So, I know I've told you this story before, but it's such a weird take on the Ascension of Christ, that it bears repeating. If you ever have a chance to do a church tour around England, make your way to Norfolk. The motto of the village of Walsingham, in a reference to it's pre-Norman Conquest roots, is “Welcoming Visitors Since 1061,” and it is home to the Anglican Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham. And it is there, in the Chapel of the Ascension, that you will find it. Typically English, and typically weird.

So, last week our family grew by one. Her name is Maybelle, and she is a mix of black mouth cur and coon hound, kind of what Cotton is, except Cotton is old enough to have seen his mouth go from black to white. Maybelle is four months old, round about. She has all that puppy energy that seems centralized in constantly moving and sniffing. She's mostly chill and doesn't seem to be all that interested in running off as far as she can go. It seems like she would rather stay within eyesight off her people.

So, when I first got to seminary, I felt like a nerdy kid in a book-laden candy store. The campus of the University of the South at Sewanee is a fantasy world. It sits perched on the southern tip of the Cumberland Plateau. It’s high enough, and the elevation changes so fast, that you can drive around campus in the fog, then head down the mountain, and emerge into a rainstorm: what you thought was fog was someone else’s cloud.

So, it is a weird thing that on the Second Sunday of Easter the reading is exactly the same, kinda like Christmas Eve. Even Easter Sunday has options, but not this day. Maybe there's something important about hearing the story of Thomas that affects us – or should – in ways that others don't.

So, did you notice how much of Holy Week dealt with security and trying to stay safe?

So, here we are, once again sitting at the foot of the cross, witnessing the unthinkable act of crucifying the Messiah. Watching soldiers carry out their unjust orders, listening as religious nationalist leaders whip up the crowd to support an insurrectionist rather than the Son of God.

So, when I was little, we had a neighbor down the way who had fought in WWII and had lost both of his legs. His wife or son were always pushing him around in a wheel chair. All over town, you'd see them, son or wife...and the man in the wheel chair.

So, I think most of you know Andreia Keller. She's lived among us here in the New Berlin area for several years, post-COVID. And she's been involved with our churches during that time. Now, to be honest, that's been rocky at times. Andreia is, how shall I put this? Brazilian.

So, that didn't last long, our life in Paradise.  Barely two chapters, and then there we were, pushed out and left to our own devices.  And frankly, given our track record from Genesis on, being left to our own devices is no way to be.  But it sure feels human.  And I guess that's the point of the Bible.  Sure it's a story of how God works, but it's just as much a story of what God works with.  Us.  A creature that couldn't last two chapters in Paradise.

So, last Friday, at out Friday breakfast, Fr. Brooks and I were talking about a certain seminary book, White Women's Christ, Black Women's Jesus” by Jacquelyn Grant. The feminist thesis, hinted at in the title, is that white women and black women tend to see the incarnation of God differently. And this more or less extends to men, too. Whites, from their position of privilege, Grant goes on to suggest, tend to relate to the image of a heavenly, resurrected Christ the king, sitting up in the clouds on a throne, exercising his power and authority. Somewhat distant, out there somewhere, watching what's going on down here. Occasionally intervening with some judgement if you're bad and some special favors if you're good.

So the other day, I was grumbling about life over our Friday breakfast at Tallman's with Brooks. Seems my iPhone had updated, and I was complaining about all the changes. Nothing behind the wall (as the kids say) had changed, but the way the iPhone screen looked sure had. Everything was cheerful ...too cheerful, if you ask me. All my apps were brighter; things seemed bubblier. It was if the phone was shouting, “Hello! So good to see you!” every time I opened it up. And I wasn't having it.

So, in high school, I had this friend named Kevin. Kevin was what we would call that big, silent type. Linebacker, a fairly good student, worked part-time at the local garage. He lived down the street from me in a nice split-level house with nice parents, a nice dog, and a nice cat. When he got his driver's license, his dad bought him a used Alfa Romeo Spider that didn't run. But Dad was a mechanic and showed Kevin all he needed to know to get that car up and running.

Last Saturday...the last Saturday before Christmas, Becca was working at the pottery studio, and Fr. Brooks got this text message from her essentially saying that she forgot to get some things at Costco, and could he find time to get up there? Yes, he could, but not before he roped me into doing the driving. We both steeled ourselves because we figured it would be crazy. And, y'all, it was. Crazy! Every register was running, and card machines were beeping, and people were buying and buying and buying. And as I stood there, I kept hearing it over and over, every time the next person put their skiff in front of the cashier: Did you find what you were looking for? Did you find what you were looking for? Most people were nice enough, saying some version of, “Yup, thanks.”

So on the internet, we have access to the world and its many realities in ways no one has had before us. The problem is that most of us don’t appreciate that breadth of information. Instead, most of us visit the same 10 websites every day and stay in our own silos. I can think of a few I use daily: BlueSky, Google Docs, Google Mail, Google Maps, a few news sites, Instagram, Duolingo, Dimension 20, Wikipedia, round and round she goes.

So, I've mentioned this before, but if I were to let myself, I would be forced to admit that I'm pretty useless. Now, I know I'm do my job. I know how to preach; I know how to teach; I can make my way around a prayer book. I can even find my way through the labyrinth that is most hospitals.

Bob Bell was not an important man in the way the world measures important. In fact, he was someone that even his friends could often forget about. But for some reason I've been thinking of Bob on this All Saints Sunday. When I was a kid, Bob Bell was a saint I didn't recognize. Not a particularly holy man. Not an defender of rights. Not a fighter for justice. Not a figure of deep theological wisdom. Most of the time, he was about the most pitiful person I could imagine.

So, for some reason, lately, I've been thinking about my first time to visit what is now my home up here in Central New York. I was remembering watching everything so intensely, realizing that life up here is proof that Southerners don't have a corner on the weirdness market, but that wherever I go, as long as there are people around, there will be stories to be told. And sermons to be preached. And here's the first story I remember telling when I got back to Kingsport, Tennessee.

It's no small thing, it seems to me, to be able to uproot a mulberry tree and plant it in the sea: particularly in the way that Jesus describes today --- with no effort at all. I know this for while there is no mulberry tree in the back yard of my grandparents house in Chattanooga, there is a stand of bamboo. It started out as a spiffy idea to their neighbor. She'd just plant a little bamboo, and it would remind her of when her husband was stationed in Japan and the whole family moved there for a few years. She eventually died. . . but the bamboo certainly did not.

So, last May I was back in Chattanooga, Tennessee, visiting my mom for her birthday and doing chores around her new apartment. I stay with my brother who co-owns my grandparents' old house with me. And one of the first things we do when I get home is drive around my stomping grounds of North Chattanooga to look at what has been going on. Chattanooga is actually a booming place, so there's always some new building going up, a new strip mall, new restaurants, all sorts of remodeling. Just loads of hustle and bustle.

So, long, long ago I was a student at Georgia Tech. And while there, I was a member of a fraternity, which explains why I barely transferred out of there just a little bit ahead of my failing grades. Now I lived in the frat house, and I had a roommate. His name was Eddie, but because of his recreational drug habit everyone called him Coke Spoon.