Job and St. Francis: God Revealed in Creation

The following is the sermon offered this morning at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA.

How many of you know the story of Job? Someone wrote this one down so that we might ponder our own questions about God’s ways. The story opens with a conversation between God and the Tempter – Satan. Looking down at Job, Satan issues a challenge. Would your boy Job still praise you if I took everything away from him? God bets on Job’s faithfulness. 

Let’s juxtapose Job with our saint of the day – Francis of Assisi. Francis was real and his story was recorded only 800 years ago. But these two guys have something in common and their stories have much to teach us about God’s creation.Francis, by contrast, gives up everything voluntarily. He prefers to own nothing which will align him with God’s poor ones.

Job loses everything he loves and suffers sickness, grief and isolation. He never loses faith in God’s goodness or love for him.

Francis chooses utter dependency on God and praises God no matter how little his portion.

In Job and Francis we can see the mysterious pattern of the Christian life.

• We suffer and yet we praise God.
• We choose to give up things that derail our search for God. And this brings joy,

Here’s what I love about Job. His faith is rock-solid. He knows God loves him. He is convinced that God is only good. BUT…our comic book hero channels all of humanity when he asks the $64,000 question: “Why, God?” This is what we all do as human beings. We ask “why.”

Here’s what I love about Francis. He can let go of what holds him back and do it with joy. Even though his life is on the right path, sometimes he misunderstands God’s plan for him. Francis hears God whisper: “Rebuild my church.” So, God love him, he finds a church in ruins and starts hauling rocks to fix it. God, Francis discovers, had a more institutional repair in mind.

Even though both stories suggest an extreme version of the life of faith, in Job and Francis I see what faith can do in every life. Faith gets us through the worst of it and helps us find the best of it.

So, what do these two stories have to teach us about God’s creation? It is October 4 – the kick-off day of Creation Season in churches all over the world. We will bless our creatures great and small and celebrate our Eucharist outside.

More importantly, Creation Season is about taking action to slow the changes that are impacting our planet and the most vulnerable of its people.

Recently, I was able to travel with our Missioner for Creation Care, the Rev. Margaret Bullitt-Jonas, to Washington, DC where she joined a delegation of religious leaders for advocacy. Once I got over the excitement of Capitol Hill, I started to listen and what I heard was heart breaking.

There is a study still under dispute by a former NASA scientist, James Hansen.[i] It suggests that if we do nothing now, by 2065 several of America’s coastal cities will be under 10 feet of water. New Orleans, Miami Beach, New York, Boston – if we do nothing now.

Back to Job…

In the story of Job, our hero gets to talk to God. God is clearly proud of Job. His faith was strong indeed in spite of all the tragedy and suffering that came his way. But, when Job asks “why,” God draws a line in the sand. Instead of answering – which would have been really helpful for us – God returns Job’s question with more questions and they all have to do with creation.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.

 

“Or who shut in the sea with doors
when it burst out from the womb,

 

“Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place,

 

“Have you entered into the springs of the sea,
or walked in the recesses of the deep?

 

“Have you entered the storehouses of the snow,
or have you seen the storehouses of the hail,

 

“Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain
and a way for the thunderbolt,

God’s answer to Job’s universal question is creation.

I think God is suggesting that we look around at the wisdom, beauty and perfection of the world. If God did this, then we are in good hands. If God did this, then there is so much God knows that we can’t understand. What if we could enter the mystery, embrace it?  Within the mystery of life – in its beauty and in its suffering – God is with us.

Creation is the sign of God’s great power and love for us. All this is ours to appreciate, preserve and protect. The One who made it all is with us and is pulling for us as we struggle with our selfishness and indifference.

What about Francis? Well, thanks to Francis, we can see that creation is not just for us – it is part of us. “Brother sun, sister moon” – we are in relationship. We are dependent on the health of this planet – our fragile island home. God made the air, the water and every living creature and that makes it all holy and good. Our Eden needs tending. It is no longer a paradise. It matters because it is all mysteriously part of us – our life is bound up with the life of this planet.

God has made it so.

