Homily for my Dad

The altar at Cathedral of St. Luke. The kneeler was given in memory of my Dad's mom.

                                            

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Homily for Eliot Field

Lamentations 3:22-33; Psalm 46; 1 Corinthians 13:1-7; Luke 24:13-35

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” The Road to Emmaus is the story of the holy, of God’s very person and presence, being made manifest in the midst of ordinary life. Jesus meets the disciples while they are walking on the road. But they are so self focused, so distracted that they do not realize the resurrected Christ is walking along with them. It is not until they stop to rest and eat at the end of the day, that they realize who had been their companion on the way. 

For all of us who had the privilege of traveling with my Dad - walking, hiking, sitting on a train or boat, bus or plane - or the gift of sitting next to him at a dinner table, we know something of what the disciples experienced. We know how God can be made manifest in the course of conversation and a meal. My Dad was someone who lived with gratitude for the present moment. He paid careful attention to the beauty of his surroundings, and especially to the people he was with. I like to think if he had been walking with the disciples on that road, it might not have taken him so long to recognize Christ’s presence among them. Because even in the midst of the ordinary moments and interactions of daily life, my Dad was always on the lookout for the holy, for the extraordinary. He knew that God - God’s very being and love - were most evident to us in the midst of our interactions with each other. 

And there is a far more profound truth being communicated in the story of the disciples on the road. It is not only that God’s love and presence are made manifest to the disciples that day. It is the fact that the resurrected Christ is walking with them. There in their midst is the truth at the heart of the Christian faith. The truth that God is always at work, even in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances. Even in the midst of tragedy and loss and pain and heartbreak. God is present. The horrors of life, the evil realities of this world, never have the last word. Hope is real. New life is possible. Love is stronger than death. That is the beautiful truth of Easter morning. And the glorious reality is that truth was not just for the disciples. It was not just for that first Easter. It is a truth that continues to be manifest again and again in our lives and in the world. 

The best compliment I think we can give to a person of faith is that their life pointed us to God. Their life pointed us to hope, to beauty, to love, to the reality that there is more to life than we can comprehend. My Dad was such a person. A person willing to embrace the mystery, that there is so much we cannot fully understand. Remarkably acknowledging all that is beyond the limits of human comprehension can be a source of comfort. It is an act of surrender, of turning it over. 

An act of faith to trust that even in the midst of that which we cannot fully understand, even as we are going through life, at times like the disciples, distracted, afraid, grieving, or uncertain, God is with us - pointing us to the future with hope and love. 

That was what my Dad did. Pointed us to the future with hope and love. It was especially evident in the care and attention he took for each conversation. Whether you had come to him for legal advice or life advice or for help on a worksheet from school or just had the opportunity to sit next to him at dinner, he was fully present to whatever questions you had, whatever might be weighing on your heart or your mind. You would feel as though sitting with you and your question was the most important thing he had to do all day. This joy of conversation, of connection, of learning together, were central to who he was and how he lived.

All of us gathered here, all of us who have had the privilege of sharing some piece of our journey, walking some portion of the road of life with the remarkable human being who was Eliot Field, have benefited from his wisdom and grace. Whether it was because he taught us some scientific fact, helped us out of a sticky legal situation, invited us to marvel at the splendor of creation, or inspired us to be more graceful and pay more attention in the present moment. 

He has left us a multifaceted legacy. You can find his name in legal briefs and court cases. His influence in improved processes and more compassionate, rational municipal governments. In the speed of Jesse’s backhand. In the napkins and first aid kit in my car. In the fact that all his grandchildren know how to ski and hit a tennis ball. In the fact that meals on that Dresden hilltop still stop so we can all stand in awe as the sun sinks slowly behind the White Mountains. We will remember him in so many actions and places. Perhaps most of all, though, we will remember and honor him in how we are in the world. When we hold on to the lessons of the Road to Emmaus and all the meals and conversations we have shared. When we slow down and pay attention. When we trust that hope is real and love always has the last word. When our first reactions are patience, grace, and good humor. When we look for the holy in the midst of the ordinary. 

Whenever you have one of those moments in the days and weeks and years ahead. I hope you will pause. I hope you will remember. I hope you will smile. And I hope you feel that my Dad is smiling right there with you. Amen. 

