of music. For many of us, myself included, we may not have a great deal of formal training or technical expertise in music—but there’s something intuitively spiritual about what happens when voices sing together, or strings resound in harmony, or the tones of the organ dance their way into our hearts.

Whatever form it may take, music has the power not just to display beauty, or even elicit wonder, but actually to unite and harmonize what at first seem like unrelated, separate notes into a compelling whole. Martin Luther spoke repeatedly of music’s power in this way, as did another great 16^th-century spiritual teacher, Ignatius of Loyola—who described his experience of the Trinity in prayer as the playing of three keys or strings on a musical instrument.

Even though Ignatius didn’t leave a specific indication of which three notes he meant, one possible candidate is the triadic major chord, formed by the notes doh, mi, and soh on the scale. Our choirmaster, Tim, has graciously agreed to play an example to give us the idea…

Before I invite Tim to play the chord one more time, listen to these words from the contemporary musician and theologian Jeremy Begbie:

“Three distinct, mutually enhancing (not mutually exclusive) sounds, but together occupying the same aural space. The notes ‘sound through one another’ in an equal partnership where no note eclipses or is eclipsed by the other.”

Again, the chord…

What’s amazing about this chord is that it only can exist as three and one at the same time. It can never be one single note or even three individual notes; rather the three are always present as harmonics that resound together. And what’s more, in their range they form a perfect fifth—often considered a musical representation of the divine.

Today we have the privilege of listening to our wonderful choir and other musicians perform a masterful work that embodies this amazing principle of music—voices, instruments, notes, and chords all sounding together for the glory of God. And yet, the music doesn’t stop there. The truly good news we celebrate today is that God has chosen each of us in Christ to be instruments every bit as resonant as those we’ll hear this morning—to be notes every bit as harmonious as those pieced together so artfully in the compositions we’ll hear today.

Whether we actually sing or play an instrument or not, the larger truth we celebrate today is that the music of the Trinity includes us as well. Like sacred musicians, we too can allow the “instruments” God has gifted us with—the time, talents, gifts, abilities, and resources—to resound in harmony with those of others, sending a song of praise and glory to God.

Now, as any musician will tell you, the truth is that this isn’t quite so easy as it sounds. Playing and singing in creative harmony is hard work. It takes discipline, practice, and—crucially—a perceptive, listening ear. In other words, if we’re to fulfill our call to serve the Trinity in our own lives, we too will need to pay careful attention to what’s going on around us. Who are the people who are in need? What groups are being marginalized? Where is justice and peace lacking? How am I, how are we called to respond?

These are just some of many questions we can ask ourselves as we continue together along the sacred journey we celebrate in a special way today—a path that, if we surrender to it, will free us from the illusion of sounding our one note on its own, and engender a more liminal but ultimately far more liberating vocation of harmony and awareness.

The path is challenging, but we’re not on it alone. We’re called together in community and we’re blessed as beloved children, all, of the mystery and wonder of the One in Three, and the Three in One. Amen.

Recent Sermons

Here are two recent sermons that I preached and in which I incorporated an activity recommended in a couple different preaching websites and books.

Sermon – 5/6/12

Recently, a news story on the radio featured a report chronicling the purchase a few weeks ago of a very rare find. At a figure of no less than $14 million, the British Library in London purchased what’s widely recognized as the western world’s oldest intact book.

Known as the St. Cuthbert Gospel, it’s a beautifully preserved, leather-bound, hand-engraved excerpt from the Gospel of John that dates all the way back, over 1,300 years, to the year 698 in England. It turns out that in celebration of the witness of Cuthbert, one of the first Christian missionaries to England, he was buried in the late 7^th century along with a commemorative copy of one of the texts he’d likely preached on many times and come to embody in his own life—namely, the portion of the Gospel of John we’ve read together today that features Jesus’ beloved image of the vine and the branches.

Over the course of the centuries Cuthbert’s coffin, with the book inside it, was moved many times but not opened until hundreds of years later, thereby preserving the manuscript intact and allowing it to make its way eventually from a private collection and now to a place where it can be studied and appreciated by all.

In itself, the preservation of such a singular manuscript all these many centuries is a remarkable feat and a great gift to scholars and enthusiasts of history. But even more than its academic value, the preservation of this unique book over such a long period of time speaks to the power and significance not just of the pages and binding themselves, but of the living message they symbolize and contain.

One indication of the character of this message emerges on the outside leather binding of the book, where an elegant image calls the viewer’s attention. It’s a series of vines and branches, elegantly intertwining and inviting the reader to open the volume and enter into its message—into the profound truth of how God’s love was made known in Christ; into the wonder of how God extends that same love and graciousness in a living, organic way to all through faith; into the living witness of those who abide in Christ and bear much fruit.

This message of good news was clearly one that Cuthbert himself witnessed in a unforgettable way to those who sought to commemorate the fruit of his life and work through the book they lovingly bound and engraved. And it’s a message that remains equally compelling in our own time and place. For Christians of every era, including our own, the dynamic truth of the gospel remains the same. God has revealed God’s self in Jesus—manifesting divine life, light, and truth through the life of one who came so that humanity might encounter that same God, come to live and abide in that same love, and bear much fruit as a result.

“I am the vine, you are the branches,” Jesus said, and it remains true today. However, just as in Jesus’ own time, in Cuthbert’s era, and so many others in history, in our own day there are challenges to hearing this message. It’s not easy to build and maintain the sort of living connectedness and community that Jesus speaks of. In our modern 21^st-century world we’re often very connected in multiple and complex ways, whether with numerous virtual friends online or through instantaneous communication and updates on events and happenings all around the world. And yet, how well are we really connected?  What’s the quality of the connections and the sense of community we have with one another and with God?

