Showing up for God

There isn’t an over-abundance of time in life. I do not know many (if anyone) people who can do exactly what they want, when they want. There is this mythical group I’ve heard of… ‘retirees’ … but I don’t think they exist, either. It seems like every one of them is busier than they were when they were working! Whether retired or still in the working world, most of us are busy folks. We choose carefully what we will and won’t do, curating a calendar that allows only the most important things to grace its boxes.

Recently, I read a post from a fellow priest that had me nodding and smiling. See, this guy says things that sometimes offend the ears of some people; he cares deeply for his congregation but he equally practices self-care and is unapologetically honest with his words. Anyway, one of his statements within the litany of ‘what to do and not do during Holy Week—a guide for priests’ was this:

“Jesus died so you do have to. Get yourself off the cross. Jesus will be resurrected regardless of how many hours you think you need to put in this week. No one is keeping track of how much you work except your own ego.”

I mean…say it louder for the people in the back?

What my colleague is saying hits home for all of us, I think. Whether it is holy week or just a regular calendar day, how much are we focusing on what we say really matters vs. what we want others to see? The world around us takes measure of our works and metes out judgement based on merit. From priests to parents, everyone is weighed by their works and involvement. “If I don’t do this, this, and this for my kids, they’ll think I don’t care. Others will, too.” Likewise, “If I don’t come to coffee hour every Sunday, people will whisper that I think I’m too important for that time.”

But the crux of all of this?

How much time do we spend with God? We say God is the center of our lives. We tell people we are Christians and that we believe in this or that. We quickly argue theology and have staunch beliefs. Yet when it comes to going to His house, we’re like everyone else… “I can’t this weekend, let’s meet up later.” (Note: I know God is everywhere, please read the statement as it is intended.) We make time for sports and vacations, for social outings and volunteer opportunities. That’s awesome. Yet there’s something to be said for the amount of time we don’t make for God in worship. I know I’m guilty of it (here’s looking at you, Morning Prayer) and I want to be better about matching who I say I am with how I spend my time.

I get it. Sometimes we just have to do things and there’s no way out of them. But that’s not the norm. We choose. We choose to overwork, to over function, to overthink, instead of being overjoyed at the option right in front of us: To go to God’s house, sit down, rest, have dinner, and be with our friends. That’s the message I have on my heart, today. Whatever you’re doing in your life reflects the things that are most important. I am not the judge of that; it is mere fact. If we say we love God, but then constantly rely on the adage, “God understands that I can’t be there…” then do we really put God first? Making time to do the important things matters.

Making time for God shouldn’t even be a consideration based upon how we talk about Him. If God is the center of your life, come back to the center. Come to church, worship with your family, take respite. Your kids will understand. Your parents will understand. Your friends will understand. If you show people what’s important to you, they’ll see and know that you are exactly where you want to be. Where you belong.

I will not overwork this week. I will worship. I will make time to pray in silence at home. I will sit with the story of Christ’s walk to Calvary and thank God for the sacrifice He makes so that I can live. There is nothing, NOTHING, more important than that. And on this week, the most holy of all weeks, I will go to God’s house, kick my shoes off, and stay a while. Not as a priest overworking, but as a child returning home on break from the world. And I will do it every Sunday, because it matters most to me.

I may be a priest, but I am a Christian, first. I want people to remember that more than anything else when I depart from this world. I don’t want to feed my own ego. I want to feed my soul.

I hope you do, too. See you when I see you, there’s a seat open next to me…

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Choose Joy

Thessalonians 5:16 gives one of my favorite commands in all of scripture. It reads, “Rejoice always.” Alternatively, this can be read as, “choose joy at all times”. Being my wife’s favorite scripture, I am constantly reminded to choose joy. When the door breaks, don’t curse the doormaker, choose to be joyful that you get to learn a new skill. When money is tight, don’t fret, choose to be joyful for the other things in life that are going well. You get the point.