[i] Ice melt, sea level rise and superstorms: evidence from paleoclimate data, climate modeling, and modern observations that 2 °C global warming is highly dangerous
J. Hansen¹, M. Sato¹, P. Hearty², R. Ruedy^3,4, M. Kelley^3,4, V. Masson-Delmotte⁵, G. Russell⁴, G. Tselioudis⁴, J. Cao⁶, E. Rignot^7,8, I. Velicogna^7,8, E. Kandiano⁹, K. von Schuckmann¹⁰, P. Kharecha^1,4, A. N. Legrande⁴, M. Bauer¹¹, and K.-W. Lo^3,4

We are overwhelmed…

I can’t stop thinking about the families of Malaysia Airlines flight #370.  I don’t worry for the passengers.  I know God has them.  I suspect the families are allowing this reality to sink in slowly – bit by bit, as the mind can handle such trauma.  This is their Good Friday.  They are all carrying the cross uphill – suffering immense pain and heading toward agony.

I saw several jokes about the missing plane on Facebook.  It took my breath away.  It seemed so incomprehensible to me at first – like someone in Malaysia making fun of our “9/11.”  It didn’t make me angry.  It made me curious.  What is going on in us when we go there – when we make light of someone’s worst nightmare?  I think it has to do with being overwhelmed.  I think humor defends us from unimaginable grief.  I think as long as we can make a joke about something, we keep it at a safe distance – under some kind of imaginary control.  The truth is that whether we are making jokes or haunted by the angry, grieving families – we are all overwhelmed by this tragedy.

People die everyday – many through violence or tragic circumstance.  Children go “missing” and are never found.  This missing plane seems to contain all of it – the fear, the anger, the sorrow.  As news commentators recycle the same breadcrumb of information and family members scream and collapse, we would do well to close our eyes and pray.  As the world moves closer to the kingdom of God, the truth of our oneness – our connection to one another – has become clear.  We who pray understand that we are those grieving, angry loved ones.  We can touch their pain and help them to bear it.  We can crowd the path to Golgotha or we can help Jesus carry the cross.  We can watch the pain and tell ourselves it cannot touch us, or we can take a moment to wipe a bloody, tear-stained face.  We are already part of this tragedy – whether we admit to it or not.  If we could all use the love inside us to strengthen and comfort these people half a world away, something of the meaning of Good Friday will become known to us.  Simon and Veronica will live again in us if we are willing to touch the pain of strangers heading for the worst day of their lives.

Lenten hope and love to you all…

Vicki

The pattern for victory…

Art by Briton Riviere

[This sermon was given this morning at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA. Lent 1, Year A]

The Temptation in the wilderness is always the Gospel reading on the first Sunday of Lent.  I brought several questions with me as I opened the lectionary to prepare this sermon. What can Jesus’ experience of temptation teach us about being human?  Does temptation have a redemptive purpose in our spiritual journey?  What do we do when we find ourselves on the verge of spiritual failure?

Temptation is serious business, but in our culture we use temptation to sell things in the media. Commercials show women on a diet plastered to the window of a bakery. Men and women stare at nameless bodies and grapple with sexual desire. One of the worst commercials shows a grown man hiding behind the kitchen counter on Thanksgiving because he can’t wait to taste the stuffing! All of these media vignettes do a disservice to temptation – to the pain it brings and to the power it has over us in our most vulnerable moments.

I think people who suffer from the disease of addiction could tell us a deeper truth about temptation.  When my Dad came out of a detox program after 40 years of drinking scotch, I sent him this passage from The Letter to the Hebrews.

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.” 

I thought it would help him to remember that Jesus gets it – Jesus gets how hard it is to be human.  The truth is, it helped me, too.  My Dad has been sober 14 years, 2 months and 3 days.  But he lives every day with the monster under the bed.  It is his complete dependence on God’s grace that keeps him strong.  Back to our gospel…