Eliot Field 1947-2022

Eliot Field died at home on the hilltop he loved, on May 26th, 2022. He was, and will always be, beloved for his sense of wonder. He inspired all those who knew and loved him to pay attention to the present moment to the miracles of life - from the way a cut heals, to the ability to climb a mountain, to the beautiful colors of a sunset, to the way a piece of music can transport us, to the simple joy of a conversation. 

He was born in New York City in 1947, the second child of Charles Walker Field and Anne Eliot Field (Hiatt). He grew up on the banks of the Hudson River on the Palisades, in a house designed by his father. The Field family was known for tennis prowess and their parties; even childhood birthday parties involved parades. 

Eliot always felt at home in the splendor of creation, mountains especially. He found much joy and lifelong friendships in his years at Colorado College. Following his graduation, he spent a year teaching before going to law school. He graduated from the Boston University School of Law in 1973. While there, he met the love of his life, Taffy. They married in December of 1973. Eliot began his legal career in the Maine Attorney General’s office. One day on his commute between Wiscasset and Augusta, he drove up Blinn Hill Road in Dresden. Captivated by the view from that hilltop, he and Taffy were determined to move there. Following training at The Shelter Institute, they built a passive solar home that stood for 40 years. Then the wonderful Hennins built a new post and beam house for them with a few more modern conveniences. 

In the early 1980s, Eliot moved into private legal practice in Wiscasset, first with Soule, Soule, and Logan, and then into solo practice until he retired. He took the “counselor” part of “Attorney and Counselor at Law” very seriously. He was widely respected and valued in the midcoast community for his careful, diligent, and compassionate work. His practice focused mainly on real estate and municipal law. He served as the lawyer for multiple towns over the course of his career. He also shared his legal expertise, his knowledge of nonprofit governance, and his passion for teaching through long stints of volunteer work with Maine Audubon, the Morris Farm, The Episcopal Church (particularly St. John’s in Dresden; St. Philips in Wiscasset; and the Cathedral of St. Luke in Portland). 

When he was not dictating letters or legal briefs, he could generally be found outside somewhere. His endless patience and love of all things athletic combined to make him a teacher and coach for his children, Jesse (born 1976) and Molly (born 1980), particularly on tennis courts, ski slopes, and soccer fields. He also shared his passions with many nieces and nephews and many friends. His athletic aptitude meant that he won the Dresden Open Mixed Doubles tournament on an annual basis, but the championship trophy always went to his mother, Nancy, for teaching him everything he knew.

He loved travel and outdoor adventure. He climbed the Grand Teton three times. Rafted down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon four times. His passion for photography has left an enormous number of photos, slides, and super 8 movies of these and countless other adventures. Even in recent years when Parkinson’s Disease limited his physical mobility, his spirit of adventure and joy for life remained undiminished. He navigated the challenges of the disease with characteristic grace and good humor. To the end of his earthly pilgrimage, he continued to inspire those around him to be present to the beauty of each moment, and never to take the gifts of life for granted. His beloved family and friends will carry that inspiration with them for years to come. 

He was predeceased by his parents, his step-father, Robert Hiatt, and his brother Sam. He is survived by his wife, his children and their families; his sisters - Cally, Rebecca, and Rosamond - and a gaggle of beloved nieces, nephews, and cousins. 

A memorial service will be held at St  Luke's at 10am on Friday, May 27th. The bulletin is here. The livestream is available here: https://video.ibm.com/channel/Ev3GjBysEwX

Funeral arrangements were made by Daigle in Bath.  In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to: Michael J. Fox Foundation and CHANS Hospice. 

All will be well. Really.

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban's, Simsbury, CT

Psalm 23; Acts 9:36-43; Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30

Julian of Norwich, May 8, 2022

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Good morning all. It is good to be back with you in person. Happy Easter. I am so grateful that Easter is a whole season. It is not just a day. We get to spend fifty days celebrating the truths at the center of our faith - that hope is real, new life is always possible, and love is stronger than anything, even death. 

In addition to being the fourth Sunday of Easter, it is also the feast day of Julian of Norwich. For me, that makes it a day when I get to visit with an old friend. Julian is one of the five thinkers about whom I wrote in my doctoral dissertation. So, she is indeed an old friend who just about lived with me for years!