Right now, the world needs a little more joy and a little less ‘other’. Joy, much like negativity, is contagious. I find that when I’m surrounded by positive people, I am infected with their positivity and share that with others. The other side of that is true as well; surrounding myself with people who constantly put down others and treat them as lesser causes me to have thoughts of the same. Joy, being contagious, is an epidemic that starts with us. We are patient zero. If we can allow ourselves to be infected by the joy of Jesus Christ in all things, those around us will feel that palpable sense and it will catch on in their souls. I think this is something fundamental to how we interact and the cause and effect of our choices.

You are always a person infected by your immediate surroundings and circumstances. But you have a choice and so do I. Do we choose to remain stuck in the anxious moments, the awkward situations of wanting to love and be present while also dreading the encounters? Or can we be bold and state our desires to our loved ones? Telling someone you love that they, too, can choose joy, that they are hurting you and you want that to change, is a hard but necessary path to joy. True joy. You are not responsible for their response. If you speak the truth in love, in kindness, then perhaps their response will mirror that. It won’t always be the case, but if they love you enough, they’ll take your words and be able to come back at some point. They may disagree, but they’ll at least hear you. Then, natural, bilateral conversations can occur and joy can be found again.

Joy is your choice. It is your right. It is your salvation from the dark. So, when things and people in this world cause you to doubt yourself, to stop loving yourself? The answer is simple.

Choose joy.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

New Year's Message: God is With Us, Still.

Every year seems to go by a little bit faster than its predecessor…I think? Is it just me, or is that the case? As I get older, every year seems to want to punish me by making the Earth move faster around the sun so that I have less time to do the myriad and many tasks before me. Anyone else? Can I get an Amen and an Advil? Some of you are grinning and shaking your heads after reading that, playfully mocking me right now… “Just wait, it gets worse,” right? Gah! Why does it go so quickly!?

Alongside these random questions and thoughts buzzing about in my mind, another series of questions seem to be on repeat, living rent-free in my head: “Am I centered on the ‘right’ things? Are my worries temporal and somewhat silly? Am I spending too much time trying to finish tasks that ultimately don’t matter? What am I doing that is superfluous rather than meaningful?” I wish I had a ‘STOP IT’ button for those questions, but much like a broken record, they play on in an endless loop.

Lately I have been mired in the slog of building repairs, budgeting, and planning for 2026. It seems like I haven’t been able to keep up—the building took a long time to complete; the budget seemed impossible; plans for the new year seem exhausting. But wait…aren’t those things resolved and hopeful, too?

The building is finished. Thanks be to God.

The litany of events and services for next year are signs of a vibrant and active faith community. Thanks be to God.

The budget went from an insurmountable deficit, to an albeit strained, but manageable, positive bottom line. Thanks be to God.

Seriously, I didn’t know how we were going to make it work, next year. Then I remembered that it isn’t my plan we follow, it is God’s will. I saw it. Through prayer, sacrifice, and the generosity of everyone in this place, God worked in all of that to sustain His Church.

While concentrating on the building repairs and how we were going to pay for them, I look back and see God throughout that process. The company that was responsible for the lion’s share of work gave us a hefty donation to help; the work was done correctly, if not as quickly as I’d like; we came out of a dire situation and stepped into an improved one. God worked in all of that to sustain His Church.

The events next year are exciting. We’re celebrating St. Paddy’s and Oktoberfest—just to have some fun. We’re helping groups like SISU and Skyline Ministries, the food pantry at St. James and handing out Manna Bags for the homeless; holding classes for confirmations and teaching scripture on a regular basis; worshiping every day with morning prayer and holding services in observance of holy days. God works in all of that to sustain His Church.

So, maybe, with a different perspective and a more faithful eye, the questions I asked at the beginning are the ones that are most wasteful. Are we centered on the right things? We are with God’s help—it isn’t our plan. Are we wasting time doing temporal things? No, we are the hands and feet of a God who sends us out repeatedly to be His body in this world. Do the tasks we endeavor to complete matter? Absolutely—just as long as they align with our faith and what God has tasked us to do: Feed His sheep, live by His commandments, love His ways and then actually walk in them.

