O God, whose beloved Son took children into his arms and blessed them: Give us grace to entrust

Alyssa

Scott

Martin

Nicholas

Aaron

Jaimie

Chris

Luke

Cara

Gina

Alaina

Quac

Meadow

Helena

Alex

Carmen

Peter

 to your never-failing care and love, and bring us all to your heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding: Deal graciously with all who grieve. Surround us with your love, that we may not be overwhelmed by our loss, but have confidence in your goodness, and strength to meet the days to come; through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I don’t own a gun.

I’ve never even shot a gun.

So I understand that it’s relatively easy for me to say that we must address our laws surrounding the right to bear arms, gun safety, and gun responsibilities.  Which is why I want to join in prayer and conversation with those of you who do own guns.  Those of you for whom having laws changed may have a personal cost.

I write these words with the image of a woman with an Ash Wednesday cross on her forehead crying outside Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.

I write this words after praying four times yesterday, with so many of you:

We confess to you, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness, the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives.

Our self indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people.

Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work.

And we prayed:   We confess to you, Lord.

Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done.  For our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty.  

And we prayed:  Accept our repentance, Lord.

In January, when the first school shooting of the year occurred, it was my intent to post the names of those shot, and pray for by name not only the victims of gun violence but all  the ones who thought that using a gun was the best answer to their broken and angry hearts.

I didn’t get around to it.  Accept my repentance, Lord.

I believe that praying also requires my response in some way.  I know that my actions may be God’s answer to prayer.

Accept my repentance, Lord, for every time I have not been your answer to prayer.

I am reminded of the words of the Daughters of the King:

I cannot do everything, but I can do something. What I can do, I ought to do. What I ought to do, by the grace of God I will do.  Lord, what will you have me do?

Here’s where I begin today.  Twenty two million children live in homes with at least one firearm (National Center for Health Statistics, 2000).   There is a program called Be Smart for Kids that teaches ways for our homes to be safer for children and to reduce child gun deaths.  I’ve contacted a member of our parish who is active in this ministry, and we will host a session at St. Mary’s.

As I learn the names of those killed and injured, I will list them on my blog and we can pray.

Today I pray for a name I do know: Nikolas Cruz, a sheep of God’s own fold, a lamb of God’s own flock, a sinner of God’s own redeeming.

Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.

I should have known that today would be a different sort of day when my morning coffee was served by a man with a name tag reading, “Jesus.”

It so happens that this is one of those calendar days where I know exactly where I twenty-five years ago.   Today, the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, is the anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.  About this time twenty-five years ago I was on my way to John+ and Pam Bentley’s home for a pre-ordination dinner with the people I loved the most.

This morning, after getting delayed by a train on the way, I met a dear friend, who was present on that day, for breakfast.  She greeted me wearing a red jacket, in honor of my ordination (red was the ordination color back in the olden days).

As I went to fill my cup of coffee, the man named Jesus came to refresh the urn, and it gave me great pause.  My coffee was served today by Jesus as the sun rose outside Rao’s Bakery.

The day that has followed has been the most quotidian of days.  What else should it be?

I knitted my daily prayer.  My friend and I prayed Facebook Live morning prayers from our breakfast table.  I stopped at the rectory to drop off some tiles and talked to the men who are rebuilding my home a second time in less than a year.  I let the workers know I was praying for them everyday.

I sent financial documents to the diocese in order to be considered for a new curate next summer; I emailed another set of back up documents for a request for a Harvey flood grant from the diocese.   I worked on finding a new Parish Administrator for St. Mary’s.  I visited the bank to update paperwork for St. Mary’s accounts.

My lunch appointment had to be rescheduled because my friend had the flu.  My appointment with my spiritual directee was rescheduled because it slipped off her calendar.  I’m meeting tonight with a couple whose unborn baby has died.

I had a good chat with my mom.  Sadly, she isn’t coming to the celebration of my ordination on Sunday at St. Mary’s. I’ve been thinking a lot about her and my dad, who died several years ago, because they were such an important part of my ordination journey;  I’ll miss her on Sunday.

It’s been the most ordinary of days.  Things planned.  Things unplanned.   Praying all the way and all the day.

That’s what it means to serve as a priest.  Each day of twenty-five years.

Traveling small you can see large things.

This has been a small vacation. By small, I mean that once my friend and I made it to the Casa in Taos, we stopped.

In the past, when my friend and I travel, besides the miles it takes to arrive at our planned destination, there is so very much to see that most days are spent on lengthy road trips to fabulous places.

This trip we’ve settled in and have traveled no farther than fifteen miles. Staying small, I’ve experienced big things.

A frozen Rio Grande River

Farmer’s Market at Taos Pueblo

Tea and knitting

Home cooked diner with friends

Morning fires

Still walks

Sangre de Christo sunsets

Small. Large.