It's so easy for us, right? We did our weeks of Lent, being somber, walking through Holy Week, coming to the gob-smacking realization that sometimes (probably most of the time), it just simply isn't about us.

I remember Brooks' ordination in Newport, Arkansas. Lots of clergy and family and friends all crammed into little St. Paul's Church. And, being that it was an ordination, it was very formal. Everyone had their holy roles to play, like all the parts of the body, that St. Paul tells us about. And the bishop did holy things, and the people responded with holy words, and then there was the holy descent of the Spirit upon Brooks' head, and I was there to be a part of it all.

So, I was checking out at the Hannaford over the Christmas holidays. It wasn't very busy at the time, and this usually means that the baggers and cashiers are chattier than usual with each other. And this bagger, a young guy, barely out of his teens, was talking about his sister and how she'd done him wrong. And how he could never forgive her for whatever it was she'd done. And the cashier, an older woman, was saying how life is too short and too hard to go it alone. And you better make amends because you never know when you're going to need a sister. And you don't know what was happening to that sister at the time to make her do what she did. And she's family. All that that you would expect someone with a little more wisdom would say.

So, finally he had the kind of life he was searching for. He was amazingly good with sheep and goats. The herds were thriving, he had a growing family, and his father-in-law was respected in the land so nobody questioned him on his past. Life was good. Very good.

So, one day I was visiting my grandmother. She was on the decline, her mind sometimes here and sometimes somewhere else with her memories. I had stopped and gotten a couple Bojangles chicken biscuits, and we were sitting around talking. All of a sudden she busted out laughing. I asked why, and she said the chicken suddenly brought up a memory, and she told me a story.

So, I thought this would be a good week to update you on the Dyshkos, the Ukrainian family in Hamilton that so many of you financially supported and prayed for, without even meeting them, because you thought it was the right and welcoming thing to do. A thing Christians and Americans, in normal times, do without blinking an eye.

So, I'll bet a whole lot of y'all here remember the fad of all those WWJD bracelets that lots of people were wearing back in the 1990's. WWJD – What Would Jesus Do? These bracelets tended to be worn by teens and young adults and were seen mostly at Christian youth gatherings, and like most things in our youth-loving American society, they soon grew over-used, going from a sincere reminder to the wearer to think about how their actions affect the world and their own spiritual life to being an object of ridicule and stereotyping a certain brand of Christianity.

So there is this word that is a lot of fun to say. It is “recrudescence.” Recrudescence. It means “the return of something bad after a brief reprieve.” It applies to all sorts of things in life, and I'm sure we can find plenty to apply it to. But it has some antonyms that we may be more familiar with (because we often seem to want to look on the bright side of things): resuscitation or rejuvenation.

So, I still remember the exhilaration I felt, skittering over the surface of the Pamlico Sound in North Carolina on a small sailboat. The sun was shining, and all was well with the world in that way that seems to happen magically when you're on a boat.

So, how many times have we heard the story of the Magi, the wise men, the THREE wise men? Legend give them names: Melchior, from Persia; Caspar, from India; and Balthazar, from Babylon. All from the east; all bringing valuable gifts: gold, frankincense, myrrh. Gifts for the Christ child, gifts for a god, symbols of kingship, of deity, of death.

So, Merry Christmas! With that merrymaking out of the way, this Sunday we get hit with the other side of Christmas, a story most of us, especially us Protestants, tend to ignore because it doesn't fit in with all our jingle and Crosby and yule logs and gingerbread. It's known as the Commemoration of the Holy Innocents.

So, way back when I was beginning my discernment for the priesthood, a church committee would meet with me to discuss things. And one guy one time paused and asked, “How do you see your job as a shepherd?” I paused, was about to respond, and paused again. And I paused some more, to the point that people probably thought I'd sort of dozed off with my eyes open.

A half-hour bus ride from St. George’s Cathedral and the Old City walls of Jerusalem takes you to the extreme western edge of the city, to a small neighborhood called Ein Karem. It used to be its own village, but time and the creeping expansion of urban centers is eating it up like a slow moving amoeba.

So, here we are, another passage in the Gospel, guest starring John the Baptist. And of course, if you are me, a big fan of old movies, your thoughts might drift to that great actor, Charlton Heston, with a wild wig and sackcloth, standing in the river, yelling, “You brood of vipers!”

If you ever get a chance to go to Rome, you will probably visit the Vatican. And if you visit the Vatican, you will probably visit the Sistine Chapel. And if you visit the Sistine Chapel you will probably try to locate on that famous ceiling, Michelangelo’s iconic picture of God reaching out, touching Adam’s finger, and giving him life. Everyone knows this picture, and you can get it on anything, even in Vatican gift shops: t-shirts, magnets, clocks, posters…I even have it on a tie.

When I first started seminary, I was back home in Chattanooga, having coffee with a friend of mine who directed community theater. She was planning to do a production of Jesus Christ Superstar, and some of the board members were worried that it would be too blasphemous. Now, in actuality, they were worried that sponsors would be mad, but they wrapped it up and presented it to her as blasphemous. Seriously, this was the mindset. This was Chattanooga at its weirdest.

So, what if we prayed like we really believe it? I was asked about prayer the other day, how it works...and how it doesn't. And I got to thinking and remembering.

So, I've been giving a lot of thought to these readings in light of last week. And I think we have work to do.

So, here we are, All Saints Sunday. The beginning of the ending of the church calendar and the beginning of the beginning the the holiday season. And yet, somehow, even when we mark this day every year, it sort of get not much more than a passing nod of our time as we read off some names in church and go about our way.

So, let's face facts. We all want to be the best at one time or another. We want to be the kid in class who gets chosen to beat the erasers; we want to be the gold medalist; we want straight A's; we want to fix something and have it actually work better. We, each in our own way, want to better ourselves.