When the clock strikes midnight tonight, instead of looking with exhausted eyes toward 2026, I think we should put on some new frames of mind. Be hopeful, be mindful, be kind, and mostly, continue being faithful. God hasn’t left us; He is following along and ringing in the new year, delighting in his creation and watching over us when we stumble.

God is in us, God is with us, God sustains us. We are His Church.

Happy New Year, and God bless you, all.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

The Life of a Priest

You meet and shake hands. At first, they’re wary of you—the hurt from their last place shines back at you in their stare. You don’t make any abrupt declarations or try to assure them that everything is different here, at this place. You look them in the eye and thank them for coming. When service ends, you find them, shake hands again, and ask about their experience during worship. You invite them to come back; you hand them a welcome bag in hopes that they’ll send in the information card. You follow up a few days later…

They come back.

Months go by, even years. You bury their loved ones; you marry them to their partner. You baptize their children. You sit with them in times of deep grief. You answer questions when their faith is tested, and God feels far away. You think of them during your evening prayers, and you check on them via text or a phone call from time to time on non-Sunday hours. A relationship forms, a bond that you feel deeply and hope that they do, too.

Then, something goes wrong. You say or do something that angers them, that they disagree with, that triggers something from their past. If you’re lucky, they reach out and let you know; less lucky when they go straight to social media and damn the entire community. Most of the time, however, it’s a silent goodbye. A letter of transfer request. No ‘thank you for your friendship or time with me’, just, nothing.

Don’t mistake me: This is what we do as priests. I do not want or need sympathy. That is not to say, however, that these moments have no cost. After all, clergy are human, too. Our mentors—the ones who have been at this for decades—will shrug it off and say, “That’s ministry, friend.” While true, it’s unhelpful. The old guard of clergy will bring up memories of when they were your age and how they never had those issues. It was a different time. People had to go to church, they had to be seen there for societal normalcy. Whatever the answer, the pain still lingers. You give your heart to people, and they light it on fire; the friction of their feet set it ablaze as they run to the next place.

But you remain. You try to stay calm, act like it doesn’t affect you. It does. You answer the ‘Where did ____ go?’ with answers that are thin and false, so to not allow your hurt to show. After a few years of this, you become resentful if you don’t seek therapy, prayer, and respite. You burnout. Then the pain turns to anger. You stop checking in as much; when you do, it isn’t real.

These are the moments in the life of a priest. Many of these issues are why ministers move on so often—out of hurt, out of longing for the honeymoon phase where everyone is happy to see them. Not all priests will agree, but deep down, most will. We hurt, just like you. We love, just like you. We get angry, just like you. We question faith, just like you. We love this church, just like you. Please, give us the grace we extend to you, in return. We need it, even if we say we don’t. Find something kind to say once in a while instead of a criticism. Find a moment to send a note to a priest’s spouse, they need that. Encourage us as we encourage you. We are here to serve, make no mistake. We do so willingly and earnestly. We did not accept this call to be universally loved and held in high esteem. But we hope for your friendship and your Christian love. And we want the best possible worship environment for you.

Call or text your pastor, priest, minister, deacon, Bishop, or whoever you have, today. Let them know that you appreciate them—even if you’re no longer at their place. It will mean the world, and it might just help them make it one more day.

Fr. Sean+

Do Not Fear What May Happen Tomorrow...

Now, I don’t know about you, but I have this issue with turning my brain to sleep mode. At around eleven every night, I go to bed with best laid plans: I will fall asleep early and wake up refreshed and ready to go. Nightly ablutions, clothes’ changes and final dog petties occur. Then, I lie my head down and close my eyes, say my prayers and goodnight to God.

The problem?

My brain—much like a teething toddler—isn’t ready to sleep.

