All photos by the author.

Sacred self-care is a vital act of resistance and the baseline fuel required for sustainable social justice and mercy work. In the context of Chautauqua Institution – which famously blends the four pillars of arts, education, religion and recreation – sustaining the spirit for heavy caring and activist work is a prominent recurring theme. Treating our bodies with daily reverence is not selfish; rather, failing to care for ourselves inadvertently serves the very systems of oppression we try to dismantle.

Justice work demands endurance, and the “Chautauqua spirit” offers a structural blueprint for building holistic self-care strength.

In justice frameworks, self-care is often weaponized by commercial marketing as a luxury product. True sacred self-care, as highlighted in Chautauqua’s faith and justice forums, refocuses on basic, non-negotiable bodily stewardship. This can be achieved in the following ways.

First, we must honor the vessel. We must embrace the body as a divine gift rather than wearing it down to the point of collapse for the sake of ministry.

Next, we should reject internal violence. Burnout and self-neglect mirror the harshness of the outside world, whereas self-compassion models the world we want to build.

Finally, we need to respect the Good Samaritan boundary. The Gospel story shows the Samaritan cared deeply for a wounded stranger but continued on his own journey. Justice work requires recognizing that you cannot sacrifice your entire livelihood for a single crisis.

To actualize this aspiration, we can implement a “Self-Care Rule of Life”. A primary strategy taught by Chautauqua leaders to build strength is creating a structured Self-Care Rule of Life. This means treating personal health with the same professional accountability as a justice campaign.

The first tenet in this rule of life is to recognize our physical rhythms. We should schedule exact targets for exercise, stretching, sleep, and proper nutrition.

We must also establish mental boundaries. We can set aside specific times to protect moments of mindfulness, meditation and quietude.

We should also be mindful that it is important to carve out explicit, locked-in time to spend with family and friends away from the trauma of public advocacy.

The last aspect of our rule of life should be having the ability to say no. We must set strict boundaries around our calendars to protect our emotional and financial margins.

A person who recognized the importance of these principles was James Fenton. He was a prominent Buffalo businessman. At some point, his wife Aurilla, and mother, Sarah, became ill. Methodist deaconesses were there to provide the care that they needed. To thank them, James had a home built on the grounds of Chautauqua Institution. He recognized that there was a need have a place where Deaconesses, and later Home Missioners as well, could tend to their self-care and build strength to continue in their missions.

In addition to a place to stay he also endowed funds that would provide Deaconesses and Home Missioners no-cost access to Chautauqua for up to two weeks every year. Mr. Fenton knew that Chautauqua would be the perfect place for this because it was designed for this from the very beginning.

Chautauqua was founded in 1874 as a place to train Sunday School teachers. Bishop Vincent and Louis Miller had discerned a need to provide for them a rigorous education but also a place to gain strength needed for the task of weekly education of children.

The Chautauqua Movement helped pioneer the concept of complete, multi-dimensional human development. Activists can utilize its four core pillars to replenish their internal reserves. These pillars are arts, education, religion, and recreation.

The first pillar is the arts. At Chautauqua one engages with music, theater, and visual arts to process the deep emotional grief and anger caused by witnessing systemic injustice.

The second pillar is education. Visitors to Chautauqua participate in regular, lifelong learning to keep the mind sharp, curious, and grounded in strategic history.

Next comes religion. At Chautauqua one can lean into community worship, interfaith dialogue, or quiet meditation to remember that the work is a collective effort, not a solitary burden.

The final pillar is recreation. Chautauqua provides an opportunity to actively step away from the “culture of NOW” to rest in nature, participate in sports, hike, or rest, allowing the central nervous system to reset.

A week or two spent at Chautauqua will do wonders to rejuvenate your body and soul for doing the continuing work of your ministry. Be on the lookout for a link in the newsletter where you can register for one or two weeks during the 2027 season.

About the author: Mark Hrabe is a Home Missioner in the Ohio Conference. A resident of Warren, Ohio, he is the chair of the East Ohio MFSA Resolutions Committee and a member of the MFSA Program Council. In his spare time Mark enjoys gardening, woodworking, and along with his wife, retired Deaconess Marjie, being entertained by their 2 rescue Dachshunds.

In Jesus’ second commandment humans and neighbors are urged to love one another. Similarly, Paul reminds us: “Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interest of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 2:4-5). The concept of neighbor has expanded during my spiritual journey, accompanied by needed reminders of their interests. As a child, my neighborhood grew as I grew, with dads working in schools, stores and offices and moms working in homes, gardens and orchards. Moms met in a coffee klatch and pulled us kids into gardening and harvesting tasks, where we learned the wonder of seeds and plants. We played in one another’s homes and yards, in the neighbor’s empty lot and explored the ‘crick’ that ran behind their house and down to the city park and beyond. Caution for neighbors’ things dominated indoor play, but outdoor play was wonder-laden with things to see, hear, touch, smell and taste.