I’m going to give you a biblical “spoiler alert.”  This vivid narrative “telescopes” into one story many of the temptations Jesus experienced throughout his life.[1]  The lure of power, the seduction of fame and the immediate satisfaction of every bodily desire – these aren’t just Jesus’ “issues.”  These things are the stuff of our struggles.  And, lest we take this story literally, as the Hollywood filmmakers do, New Testament scholar, William Barclay, insists that this testing was an interior experience.  Isn’t that where our real battles happen – in the mind, in the soul?   Professor Barclay believes we must approach this Gospel on bended knee for in the telling of this experience to his disciples, Jesus is letting is into his inner life, offering us his sufferings and struggles so that we might be strengthened in our own.[2]

So, what is it with God and temptation?  It was the Spirit who led Jesus into the wilderness.  No sooner had he emerged from the waters of the Jordan than he found himself engaged in a spiritual battle for 40 days and nights.  [Yes, that number is powerfully symbolic here.  Jesus is the new Israel.  Where the Chosen rebelled in the desert, Jesus gives himself to the Father in trust.]  But I still have this question about the purpose of trials and tests.  It can’t be that God sends us trials for no good reason – like some divine version of the “Hunger Games.”  No.  William Barclay explains the purpose of our struggles. “Just as metal has to be tested far beyond any stress and strain that it will ever be called upon to bear, before it can be put to any useful purpose, so people have to be tested before God can use them for his purposes.”[3]

The real temptation for Jesus and for us is to give up on the promises of God.  The real temptation is give up on ourselves – to forget that we are precious to God, loved beyond measure.

Life is so hard sometimes.  The pain that comes to us just because we are human can push us over some threshold into darkness.  In that vulnerable place the voices we hear are not always our own.  Now, I’m not big on the devil.  We personify evil to make it more understandable.  The truth is we don’t understand the presence of evil in the world, but we feel it – we know that something or someone rejoices when we give up on God.  So, what are we supposed to do when we feel weak, vulnerable and overwhelmed by fear or hopelessness?

The answer is right here in the gospel.  It is so obvious that we can miss it.  Jesus won the battle within him by using the power of the Word of God.   Jesus counters every threat with a verse from Holy Scripture.

This antidote to spiritual illness has been used for centuries.  The early monastic teachers – Evagrius and John Cassian – taught their followers to banish temptation with God’s Word.  Evagrius of Pontus was the first to talk about the “8 thoughts” that torment the soul.  John Cassian wrote about how these vices could be vanquished by practicing the opposite virtue.  But prayer was the essential weapon of choice for both teachers.  Cassian loved the verse from Psalm 69: “God, come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me.”

Here we have the pattern for victory.  Pray.  Pray the most powerful words you know.  And tell the devil to go to Hell!  It worked for Jesus and it will work for us.  And, if we “fail” the test, what then?  That’s when the reading from Genesis becomes a gift.  God didn’t give up on “Adam” and “Eve.”  Far from it!  Perhaps, their failure was more of a gift to us for in it, God began the plan for our salvation in Christ.  God came to us in flesh and blood so that we could know with certainty that God’s love is deeper, stronger and more powerful than any failure we can come up with.  We are loved that much!   St. Paul really got it.

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.” 

---

[1] Barbara E. Reid, O.P., New Collegevillle Bible Commentary: New Testament “Matthew,” (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2008.) 17.

[2] William Barclay, The Gospel of Matthew Volume 1 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1975 & 2001.) 76.

[3] William Barclay, 72.

Singing into the storm…

It’s so very quiet here today.  Our upstairs neighbor is away for a few days.  The storm has taken over the day outside but it is silent except for the occasional plow or dirt truck.  Sitting by the window with the Word, a sound – small yet clear – took me from my reading.  It was a bird – one lone bird singing in the blizzard.  For a minute I wondered if it was real or if I wished it to be so.  Up here, when the snow dumps from the heavens, the creatures tend to lay low until the storm passes.  We don’t usually hear much outside until it’s all over.  But this little bird sang anyway – even as the bitter cold winds rocked the branches.

Jesus gave us so many images for the reign of God – salt, light, yeast, etc.  These metaphors help us to plumb the depths of Mystery and to see ourselves as part of something great and glorious.  As I listened to that small, brave voice piercing the blanket of snow, an insight came.  Following Christ in the world is never easy.  Life happens to all of us and in it there is some suffering and some joy.  Real disciples keep proclaiming God’s goodness – like little birds that sing into the storm.  The song is too important to keep it to ourselves – to wait until it is easier to sing.  The great spiritual says more than I could ever say.

