a prophetic voice-

This morning, during my quiet time, my time of reading and reflecting, of thinking and writing, I found myself suddenly thinking about how a congregation- my congregation or yours- views the sermon...and about how I, as the one preaching, view what it is I am doing- and why. Perhaps I am unique in the fact that this is not something to which I have given a great deal of thought and consideration. I don't mean that I don't give thought to what I'm preaching or to how it will be received. But I'm not sure if I have ever put into words what a sermon really is for me- and what I hope it is for the congregation. But this morning, words came flooding unbidden, and so I share them with you, from the bottom of my heart: For me, the sermon is not to point the finger. I t is rather an invitation to the members of the congregation to enter into dialogue, to walk along with, to uplift and encourage the pastor even as s/he lifts up and encourages them. It is a f

Windows open wide...a grand and glorious gift. The air blowing through the house, sweeping in its path all that is stale and dull and hidden...bringing with it a sense of energy, of newness, which has felt dormant during the long, closed-in days of this summer's heat. And filled with that energy today,I changed my bed linens, did laundry, cooked homemade applesauce, all the while rejoicing in the lovely, cool temperatures with which the day gifted me, gifted us all in this part of Carolina. And now, tonight, I will crawl between fresh, clean sheets- one of my favorite sensations, a sense memory which harkens back to  childhood evenings after Mother had changed the sheets- which in her house happened every week but in mine happens only about every month. For me, there is something so comforting, so nurturing, about crawling into bed to the welcome of cool, clean sheets, which- in those days- smelled of the outdoors and carried the awareness of my mother's loving

Today, I had the honor of preaching the eulogy at the memorial Service of a member of my parish who had, over the years, become a dear friend. So many people asked me afterward for a copy of that sermon that I am posting it here- for them and for those of you who could not attend the service and for those of you who never knew Sara but may come to know her through my words.         +         +        +         +         +        +         + Even though we are gathered here this afternoon to grieve a death, I must tell you that I continue to think of Sara in the present tense. For even in her dying months and weeks, she was one of the most vibrantly- alive people I have ever met and had the remarkable privilege of knowing. Sara Jane Anderson was born 76 years ago here in Rural Hall and lived her her life within this small mostly-rural community…yet she was not bound by local mores and customs and beliefs. Her life, while small to some, was marked by unbounded lo