Up early early to drive to the farm to be with my mom for Valentine’s. I arrived before noon, and she was ready with homemade soup made by her and my brother’s homemade bread. It was a lunch full of smiles.

One of the things I rediscovered on a daily basis on my Sabbatical was joy. Waking up with a smile joy. Fruit of the Spirit joy.

Since joy is linked with the work of the Holy Spirit, I’ve decided to take on joy this Lent. I was retaught by that same Spirit what gives me joy during my Sabbatical– knitting, baking for others (well, as long as I can lick the bowl), being with my grandboys, dancing, having endless time to sit in my prayer chair meandering through spiritual practices…. That’s a start.

Today, besides the joy of being with my mom, which included walking with her about this property that’s been in the family over 150 years and seeing the first spring blooms, I baked two kinds of bread. With small servings for me since Weight Watchers is also a Lenten discipline ( every year we begin again…….).

There’s a Lenten trend here, this second day of Lent. Bread in communion with the people I love–three Eucharists at St Mary’s yesterday, a home communion, breakfast bakery communion with my friend, and now more bread communion with my mom.

Every year we begin again.

Lent began at 4.50 AM and me getting ready for our 6 AM service. This year we’re using the Eucharistic Prayer from the Diocese of Jerusalem at all Eucharists. It feels good and right to pray with our brothers and sisters in Jerusalem this holy season.

We added our own St. Mary’s version of “ashes to go” to our 6 AM and noon Eucharists. All who wished were sent out with little vials of ashes and prayer cards to share with those who sought an encounter with Christ but might not make it to church today.

I took my ashes to go with me for breakfast with one of my dearest friends at a local bakery. When I got to the bakery, there was only one of the bran muffins my friend and I both prefer so we decided to cut it in half and share it. She remarked that Richard Rohr encourages a type of fasting where one eats half of what one usually eats and prays during the time not spent eating.

Cutting the muffin in half and sharing it was a kind of true communion. We prayed our lives through our conversation. We ended with me imposing my friend with ashes, and then sending her with my vial of ashes and prayer cards to take on her hospital visits today.

I had originally planned to take my ashes to go with me to share at the place where I get my nails done. Turns out that I had my own version of ashes to go as eight of us sat at our little tables, and my ashed forehead started a conversation among largely strangers about where we would worship this Ash Wednesday and what our Lenten practices would be.

At the close of our noon service at St. Mary’s, we only had three ash vials left. I can’t wait to hear everyone’s stories of how they shared God with others today.

One of the things about being on a journey with Christ is that more often than not we do not see the direct results of our ministries.  It’s only over time that we begin to glimpse the quiet results of a prayer or a sermon or a class taught or, most often, a forgotten comment or gentle touch.

So I want to tell about a woman whose quiet ministry of prayer and service has had such abundant fruit in the Kingdom of God.

Cheryl Quintero was one of the first persons I met when I was called as rector of St. Mary’s. I remember her greeting me with a loaf of homemade bread and a smile and kind word.

Cheryl has many gifts, but I consider her greatest is her gift of prayer.  In the tradition of the Jerusalem women whose lives were considered a prayer, much of what she does is prayer in action.

Cheryl moved from Texas over ten years ago and has been living in Montana.  In her Christmas letter, she told me that she would be visiting Cypress in February, so I wasn’t expecting her when I heard her voice speaking down the hall from my office the last week of January.  I jumped from my chair and ran to greet her.  She had only recently arrived in Texas, and she and her husband had stopped in for a quick visit to St. Mary’s.

Are you like me that sometimes you don’t realize how much you miss someone until you see them again after a period of absence?  Cheryl is in town for a month to visit family, and since she’s been here, she’s made St. Mary’s her church home.  It is as a see her once again in worship, at meetings, and Bible studies that I am reminded how very, very much I’ve missed her prayer-filled presence and support.

Last Sunday, Cheryl came with cake to visit the Junior Daughters of the King, our ministry of prayer and service for the girls of our parish.  Our Junior Daughters chapter is not named for one of the more well known Saints of the Church but the Cheryl Quintero Jr. DOK in honor of her ministry at St. Mary’s (she was one of the first Daughters of the King when it began at St. Mary’s over fifteen years ago).  The girls had never met Cheryl, and meeting her was a reminder that saints of God are ordinary people, too.  She had brought bookmarks for each girl with the Aaronic blessing written on the back:.

This Friday will mark the twentieth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.  I’ll celebrate that day by chairing the committee which this week is interviewing eleven men and women who believe that they are called to the priesthood.  We only have spots for five postulants in next year’s seminary class, and I will spend the weekend on the phone with six persons telling them them that their call to the priesthood has not been affirmed.  It is one of my least favorite things to do in ministry.

I am especially mindful of the pain, disappointment, confusion, even anger this news can cause.  I’ve been told no three times in the past few years when I’ve allowed my name to be put forward as bishop.  The answer I’ve received each time is that I’m called to serve as a priest and to serve at St. Mary’s.  Returning from Sabbatical this month, each day I am more joy-filled that this is the place that is my home.

This will be the last year I will serve on the Commission on Ministry.  I among the last of a group who served before term limits.  This year will be my nineteenth year to serve, and I imagine that I have read well over two hundred spiritual autobiographies. It is very holy work.

This week is my last time to interview those hoping to begin the ordination process.  I am especially treasuring each of the eleven interviews I’ve done this past month.  It is the best ministry in the world to hear how God is working through ordinary yet extraordinary men and women.  I am paying special attention to these stories.

This anniversary week, I also served at a friend’s ordination to the priesthood.  I’ve known this woman for most of my twenty years of ordained ministry, before she was even an Episcopalian.  She worked with a dear friend, and through the twists and turns of the Spirit, I ended up being her sponsoring priest.

As I was talking with a friend after the ordination, she told me that she was struck by the fact that when Viki stood before the bishop for her examination, how she stood all by herself.   Yes, the congregation was full to the brim with people who loved her, but in the end, it was Viki.  All alone. Saying words that would change her life forever.

The Gospel we heard at Viki’s ordination were words from John 10 about Jesus being the Good Shepherd.  The preacher noted that all too often we clergy place ourselves in the place of the Good Shepherd and consider ourselves to be responsible for a flock of sheep.  We even use the word “flock” to talk about congregations.  The preacher said that the way she read the passage was that there was only one Good Shepherd, Jesus the Christ, and the best that all of us could ever be were sheep.  She reminded us that sheep, unlike cattle which are driven from the rear, are led by a shepherd we trust to follow.

It is true indeed that no matter how many sheep are with us on our journey, and I am very thankful to be with a huge flock of sheep, that in truth it is only us, one by one, following the shepherd.

At ordination, when I stood alone before the church and bravely said that yes, I was called to be a priest, I am not certain how clear I was that it was something that I could only do by following the one Good Shepherd. Perhaps the very best criteria we can have for being a priest is this:  Do you know how to follow and trust Christ alone?

For Viki, new priest in the Church, for the eleven men and women in the Diocese of Texas offering themselves to serve the Church as priests, and especially the six (or more) who will be told no, my heartfelt prayers are offered. May we all hear the voice of the Good Shepherd who always calls each of us by name, with love that carries us across all pastures green and not so green.