“I sing because I’m happy.  I sing because I’m free.  His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.”[1]

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

---

[1] Civilla D. Martin, “His Eye is On the Sparrow,” 1905

Countdown to joy…

Calligraphy & photo: Gosia Ix

When my brother’s first-born came to the monastery as a toddler, he wobbled into the Dining Room and saw the cart with all the breakfast cereal on it.  There had to have been half a dozen large plastic containers filled with different types – flakes, granola, some kind of bran.  And then he saw it, “Look Mama…O’s!”   The little guy had never seen so many Cheerios in his life.  I’ll never forget the way his eyes sparkled.  Pointing one tiny finger at the mother-load of snacking pleasure, he embodied “joy” – the full-body experience of delight.  “Look, Mama…O’s!

His childlike excitement mirrors my own when we reach December 17^th – the “O Antiphons.”   These antiphons help us to with our countdown to the feast of the Nativity.  Each evening as the sun sets, the antiphon is sung with the Magnificat – the traditional evening hymn found in Luke’s infancy narrative.  Each night – for seven days – we proclaim a new title for our little Messiah and bid him “come.”

December 17

O Wisdom of our God Most High,
guiding creation with power and love:
come to teach us the path of knowledge!

December 18

O Adonai,
giver of the Law to Moses on Sinai:
come to rescue us with your mighty power!

December 19

O Root of Jesse’s stem,
sign of God’s love for all his people:
come to save us without delay!

December 20

O Key of David,
opening the gates of God’s eternal Kingdom:
come and free the prisoners of darkness!

December 21

O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light, sun of justice:
come and shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the
shadow of death.

December 22

O King of all nations and keystone of the Church:
come and save man, whom you formed from the dust!

December 23

O Emmanuel, our King and Giver of Law:
come to save us, Lord our God!

Today, we sing, “O Adonai,” which translates to Lord or leader.  It was the name the Israelites used for God.  [The name of God given to Moses before the burning bush – YHWH – is too sacred to speak aloud.]  To call the Messiah “Adonai” is to  claim divine nature itself.  The God Moses encountered – the great “I AM” – is the God who chooses our flesh and bone – makes the death-defying leap into our skin at Bethlehem.

After the Messiah is named – given a title that links his person to the promise to Israel – we bid him “come.”  “Come rescue us with your mighty power!”  The invitation is critical.  We must open the door of the heart.  Christ will knock, most certainly, but he will never break it down.  Our brave statement of faith in him demands brave action.  “Come…”

The “O Antiphons” give us the heads-up.  Christmas is coming…Christ is coming…here and now, and, at the last.  They offer us the opportunity for meditation, for gratitude and for a glimpse of the big picture of salvation – God’s work in time for our blessing.  If you have never prayed these antiphons before, welcome them into your Christmas preparations.  Read them each evening with Mary’s song.  Look for symbols of the antiphons or draw them yourself if art is your way to God.  Search iTunes for sung versions of the “O Antiphons” from different monasteries.  [It was in a Benedictine monastery that the antiphons were listed backwards so that the first letter of each would vertically spell, ero cras – Latin for, “Tomorrow, I will come.”]   Integrating these ancient prayers into your devotions will add to your Christmas joy.  Then, year after year, you will await their coming as I do with holy longing.  “Look…the O’s!”

Advent joy and love to you all…

Vicki

We are full of God…

What is it about Advent?  So many Christians have a special devotion to this holy season.  I’ve been wondering why that is – why these four weeks move us so deeply.  I could focus on the richness of the liturgy – the music, the readings, the great wreath of greens and colored candles.  I could extol the beauty of all of it.  Yet, I think there is something else – something we can’t see, hear or touch.  It is the gift of fulfillment.