I was also learning Jesus’ parables and applying them to neighbors. I especially liked those involving nature, for example Jesus’ Parable of the Sower in Matthew 13:1-9 and 18-23 which spoke to me early, as we planted seeds in various soils and I applied it to church members and neighbors. The seeds on the path were the ‘big fat businessmen’ who shooed us ‘kids’ away from things we might harm. I complained to Dad about them as hypocrites and learned about their roles as trustees, which I have since come to respect! The seeds on rocky places were the family who only occasionally came to church. The seeds among the thorns couldn’t be us as we were not distracted by chasing money; it was post-depression and WWII rationing. However, I learned that daily busyness distracts me from discipleship tasks involving the interest of others and I need awareness reminders, now part of the controversial ‘woke.’

While at home mom and dad reminded me, but later many well-meaning thoughts came and went, until one incident raised stronger awareness. It began as I was discussing the earlier sunsets with a Sunday breakfast hillside ‘camper,’ one of several homeless folks kicked out of the Cincinnati downtown riverfront area and now camping on the hill along the highway that runs through Lower Price Hill. He needed better light and I recalled that at the last clothing sale we had a glass oil lamp no one bought. I relayed the story to Sister Winnie at EarthConnection and she encouraged me to go over to the Motherhouse attic storage and get the lamp. I kept forgetting and was humbled by how something so salient on Sundays could disappear from my mind during the week. Winnie went over to the attic and brought the lamp to EarthConnection. It was a glass lamp with a tall chimney and yes, as I walked out the doorway with the lamp, the chimney toppled out of its thin metal supports and shattered all over the entryway. Tedious sweeping and wiping were conducted while bemoaning carelessness, when Winnie said: “Wait, I think I have another chimney!” She found it in a few minutes, and we wrapped the parts with lots of paper! On Sunday, during breakfast clean-up, feeling sheepish and greatly relieved, I unwrapped and assembled the lamp. Our camp-member took it in his hands, looked it over, and immediately put it on the counter: “Do you have a box?” I found a box, and as we re-wrapped the lamp parts, I shared my breakage story. He nodded and we laughed at our shared clumsiness. I camped in the summers and knew how important light is for chores and ‘things that go bump in the night.’ On and off switches have since become reminders of neighbors with less.

In our modern global economy, we especially need reminders of our far-off neighbors and their interests. The global economy that supplies so many daily needs also surrounds us with potential awareness reminders of far-off neighbors. Our daily tasks of living and working involves items from far-off neighbors, as well as some grown and made by closer neighbors. If we eat tomatoes from our neighbor’s garden, we name and thank them in table grace. However, we are unaware of our far-off neighbors, as well as their lives and interests. One of our discipleship tasks is to learn about our far-off neighbors, their interests and the interests we all have in common, including the interests of the far-off lands and waters that help grow many of our foods.

On our border Service Learning trips, we stayed with residents on both sides of the border, who mostly came from internal Mexico and Central America. Their stories of escaping poverty and violence stay with me, as well as their arduous treks to better futures. Some, who had crossed but were not yet documented, shared stories of failing to be paid while working in the United States. Some employers threaten deportation instead of adequate pay. During a reflection about these stories, I recalled a women’s workshop from years past that sensitized us to our ‘neighbors far-away’ by reading the country of origin in on the tags of our clothes. I taught courses that covered the economy of the countries south of us and realized that we rely on many foods that are grown there: seafoods, sugar, bananas, berries, melons, pineapples, vegetables, fruit juices and coffee. Our mealtime blessings often include phrases such as “and the people who prepare our food,” usually thinking of those in the kitchen, or nearby farmers and food-workers. We can broaden our awareness of neighbors to those who grown and prepare our food far away. As we eat these foods, we can see them as reminders, can imagine the families who helped raise, pick and prepare our food for shipping, pray for them, learn about their interests and challenges, donate to ministries that help them, understand some of their long treks to better conditions, and welcome some as closer neighbors.

These foods from abroad also remind us of these neighbors’ lands, more of God’s sustaining creation. Our own interests are not only connected to the interests of these far-off neighbors, but also to the interests of the land and waters they work. We all live as part of this diverse interdependent world and earth, but do we see it that way? We need languages from science, spirituality and indigenous peoples to focus on the gifts and interests of all God’s creation as ultimately our shared interest. An eco-spiritual world view enables us to see all humans and all the earth as God-given interdependent neighbors to be loved and sustained. Nature teems with reminders of the breadth of the covenant in Genesis 9:16: “… all living creatures of every kind on earth” with whom God makes the rainbow covenant. The rainbow can also remind us of God’s broad covenant with creation that sustains us, which subsequently reminds us of the breadth of God’s love and creativity, as well as the stewarding and sustaining tasks God asks us to join.