It starts simply enough. What meetings are scheduled the next day? Thinking ensues. What do those meetings entail? Thinking continues. How can I involve more people in the life of the church? Thinking. Why don’t people want to come to church? Thinking. Why don’t more people come to church activities? Thinking. Are they the wrong activities? Thinking. Where did that family go? Thinking. Did I do something to push them away? Thinking. I wonder if I can fix the door on the side of the house. Thinking. Why is Pluto a planet again? Why wasn’t it? Where is Pluto? Hey, that dog from Disney is named Pluto. I wonder if he knows he’s a planet…

Thoughts full. Brain buzzing. Wakey wakey, time to ponder the inane and important, alike. See you at three, sleep.

After reading that dumpster fire of nightly ritual, how do most of you fare when trying to fall asleep? Same? Different? Does anyone know about Pluto? I imagine that many of us suffer from an overactive thought deluge when trying to find rest from a full day. I don’t have an immediate answer for it, either, except for obtaining some sort of sleep aid umbrella—aka, Ambien. However, I do have some daytime thoughts about nighttime struggles.

Instead of being think-ful (not a word, hush), what if we concentrated on being thankful? I suspect that many of us speak to God prior to bed, yes? If not, see me soon. But, if my suspicions are correct, then that conversation after a long day could be the key to obtaining the elusive prey of sleep we all constantly stalk. We begin with the worries and woes of life, asking for aid and absolution. Normal thinkful (again, not a word) stuff. Then, comes the thanking; this is the part where I think we can truly lean on God to help us fall blissfully asleep without the ponderings of astronomical proportions.

Last week, I talked about thanking God for the grass. If you didn’t hear that sermon, you can find it by clicking here. (if you receive the newsletter by mail, the url is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sfLDtmA8sI) But, back to the grass…

Praying in that fashion is more for the exhausted and overwhelmed. This isn’t that. What I’m writing about now is a way in which to retrain your thinkfulness to thankfulness. What if, instead of trying to think your way through the myriad and many obstacles of tomorrow, you concentrated on the miracles that happened today? Quite frankly, thanking God for blessings seems like an arduous task at first—we don’t know necessarily how to begin. But let me tell you, once you do? It goes quickly and it takes forever with a capital EVER. Being thankful overrides the impetus to be overthinkful. (definitely not a word). That thankfulness lulls us into a place where we begin to appreciate the things that are going well in life, the miracles that happen every day, and the people surrounding us with love and support.

Tomorrow can wait. We say it every Sunday: “Do not fear what may happen tomorrow…” My best advice for those of you struggling with prayer life, with the happenings of life in general, and the insomnia that those two create, is this…

Don’t be thinkful. Be thankful. Tomorrow is another gift, not a curse.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

The Power of Love

Theologian and icon of the 80’s Huey Lewis once eloquently stated: “The power of love is a curious thing.” I can’t help but agree with this sage wisdom—even when the sage is wearing cheesy suits and sunglasses.

Yesterday, my mother had to let one of her doggos cross the rainbow bridge. He’s been in terrible pain for years; he could hardly eat, he didn’t want to walk anymore, and he was tired. It was time. I went to mom’s to be supportive, you know, like a good son. I watched as she said goodbye and then I stayed in the room when they administered the final dose—I didn’t want her to have to watch that. After he was sedated, he wouldn’t know we were there. Yet, still, I stayed.

Here's the interesting thing about love: For the first time in six years, I truly cried. I don’t mean the single tear or choked-up cry, I mean the “Oh God I hope no one sees this and what is that sound type of crying. I helped the doctor take Jake out to the car, called mom back into the room. He was her first dog, meaning that he was the first one she’d raised on her own. Yet, in that moment, I found myself being a human and not a priest.  She held me as I ‘supported’ her.

I don’t know if it was a culmination of years’ worth of pain and bottled emotions. I don’t know why. But the dam broke and the water sluiced out. The power of love for a creature so innocent, so pure, overwhelmed me as I watched him go to his resting place, as I held his paw while he died.