These Advent days are pregnant with a promise that was kept – made good in a manger two thousand years ago.  This season of holy waiting is really a time for reflecting on the mystery of the Incarnation – of the boldness of God in entering our world, of the sanctification of our humanity in that cosmic leap, of the greatness of One who surrendered the mantle of divinity in exchange for coarse, cold swaddling clothes.  It’s too much for us this great love! And it’s a done deal.  It’s not like we’re waiting for something that might not happen.  God joined our ranks and through the life, death and resurrection of Christ, God remains with us – today, here, now!  A truth so wondrous demands our attention as we approach the feast of Christmas on bended knee. Advent – the coming of God – is to be celebrated richly.  We can do it even as we take care of all the Christmas preparations.  Advent happens in the silence of the heart, in the luxury of contemplation, in making our souls truly free for God.  In his small book of Advent reflections, Fr. Richard Rohr writes, “It is largely great love and great suffering that creates spiritual listening and larger seeing.”[1] God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life (John 3:16).  The love and the suffering are linked in the Incarnation and the best Advent hymns connect the spiritual dots.  “I Sing A Maid”[2] and “Wood of the Cradle”[3] are two that move me at my core.

The whole Church has entered a hermitage and we are ever watchful now – attuned to the winter sunlight on frozen branches, listening to the crunch of snow beneath our boots, present to the wonders of this tender, fragile world.  We are all, by grace, full of God.  As we come to a deeper recognition of the Word in our own flesh, we will give to our brothers and sisters, not from our surplus but from our need.  We will reach out to the lost – all those cut off from the warmth of the Body of Christ.  Then, Christmas will come as expected, but it will be one Christmas closer to the Kingdom.

Advent blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

---

[1] Richard Rohr, Preparing for Christmas: Daily Meditations for Advent (Cincinnati, OH: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2008) 29-30.

[2] Words: M.D. Ridge (1987) Music: THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS 14.14.14.14 Traditional Celtic melody

[3] Text: Francis O’Brien 2002, GIA Publications, Inc.

Make ready my soul…

This Advent feels different somehow – like there is some new fragment of truth dangling just beyond my reach.  I find myself straining as if to hear some whisper in the winter cold.  I stare at the trees behind our house with their barren arms extended. They are reaching for something, too, I think.  Although I have all my Advent resources in a neat little pile – new booklets from wise and holy people to enrich my prayer – there is something more for which I am longing – some inexplicable reality that feels close but just beyond my reach.  It isn’t just Christmas.  Christmas will come no matter what.  I am longing and all I know is that the longing must be a gift.  It must be for my blessing.

As I reread some old Advent blogs, I noticed a thematic trend – a theological premise, really.  Advent makes all waiting holy.  I want to walk that one back a bit.  All waiting isn’t the same.  Waiting for a cup of coffee is qualitatively not the same as waiting for bottled water after a hurricane.  Waiting for the next available operator is not the same as waiting for a son or daughter to finish a tour of duty in Afghanistan.  Waiting for a tax refund is not the same as waiting for biopsy results.   It’s just not.  I’m not sure why making this distinction feels so important.  I guess the degree to which I find myself longing this Advent feels very different – as if the Advents past were practice for a varsity game.

It is in our deepest longings that our need for God becomes evident.  When we are sated – spiritually, physically, emotionally – the sacred void in us that can only be filled by God seems, well, a little less empty.  The times of interior plenty are a gift to be sure, but, when we ache for something beyond ourselves – some new knowing, a clear, purposeful direction, a way to move forward – then, we give God the chance to be God.  Sometimes, with all my plans and dreams, I forget that each day should be lived as if it were my last.  I forget that prayer isn’t to move God’s heart but as C.S. Lewis suggested, to reorder my own.  I forget that fear and worry are the spiritual equivalent of a flat tire!  I’ve decided to welcome this longing.  Instead of seeking relief in “practical” solutions, I am embracing the dis-ease.  Yes, something’s coming…and in this holy season I have permission to just be and make ready my soul.

With all we are, we wait for God, the Lord, our help, our shield.

Our hearts find joy in the Lord; we trust God’s holy name.

Love us Lord! We wait for you.[1]

 

Peace and love to you all…

Vicki

---

[1] The International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The Psalter (Chicago, IL: Liturgy Training Publications, 1995) Psalm 33:20-22.