Given how much I value her wisdom and insight, I could probably come up with reasons why her message was relevant any day of the year. And yet I think she has some particularly important messages for us as the people of faith in the midst of all that is going on in our lives and world right now. Here we are, more than two years into a global pandemic. The realities of war, poverty, natural disasters, gun violence, racism, and all the forms of oppression that keep us from realizing the kingdom of God here on earth, are ever present in our headlines and our communities. Not to mention whatever challenges we are all dealing with in our own families and relationships. It is enough to leave us feeling exhausted and even despondent at times. I would imagine all of us have had moments or even days where all the challenges of the present time feel overwhelming. This is why I am so grateful for the Easter season, for Psalm 23, and our readings today. Together with the life and writings of Julian of Norwich, they ground us in our faith and provide a sure foundation for our hope. They all affirm for us that we are never alone in the midst of challenges and that the love of God is stronger than everything else. What I love about our readings today and about the life and writings of Julian is that they offer a hope that is grounded in experience. They do not offer rose colored glasses or just blithely assure us all will be well. They acknowledge the reality of the valley of the shadow of death and remind us that God is leading us out of that valley. We can look ahead with hope. 

Just in case you don’t know much about the life or times of Julian, let me give you a brief synopsis. Her name “Julian” is taken from St. Julian's Church in Norwich where she lived as an anchorite for many years. An anchorite is someone who lives a solitary existence in a cell attached to a church. They have a window into the Church to watch mass being celebrated and a window through which they can serve as a counselor to the people of the world, but they do not generally leave their cell. She lived like that for decades! Don't I wish I could have called her up when we all went into lockdown in 2020 to learn how you live well in circumstances like that.

Julian was born in the late 1300s and died in the mid 1400s. She lived through the Black Death, a plague that came multiple times in the 14th century and took approximately 40% of the population. Hear that again - 40% of the population. She would be marveling at all the advances of modern medicine and how many people are surviving and recovering from the virus. Recent reports from the WHO put the mortality rate for COVID worldwide is about 18%. 

Julian is famous for her writings. It was a rare thing in the 1400s for a woman to be able to read and write, but Julian was definitely a scholar who knew her Scripture and the theology of her day well. She had a series of visions during an illness which she then spent many years reflecting on and writing about. Her writings are collected in a text known as Revelations of Divine Love.

If she is known in popular culture at all, she is known for her saying, “All will be well. All will be well. And all manner of things shall be well.” Taken out of context this can seem like a pollyanna statement that seems to completely disregard the realities of the present moment. But Julian was not oblivious to the realities of pain and suffering. She knew them well in her own life, and in the lives of the people who came to her for counsel and advice. 

Julian lived in a time where, as scholar Barbara Tuchman notes, “death was to be met any day, around any corner.” The fragility and sacredness of life was a truth she knew all too well. Suffering and hardship were an expected part of daily life. Her conviction that all will be well is a deeply meaningful one, precisely because it is a statement of deep faith and hope born out of a daily life where things rarely went well. It is a statement that believes there is more to life than what we can see in the present moment. It is a belief that tomorrow can and will be different than today. It is a belief that there is always the possibility of more, the possibility for new life, for transformation, even in the midst of our darkest moments. 

Julian lived and wrote a theology that is also beautifully articulated in the 23rd Psalm. It is the steadfast belief that no matter what shadows we may have encountered, no matter how we are struggling through the valleys of life, we can trust that we never walk alone and that the valley is not our destination. There will be rest and still waters. There will be a feast spread before us. Our cup indeed overflows. And it's important to note that neither the Psalm nor Julian would say that feast, that rest, are only found in the next life. Remember it says that God spreads out a table in the presence of our enemies. There is hope and much joy to be found even in the midst of whatever struggles we face. 