Jesus was a human innocent of crime. He was innocent of sin. He was pure of heart, mind, and soul. And humanity watched as he died. Most of them didn’t hold his hand or stand at his feet in solidarity; they mocked him, and he died for the sins of the world that shouted slurs and curses while he did it. They watched as he was taken away and no one shed a tear.

I will continue to cry for animals—I’m a dog person. When people die, it’s less of a crying grief and more of a missing—yet grateful—heart that I possess in their passing. That grief is holy and wonderful on both accounts, for it is the price we pay for love. It’s the price Jesus paid. And thanks be to God for that.

This is the power of love. A love that desires us so deeply as to warrant every breath it has, even until the last. Christ’s death and remembrance of it should evoke the kind of tears I had for Jake yesterday; some years it does. Yet, I know the power of that love versus the power of the love I hold for an animal is heavily tilted toward God. I don’t cry in remembrance of Christ because he hasn’t gone anywhere, not really. He is with us, he remains steadfast in his mission to spread God’s word through us, now. We are his legacy, we are his body, we are his living testimony…

To the real power of love.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

The Judas Mentality

We weren’t created to suffer. I know that might come as a shock to some of you given the chaotic last…few centuries...but it’s true. Being created in the imago Dei, our lives were and continue to be intended to reflect the likeness and love of God. God’s perichoresis—the divine dance between the three persons of the Trinity—is a heavenly waltz of pure and unfiltered love for each person involved, while also existing ‘of one being’. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit are the three persons in one whom share this eternal and ineffable love for each other; inseparable yet distinct persons, eternally bound together in unity and Godly love. Humanity was made as a direct reflection of that love. We were created to be with one another, not to be siloed and autonomous singularities. We need each other to thrive. We need one another to better understand ourselves. We need our neighbors to show us their created beauty and to reflect ours back to us. We weren’t created to suffer.

We were created to love.

Why the theological exposition? Because we give up the dumbest things during Lent for no damned reason at all, except to exact self-suffering. Think about it: Does giving up chocolate or social media point to the glory of God? Unless you’re addicted to either of those things, the answer is a resounding ‘NO’. Furthermore, if you are an addict, then quite frankly you shouldn’t be partaking in them anyway. Living a sacrificial life means giving up those things that place a boundary between us and God; living a sacramental life doesn’t mean abstaining from the cup at the altar when you’ve given up booze for Lent! Put plainly: MNM’s aren’t what’s stopping you from falling deeper in love with God. Hatred, division, self-righteousness? Those are the tools used to build a wall between us and our creator.

If Lent is about preparation and introspection, then let it be so. Perhaps giving up takes on new meaning when considering the ‘why’ behind it. Have you held a grudge against your enemy? Give it up. Don’t let anger live rent-free in your heart. Have you sought solace in earthly activities rather than seeking understanding and grace from God? Give them up. Have you allowed your time to be monopolized and manipulated to the extent that you no longer regularly pray or attend worship? Give that time up. What we give up to God we receive back as holy. If we give our time, our concerns, and/or our hopes to God, what we get in return is beyond anything we could possibly have done ourselves. We weren’t meant to give up the things that make us happy to please God—not if they’re within reason. No, we were meant to give up ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be reasonable, holy, and living sacrifices to God. That means our time, our love, our essence. Not Cheetos or Scotch.

These next forty-six days (yes, even Sundays *gasp*), I implore you to give up the things separating you from the person next to you. Give up your hatred. Give up your grudges. Give up your divisive actions. Give up your need to be right rather than in relationship. Give up your time for someone who needs you. Give up a dollar or two to the woman on the corner holding a cardboard sign. Give up the Judas mentality that we can overcome regimes and replace them and, instead, recognize that this world isn’t ours to save. That’s already been done by Jesus Christ. This world is ours to live in with as much dignity and respect for one another that we can muster. But even above that, to do so with love in our hearts for every. Single. Human. Alive. No exceptions.