In my experience here at St. Mark’s I’m grateful to share that I’ve witnessed many ways in which God is working among us, drawing us into community and forging bonds of connection that bear much fruit. And as a way of reflecting on how God is indeed working in this way, I’d like to invite everyone to participate in a special activity this morning.

You’ll find small sticky notes and pens in your pews and I’d invite everyone to pass them around so that each person has a sticky note and a pen. Next, I would invite all of us to spend a few minutes reflecting quietly on how we serve as branches of the vine? What kind of fruit are we bearing as a congregation? What are some ways that we are bearing God’s love to the world?

Take a few minutes to think and pray about these questions and then either write down or draw or sketch some ideas on your note and then come up here in front and attach it—that is, the “fruit” that we’re bearing as a congregation—to the vine and branches of the very same cross we used during Holy Week to commemorate Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection. We’ll take a few minutes to do this and then continue with our hymn of the day.

Sermon – 5/20/12

Each week here at St. Mark’s we print a bulletin with announcements about worship times, upcoming events, and notable happenings in the community. Among the information that’s included is also a list called “prayers of the parish,” which includes names and intentions of various people in the community who are in need of prayer.

Besides the obvious care and compassion reflected in the prayers, one of the things that stands out about this list is how it’s at once both very particular in mentioning specific people by name, and yet also wide-ranging in its focus not just on the local community but on places as varied and wide-ranging as Afghanistan, Germany, Rwanda, El Salvador, Zambia, Turkey, Algeria, Greece, Cyprus, Malta, Bethlehem, and Paraguay. In naming the prayers and intentions of so many people, far and wide, the list serves as a concrete reminder of the reach of God’s tender love and compassionate care through the St. Mark’s community to the world, both near and far.  

As a weekly reminder of the wideness and the particularity of God’s love, the prayers of the parish recall many of the themes we encounter in today’s scripture lessons. In particular, today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles points to new ways that God’s Spirit was beginning to move in the early church. Although the original group of twelve apostles had been compromised by Judas’ betrayal, this very action led to what occurs today. The apostles are once again gathered and they choose a successor for Judas, thereby eventually opening the way for the apostle Paul to join the group.

Gradually, as we see today, the Spirit was in the process of opening the consciousness of the original followers of Jesus beyond their narrow early confines—expanding first to the Jewish diaspora beyond the bounds of Jerusalem and eventually to the entire world through the proclamation and evangelization that Paul’s ministry would inspire.

As the circle of those included in the message of good news expands, the heart of the message, as 1 John reminds us, remains the same and yet deepens at the same time. Through this process, the author makes it clear that what matters above all is love—not the niceties of Hallmark-card love, as Margaret McLean so powerfully reminded us last week, but concrete, abiding, challenging, transformative love—the kind of love of true friends and neighbors; the kind of love that both opens itself to receive the care and compassion of others and gives of itself in order to share and pass on that love to others.

Today’s hymn of the day, which we’ll sing together shortly, invites us to recall, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”—and in truth it’s a reminder of the kind of love that Jesus came to show and to live. For Christ came into the world, as John reminds us, not to condemn the world but that all might have life—not just any life, but in fact eternal life. And in what does this life consist? 1 John reminds us repeatedly that authentic life is connected intimately with concrete love for one another—“If we cannot love a sister or brother, then how can we love God,” John so poignantly reminds us. In other words, life—both here and eternally—is tied up with the kind of friend we have in Jesus, and the kind of friend he calls, emboldens, and empowers us to be.

Today’s passage from the Gospel of John is in many ways the culmination of this message of authentic love among friends. Jesus reminds us that we belong to him – that we are his. Jesus came that we might have life and have it abundantly, and this promise extends not just to his first disciples but to all who have heard their message of good news and shared it, passing it down even to us all these many years later.

And that really is the heart of the matter. We who seek to follow Jesus know both that we have an extraordinary friend in Jesus—one who loves us and prays for us always—and that, because of Jesus, we can be that same kind of friend to others. We are in need of the intercession and prayer that Christ promises us today, and we have been gifted with the abilities, talents, awareness, and resources to be able to serve as instruments of Christ’s care and compassion in our world.

And so as a bookend to our couple weeks of reflection on the vine and branches, bearing fruit, and loving and serving God concretely in our neighbor, I’d like to invite all of us to participate in a second post-it note activity. As with two weeks ago, you’ll notice that there are stacks of post-it’s and pens in the pews. Please take a note and a pen and pass them to the end of the pews…

What I’d like to invite everyone to do is to take a few minutes to reflect on the kind of prayer and intercession our readings talk about today. We’re consoled with Jesus’ reassurance that he will pray for us always. And at the same time we’re challenged to expand our worldview to embrace all in service of God’s people. Like the “prayers of the parish” section of the bulletin, we’re called to share our own needs and express our hope to be of service to the needs of others.

And so I would invite all of us to take about five minutes to sit prayerfully and to invite God to illumine our hearts with two words or images – one for each side of our piece of paper. On one side, whenever we’re ready, we can write or draw a need that we have—something we’d like to ask intercession for from Jesus. On the other side, we can write or draw something that represents a way we ourselves might be able to answer the prayers of others, using our talents, gifts, and abilities. This week, we can keep this little piece of paper with us, allowing it to serve as a reminder of the kind of friend we have in Jesus—a friend whose love both embraces our own needs and empowers us to serve the needs of others.

I will offer a short prayer to begin our meditation, and then there will be quiet music played as we each pray and reflect. Afterward we will move directly into the hymn of the day.