That bit about rest and care for our bodies is key. Reading the writing of Cole Arthur Riley has helped me to better understand the connection between rest and salvation. She notes that in Scripture the two are often connected, as they are in our Psalm or in that familiar prayer, "in returning and rest we shall be saved." Riley writes, "What a peculiar answer to the valley of the shadow of death. You might expect God's response to be to have people rise, to empower them to fight. But God's answer is unapologetic care for the body. The deepest yet most neglected of needs." (This Here Flesh, 147). And she goes on to say, "Yet when we invite people into spirituality, too often rest is reduced to an inner posture someone should adopt while exhausting their body. And she cautions us, "If the 'salvation' you have been promised requires you to do and say more, you can be rightly suspicious of it." (148)

I don't think we necessarily need to go to the extreme of becoming an anchorite like Julian. We don't need to spend our lives separated from the world. No doubt, though, we could all use a little more rest. I don't necessarily mean sleep, although that certainly counts. We need the rest that restores our souls. The rest that grounds us in the truth of God's presence and reminds us that all will be well, even if it isn't today. 

So in this Easter season, when the days are lengthening and creation is bursting forth with beauty, when we are surrounded by messages that say we need to do more and have more, we can pause and renew those practices that restore our souls. Maybe it's time outside, maybe it's conversation with a friend, maybe it is opting to sit down and savor a cup of coffee or a meal instead of eating standing up in our kitchen or while we drive. Maybe it's a new book or an art project. Maybe it's just taking a few minutes each day to be, to reflect with gratitude on the gifts of our surroundings and our companions on the way. Whatever it is for you, I hope you will find ways to rest and restore your soul in the weeks ahead.

And may those moments of rest ground you in Julian's conviction that All shall be well. No matter what today or this week or next week bring, we can hold fast to that beautiful truth. All shall be well. Amen.

Reflections on feasting and fasting

                                                   

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Shrove Tuesday Homily

DFMS Noonday Prayer

March 1, 2022

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

So my friends, it is Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. A day for pancakes or beignets or some sort of feasting. A day for eating way more sugary deliciousness than we might normally eat. All in preparation for the beginning of Lent. Quick let’s get all our gluttony in befor our fasting in the season of Lent or at least on Ash Wednesday.

Here's the thing, friends, I am not good at fasting. I am sure it comes as no surprise that the priest who loves to bake cookies and always has a basket of snacks in her office doesn't like fasting. Intellectually I get it. It seems like a great way to cleanse your body and to focus on God, on all things spiritual. But here's my difficulty, as everyone who has ever taken a trip with me can attest, I am less fun to be around if I don't eat regularly. I get tired and cranky. I don't feel good, and I usually end up with a headache. And since I get enough of those because my left shoulder is missing a bone, it all conspires to have fasting be a pretty unpleasant experience. And I am pretty sure that is not what God intended. 

Jesus came that we might have life abundant. Not misery abundant. Now, of course, some of you may find fasting to be a glorious way to deepen your relationship with God. That is wonderful! I hope you fast as often as is meaningful to you, whether it's Lent or not. 

I just think it's important for those of us for whom fasting is not an enriching experience are reassured that we are not lesser Christians nor have we failed at Lent before it's even started. Nor do I think that not fasting tomorrow means there can be no feasting either. I think feasting (in moderation) is good for our souls. And I don't just mean eating more fat and sugar than we usually do. Occasionally, a special dessert or an extra cookie might just be the thing. Most of the time though, I think feasting doesn't need to be about overconsumption of food. I think it is about the quality of what we eat, how it nourishes our bodies and souls, and how good it feels to savor a delicious meal.

I also think that it is important to remember that our feasting and fasting don’t necessarily even have to be about food. Many of us have complicated relationships with food or medical realities that dictate what we can and cannot eat. Many years ago a colleague shared a wonderful quote from Presiding Bishop Arthur Lichtenburger (and if his name seems familiar, it’s because its on the wall in the lobby of 815). He was Presiding Bishop when it was built. He invites us to:

“Fast from criticism and feast on praise; 

Fast from self-pity, and feast on joy; 

Fast from ill temper, and feast on peace;  

Fast from resentment, and feast on contentment; 

Fast from jealousy, and feast on humility; 

Fast from pride and feast on love; 

Fast from selfishness, and feast on service; 

Fast from fear, and feast on faith.”

Indeed. Our feasting and fasting do not have to be about what we eat. They can be about the disposition and habits of our hearts. I think especially this year, when we are exhausted and stressed when the world seems to be either on the brink of descending into chaos or the brink of returning to some kind of normalcy depending on the day or hour or who are talking to or which news outlets you follow. And given all the supply chain issues, it is probably best if our feasting  is not contingent on what what we can find on our grocery shelves. 