We weren’t created to suffer. We might from time to time, but that’s life in an imperfect world. We were created to be the harbingers of joy, faith, hope, and love; to be the hands and feet of Christ. This year, instead of giving up something meaningless, why not try something new? This year let’s face each other with determined hearts and pray to God to help us see each other as beloved creations. Let’s sit with someone different than us and learn their story rather than shout our own. Let’s not walk away from our neighbor, let’s walk toward them. Maybe this year is the year we can stop giving up something random and start a new practice.

Never giving up on each other.

Faithfully,

The Rev. Sean A. Ekberg

Tell Me About Your Church

What do you say if people ask, “What’s your church like?” This question recently popped up as a topic of conversation between someone else and me. They were telling me about this influencer who was completely turned off and tuned out of church because of the way the preacher and the people talked about it. The influencer would ask them—particularly the preacher—about church and their answers would hover around the same topics. “We have ‘x’ amount of people every Sunday.” “Our budget is ‘x’ amount.” The influencer was immediately disinterested.
 
I gotta admit…I would be, too.
 
After the conversation, I went on with my day. Yet, throughout the past few days, I keep circling back to it. I keep wondering if I’m guilty of those answers; perhaps not so much to inquiring lay persons, but what about to my colleagues? And why? So, I bought a ticket and boarded the crazy train taking off in my mind. As I thought about memories flashing by, I realized that I’m answering in these ways, too, at certain points. Why? Who cares? But thankfully, at least some of the glimpses I caught were answers I can appreciate.
 
“Tell me about your church”, one person asked. I remember saying, “They’re great. The people there remember a time when they were many and mighty and some of them keep trying to get back to that, but for the most part? They’re ‘in it’. We have this guy, Roger. He’s not the best cook in the world…at all. But he stepped up and started leading our men’s group recently. I have to tell you; they’re doing extraordinary things. Recently, they have cooked on many occasions for a needy group of teenagers outside the church. He didn’t know how to grill, but he relies on the guys around him to pick up the slack on his growing edges. He’s doing a fantastic job!”
 
I cherish this memory because it talks about one of my people. So, I started remembering more…
 
“We have a young woman, Regan Crider, who is studying for her Masters in Archeology? They made up a program for her, basically, because she’s such a smarty pants.”
 
“One of our kids-grown-to-adults, Kayla Cunningham, is going to school in college now; she recently took over the acolyte master position at church. From her being one of two acolytes to managing over six? It’s amazing!”
 
“I have an octogenarian who does more work planning, ironing, cleaning linens, and telling me what to do (I laughed) that I don’t know how she does it. In one of the latter seasons of her life, she’s still doing ministry like its summer. Must be something with the name ‘June’.

"Two of our youth fell in love--when they became adults--and now have a daughter. We're seeing the next generation of kids from some of our 'kids'."
 
There are so many more stories about people, about your lives, that I care to share than there are about our bottom line or how many posteriors reside in pews. Now, when someone asks me about our church, I’ll be ready. I’m not going to talk about projects and ministries as abstract notions. I’m going to tell people that Paula, Nancy, and their team are helping needy teachers. I’m going to gush over my buddy Fr. Dion and his mentorship of future priests and deacons. I’m going to tell your stories because they inspire me.
  
“Tell me about your church.”
 
They inspire me and I’m just trying to keep up.
 
Faithfully,
 
Fr. Sean+

Thanskgiving

Thanksgiving as a holiday is undoubtedly in my top three. I love the cooking, the preparation; I love the invitation and the sounds of laughter around the table. I love the sheepish smiles of first-time attenders; I love the sense of security emanating from those who knew they had this place to gather all along. From the pilgrims traveling hundreds of miles to the weary living right next door, this day, this Thanksgiving Day, the table is open to all.

Be thankful.

Be thankful for those who show up instead of being angry at those with other plans.

Be thankful for those who love you instead of chasing down and arguing with those who don’t.

Be thankful for the community you have instead of criticizing its shortcomings.

Be thankful for the joy surrounding you rather than being heartbroken by the myriad chaos and sorrow.

