sola gratia

It’s Easter month, which means we’ll soon be rightly trumpeting that around which our faith revolves: the glory of resurrection.  The triumph of light over darkness.  The triumph of life—of God’s life—over death. But before we get there, we’ll encounter images and hear again stories that remind us of the profound humility and servant’s heart of the one we call the Christ.  We’ll watch as he enters Jerusalem not on a mighty steed but on a donkey.  We’ll listen as he shares a valediction, forbidding mourning, with his friends.  We’ll lament as one of his disciples betrays him, for the price of a slave, into the hands of those who’d have him killed.  We’ll recoil as he’s beaten and bloodied and hung on a cross.  And we’ll weep next to his mother and the Magdalene, and the few others who stayed to the end. Still there’s another image we’d do well not to miss—a scene that takes place in St. John’s gospel during Jesus’ final meal with his followers: one wherein he rises from the tab

One thing I’m frequently asked is what I enjoy most about serving as a pastor. Frankly, it’s difficult to pick a “favorite” aspect of the role. There are certainly some things I look forward to more than others, but one truth I’ve discovered during my almost ten years in ministry thus far is that the blessings far outweigh the hardships—and that the miraculous tends to shine even in the mundane, if I keep my heart tuned to God’s. An example of this took place not long ago as we gathered for our Singing & Communion at McKenzie Healthcare. Actually that ministry’s a high point of my month, and consistently speaks to me in some manner—often in one I wasn’t aware I needed. But that isn’t to say it’s easy. It’s quite challenging at times to be in environments where so many are struggling or hurting in some way—especially when you’ve had family members who have resided in similar facilities. It doesn’t take much for the floodgate of memories—many of which are less-than-pleasan