So in the days and weeks ahead, I hope there is plenty of feasting, even though it will be Lent. I hope we all keep finding moments and practices that deepen our faith, fill us with peace, and help us to remember that we are surrounded by love. Today and always. Amen. 

 

Words that Build Up

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer 

February 9, 2022

1 Kings 10:1-10; Psalm 37:1-7, 32-33, 41-42; Mark 7:14-23

May God's word be spoken, May God's Word be heard, and May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 
‘Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.’*

And just in case we are not clear on that, Jesus goes on to offer a list: “For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly.”

Rather than focusing on the letter of laws about what someone could and could not eat, Jesus wants his followers to think about the bigger picture – to think about the message that is behind these laws.  To think about what it is that brings pain and defilement into our lives.  He turns the question of what one should eat on its head by focusing not on what goes into our mouths but on what comes out.  

There is a little rhyming saying I learned as a child, that I am sure many of you did as well.  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”  That may sound like a harmless saying when we are little, and even in preschool, we likely already knew that it is not at all accurate.  Words can hurt.  Words can do a great deal of damage.  This is what Jesus is getting at in today's Gospel.  Being his follower is not only about what we do, about how we behave, about how we live our lives.  It is also very much about what we say.  What comes out of our mouths has the power to build up and the power to destroy.  

Words are essential to our Anglican identity.  We are people of the “books” – the Bible and the Prayer Book.  Think of the familiar words of favorite Bible passages, psalms and prayers.  The comfort and solace they can provide.  And the ways in which our faith is built up and stretched by a newly discovered passage or prayer.  Words play a very important role in our faith life.

Words are also a part of our identity as beings created in the image of God.  Think about the opening chapter of Genesis.  Creation happens through speaking.  “And God said, 'Let there be light . . .”  “And God said . . .”  Creation happens because of what God says.  Or think of the opening of the Gospel of John, “In the beginning was the WORD . . .”  Words are foundational to our identity as God's children.  They have tremendous creative power.  We know this first hand.  Think of the ways that stories you hear and ideas others shared, have opened new realities in your life.  A new business, a new relationship, a new project – they all begin with a conversation.  Great achievements owe their existence to conversations, to idea sharing, to encouraging words. 

They need not be long, eloquent addresses.  Simple sentences can mean a great deal.  “I love you.”  “I am proud of you.”  “I believe in you.”  Hearing these statements from someone we care about and respect can make all the difference in the world.  

Equally powerful are their negative counterparts.  “I hate you.”  “I am disappointed in you.”  “I can't trust you anymore.”  These simple sentences can do great damage.  They are the words that can break our hearts and deflate our spirits in an instant.

In today's Gospel, Jesus does not let us forget that we have the power to destroy.  Simple words can tear the fabric of a life.  We are called as his followers to avoid the temptation to sin with our words.  To avoid the temptation of power.  To avoid the temptation to bring another person down just because we can or just because we feel mad at the world. 

We are called to be a people who pay attention not only to what goes into our bodies, but also what comes out.  To be aware of the great power we possess as his followers, as children of God.  We have the power to build up.  To create.  As Jesus gained followers and spread his message, as he healed and taught with words, so too can we build up the kingdom of God with our words.  We can use our words to build each other up.  To counter the forces of evil in the world.  To repair and redeem broken relationships.  To share the Good News with those who are hungry to hear it. To remind people that they are beloved of God. 

To be a follower of Christ is to use our power for good.  It is to use our words to be a creative, uplifting presence in the world.  We are called to follow our Lord in the path of righteousness, to build up the kingdom of God with our actions, and our words.

AMEN. 

Reflections on Baptism, Judgment, and Hope

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Grace, Hartford, CT

Baptism of our Lord, January 9, 2022

Psalm 29; Isaiah 43:1-7; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard, and may that point us to the Living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” These lines from our first reading from Isaiah are heartening and comforting in the midst of all the challenges we are facing - in our own lives, in our community, and in the world. Rising case numbers - practically everyone we know is ill, quarantining because of an exposure or recovering from COVID. There are real worries about whether essential services will continue to be available in the days ahead with so many people out sick. And then there are all the systemic issues that we were already facing as a world before this current surge - climate change, poverty, injustice, systemic racism . . . the list goes on. 