Be thankful that you have a place at this table rather than wondering if your neighbor deserves to be there.

Be thankful for a smile from a stranger instead of being afraid of what it might mean.

Be thankful for people who hold doors for you rather than being prideful that you can do it yourself.

Be thankful for the good you see in the world; the bad will find you on its own.

Be thankful for the blessings God bestows instead of continuously asking for more.

Be thankful that you don’t have to live this life in isolation; you have at least one person who loves you and that’s enough.

Be thankful for God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit upon whom we live and move and have our being; rather than relying on yourself to work things out.

There may be worries that live rent-free in our heads but we cannot forget the grace that lives cost-free in our hearts. Grace perfects, it does not destroy, as Dr. Anthony Baker says. Be perfected in grace, humbled with thanks, and let every day be a thanksgiving to God.

All are always welcome at this table.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Shame? Please make it stop.

One of my favorite songs by the Avett Brothers is a song called “Shame”. The chorus is as follows:
 
Shame. Boatloads of Shame.
Day after Day. More of the same.
Blame. Please lift it off.
Please take it off. Please make it stop.
 
I’ve always thought this is a great way for me to express how I feel during communion and/or the confession. And during some sermons. As someone who recently preached what some of you have referred to as ‘shaming’, I am sensitive to your plight. When words shame instead of convict, I have missed the mark. While my intention isn’t perceived in the way in which I desired, I apologize. However, I will also state that I am not responsible for your reality. I can’t be. Nor am I responsible for the way in which you hear the words I say.
 
I prayerfully approach each Sunday. When it’s my turn to preach, watch closely: I always pray and bow my head before asking you to sit. “Thy words not my words; thy will not my will.” That’s seriously the prayer I pray. Every. Single. Time. I happen to be human, too, however. Unfortunate, I know. So, sometimes the sermon may miss it’s intended destination and unravel for some of you—devolving into boatloads of shame. I wonder at that—as, again, I cannot be responsible for your thoughts but I do have to be accountable for the words I speak.
 
This leads me to my point, especially today. There are joyous Americans today. There are hurting Americans today. They both reside in this beloved community. I know better than to wag my finger and tell everyone that we should all just sing a campfire song and move on. Elections have power just like words do. So, as someone who regularly offends people by words, or even sometimes unintentionally shames them, allow me the opportunity to say this:
 
You are loved. Period. For some, you know this. The sun came up, the candidate won, and life goes on. For others, the world seems darker and the words fail to escape lips that want to scream. For me, I care about both. I hope you do, too. St. Augustine wrote a great prayer many centuries ago and in it there are three phrases I hope we can really pray together today:
 
“Soothe the suffering; pity the afflicted; shield the joyous.”
 
Nothing I ever say from that pulpit is meant to ever shame you. Or target you. Or make you feel lesser. I hope, that in my fallible nature, you know that I deeply care for each of you. Likewise, I hope you will care for each other in the weeks to come. No eye rolling and flippant dismissals please. No, “They did it to us, first” or “Well, now it’s our turn” mentalities. No "They hate me and are hateful people" words. Those types of statements divide, they do not heal. If we buy into the narrative of vindictive statements, we are not the people of God. We're the people of falsehood. I care about each of you and will pray for grace--for all people. I will respect the dignity of every person loving my neighbor as myself. I will spread the news of Jesus Christ by word and example. I will pray without ceasing. We will pray for the President, the Governor and the Mayor just like we always do. We will continue to pray for the lost, the lonely and the left out. We will pray for unity and peace. We will pray hard in thanks. We will pray hard during our hardship. We will pray for each other. We will pray. And we will do so without shame because being prayerful and loving people is who we’re called to be. Take some time if you're hurting. Take some time if you're celebrating. But at each end of that spectrum, take some time to remember that the people in this community love you, regardless of affiliation. There is no room for shame or blame here, only grace and hope.
 
Shame? Please make it stop. That includes me. I love you. Shamelessly.
 
Faithfully,
 
Fr. Sean+