“The End of the Innocence”…

I was born and baptized in November of 1963.  My life has always been tied to his death.  As I celebrate 50 years of life, the nation marks a sad “golden” anniversary of the death of President John F. Kennedy.  We watched the PBS “American Experience” special, several documentaries on the History Channel and look forward to additional coverage on MSNBC tomorrow evening.  All of the old footage, the new interviews and the continuing speculation still hold our attention.  We will never stop wondering “who” and “why.”  I suspect there will be no end to the books and made-for-television movies.   What interests me more, now, is not the event but the emotional and spiritual consequences of November 22, 1963.

Something in us died that day.  The soul of a nation experienced the Paschal Mystery together in this brutal, meaningless, all too public death.  A tsunami of grief washed over us from coast to coast.  Kennedy’s requiem became a national liturgy the likes of which we did not see again until “9/11.” Many scholars have suggested that we have never been the same and I would agree.  It was, for many, “the end of the innocence.”[1]  I can hear Don Henley singing:

“Remember when the days were long

And rolled beneath a deep blue sky

Didn’t have a care in the world

With mommy and daddy standin’ by

But “happily ever after” fails

And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales…”[2]

The death of John F. Kennedy forced us to confront some painful realities.  No one is ever really “safe.”  Yes, bad things happen all the time to good people.  We must all face death one day. We were forced to face together the fragility of our lives and turn to one another and to God for strength and comfort.  Like the women at the foot of the cross, we watched something horrific happen together.  Like the friends of Jesus, we clung to one another in grief and fear.  As in any personal encounter with the Paschal Mystery, it pierced the heart of America.

But the events of November 1963 were not definitive.  We did not stop living, loving, hoping, working or praying for a better world.  The death of JFK marks a new beginning.  The last 50 years have been studded with joy and suffering, war and peace, failure and discovery.  We are a people embracing a new millennium with hope.  President Kennedy would surely delight in the space shuttle, the iPad, the first African-American president and the effort being made to give all people access to quality health care.

Perhaps, the best way for us to mark this anniversary is to live with greater purpose.  It’s time for us, as a nation, to live in resurrection mode – to bring light and peace to every corner of the earth. May we come to view November 22^nd as a call to service of one another and to the world.  JFK’s legacy must be more than endless reels of 8mm film.  It must be a future of hope and a personal commitment to relieve the suffering of others.  It must be part of the larger movement of the American consciousness in which the whole world is embraced.  In the fall of 1963, we had a profound experience of suffering and death.  Fifty years later we can glimpse the resurrection in the best of what we have become.  Our lost innocence has been replaced with a collective wisdom.  We owe it to our world to live from that place of grace.  We owe it to one another to live with integrity and do justice – not because we are Americans, but because we share the human condition.  So, God bless America and God bless the whole world – no exceptions!

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

---

[1] Bruce Hornsby, “The End of the Innocence”

[2] Lyrics taken from http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/don_henley/the_end_of_the_innocence.html

“More than a feelin’…”

Hope.  The great poet, Emily Dickinson, wrote:

 “Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all[1]

We readily say to one another, “Don’t give up hope.”  Yet, we rarely talk about what that really means.  We “hope” for certain things to happen – specific tangible things.  But the kind of hope I’m pondering just is – it runs beneath the surface of our lives and surges to the surface as God’s remedy for despair.  Christian hope has, at its core, the truth of the paschal mystery – that God is with us in life, in suffering, in death and beyond.  We don’t need to tap into hope when we are on top of the world.  We become most conscious of the power of hope in our lives when things aren’t going quite so well. Hope moves us beyond ourselves and into the reality of God’s love for us.  It enables human beings to live as if everything will be ok.  It will because of Christ.

Hope gives joy to the poor whom we think possess so little. Hope gives courage to dying – shores up their faith for the journey ahead. Hope carries the grieving  – teaches the widow and orphan to laugh again. Hope moves us to give when others have lost everything – helps us to perceive our profound interconnectedness half a world away. Hope infuses the soul when we least expect it and need it the most.

I feel hopeful today.  It’s more than a feeling.  I know it is pure grace.  I know it is a gift.

Faith, hope and love to you all…

Vicki

---

[1] The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)