I would really like to just stop right there in that passage and hold on to those affirmations. The rivers will not overwhelm us. The flames will not consume us. I need those truths because there are moments, and there are days when it feels overwhelming. How can we possibly deal with one more thing, one more challenge, when we are already exhausted from the last two years?

I was doing okay, until I got to the Gospel. At first I am thinking, Feast Baptism of our Lord, that’s good. Always good to be reminded of our baptism. Always good to be reminded that just like Jesus, we are beloved of God. Goes well with our passage from Isaiah, an affirmation of God’s love and care for us. And then we get this line: “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” And I want to start arguing with God with the author of Luke, with our Lectionary Committee, with whoever might listen.

Wait a minute! What is this bit about unquenchable fire and judgment in the midst of a happy story about Jesus baptism? Lines about fire and judgment make me nervous. As many of you know, I consider myself a recovering perfectionist. I take my mistakes, my errors, my sins very seriously - a bit too seriously most of the time. I don’t find passages like this helpful because they feed my perfectionist tendencies . . . after reading a passage like this my perfectionist self can say “See! It does matter how you behave! Watch out, you better be the wheat or else!” NOT HELPFUL! I am quite capable of giving myself a good guilt trip without adding on the fear of judgment and fire and punishment. 

I have often struggled with the theme of judgment and punishment in our Scriptures. Especially since the passages seem to show up right alongside times of joy and hope. Advent is quite a mix of joyful expectation and stories of judgment. It is tempting to just focus on the comforting parts, like those lines from Isiah, but the questions of judgment and punishment are right there in the Gospel, and I believe in facing my fears, so I can’t just let them slide by. 

Shortly after 9/11 I read a book of essays by Eugene Kennedy that helped me think about these passages of judgment differently. As you likely remember there was lots of talk of judgment in the days and weeks following 9/11 - who was to blame? who was now burning in hell for their sins? But Kennedy says that we have got it all wrong if we think that the wheat or the fruitful trees are one set of people and the chaff or the unfruitful trees are another. 

Kennedy writes of those who died on 9-11: “Their voices, taken from phone calls and emails and the recollections of friends, blend now into one message, one voice like a canyon echo coming back to us out of the ruins: ‘I love you,’ said in a thousand ways the true harvest of these good people’s lives. The good grain so overflowed that it covered over the patches of human stubble in their lives . . . They defined themselves and what life and faith are all about in the commitment to the relationships in their lives.”  When we look at all those people from all sorts of walks of life - a real cross section of humanity - who perished on that day, we should see the good - the overwhelming good in them, for as Kennedy goes on to say, that is what ultimately matters to God.  Kennedy writes, “What is good and bad in us grows together. On judgment day, God harvests only what is good in us, for that is what is eternal, and ignores the weeds that belong to time.” 

Reading these words lifts a weight from my shoulders. They comfort me because they remind me that God can see the big picture - and God pays much more attention to who we are and how we live a life of love - than to the times we messed up. They also give me a much more hopeful picture of Judgment Day. I have always struggled with the idea that God sends people to hell as a punishment. The image Kennedy offers fits more with the understanding of judgment that I have developed over the years, with thanks to theologians like Julian of Norwich, C.S. Lewis, and Rowan Williams. While there may be a moment of reckoning, a moment of cleansing when we come face to face with God at the end of our lives, we need not fear it. God is not some arbitrary judge. God is the God we know and love. God is loving and merciful - ALWAYS. Hell is not eternal damnation for our sins; hell is a choice we make. God is always reaching out to us, always offering mercy. Always willing to remind us that we are beloved - just as we are. We are beloved because we belong to God. And God has given us free will, so we have the option to accept that mercy or to reject it. If we choose to turn our back on God, then we will know hell, for hell is the only place where God is not. 

In the end, there actually is solace and hope for us in all our readings today. We can trust that the fire will not consume us, nor will the river overwhelm us. Rather they will merely take away that which does not serve us. That which does not serve God. That which is not eternal. We can indeed trust in the truths of our faith. The beautiful truth we celebrate this day is that we are beloved of God. God is with us. Always. May moments of struggle or challenge or tragedy never blind us to all the good there is in the world, and in each of us. May we always remember that the good, the light, the beauty will last, for our faith affirms again and again that nothing in this world is stronger than the love of God. 

AMEN.