About the Author, Kay Clifton

I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in a mostly Methodist cocoon, family, friends and church, then went to Iowa Wesleyan College in the late 1950’s. After changing my major every semester, I finally graduated with a Sociology major and went to the University of Iowa for higher degrees in the 60’s. There, I also dabbled around but did eventually earn a master’s and a Ph.D. in Sociology. I was later to add an MSW and a Masters in Religious Studies and Pastoral Care. I cannot stop learning!

I worked at Illinois State University, earned tenure and promotion to Associate Professor when I realized that I missed the ‘God talk’ so prevalent at religious colleges. I secured a position at the College of Mt St Joseph in Cincinnati, Ohio, a Sister of Charity college. Within a year I realized they were teaching me how to live my Methodism in daily life, upon which I entered a period of discernment. In the midst of not finding a satisfactory ‘call,’ one afternoon while looking up program ideas for our local UMW, I googled Deaconess, even though our paster thought the program had died out. I found the still kicking program with applications on-line. Later I also studied to be an Associate of the Sisters.

After a few years of scrutiny and study, I became a Deaconess with my assignment the position at the college plus occasional additions, such as pastoring at an inner-city Appalachian church. I had begun to collaborate with the Department of Religion in our development of service-learning courses in the Cincinnati area, Appalachian Work Fest, Cherokee, N.C. and the US -Mexico border. As a Deaconess I also served as a hostess at the Deaconess House at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. I mostly retired from the college in 2008 (formally from Deaconess in 2017) and came to Illinois, where I joined UMW, now UWF. I have been a District VP and President and am now Conference Spiritual Coordinator.

But he answered them, You give them something to eat.

— Mark 6:37

There are some passages of Scripture that seem to reveal new depths every time we return to them. We may know the story by heart, yet the Holy Spirit continues to uncover fresh invitations for our lives. For me, Mark 6:37 has become one of those passages.

For those of us called as Deaconesses and Home Missioners, these words are more than a Gospel story. They are a way of understanding vocation. Throughout our lives, Christ has invited us to respond to human need with compassionate service and courageous love. And, perhaps these familiar words still have something new to teach us.

When we hear Jesus say, “You give them something to eat,” our minds often go immediately to the miracle of the loaves and fishes. We picture a hungry crowd, five loaves, two fish, and an astonishing act of abundance. We know Jesus was inviting the disciples into something much deeper than simply feeding empty stomachs.

Throughout Scripture, God is concerned with the whole person: mind, body and spirit. Food nourishes the body, but dignity nourishes the spirit. Safe water, meaningful work, health, education, loving relationships, and faith all sustain life. Feeding people has always been about more than bread.

Today we often use another phrase for this kind of ministry: community development. At its heart, community development is not about doing things for people. It is about walking alongside people as they discover and build upon the gifts God has already placed within them. It is creating opportunities for individuals, families, and communities to flourish. In many ways, this is one contemporary way Christians seek to live out Jesus’s command: You give them something to eat.

Since July 2025, my husband, Patrick, and I have served as Global Missionaries in Mexico with a ministry called Give Ye Them To Eat (GYTTE). For us, those words from Mark 6:37 have become much more than the name of an organization. They have become a way of understanding God’s work in the world. Sometimes “feeding” means sharing a meal. Other times it means strengthening community health, improving access to clean water, supporting sustainable agriculture, empowering women with educational opportunities, or sitting long enough to hear another person’s story. Over this past year, the words of Jesus have taken on a richer and more profound meaning for me.

If you’ve watched The Chosen, you may remember the scene where Jesus tells the disciples, “You feed them.”

You can almost see the panic spread across their faces. They begin counting coins, estimating costs, and explaining why the situation is impossible. Their reaction feels remarkably familiar because it is often our reaction as well, especially for those of us who work with social justice and nonprofits. Faced with overwhelming need, we instinctively focus on what we lack—time, resources, energy, experience, or ability.

Jesus never asks the disciples whether they have enough. He simply asks them to offer what they have. Perhaps that is one of the great questions of discipleship. Not, “What are you missing?” but, “What has God already entrusted to you?”

Jesus could have fed the crowd without the disciples. Instead, He chose to invite them into the miracle. Before anything was multiplied, they first had to place what little they possessed into His hands. The miracle flowed through ordinary people who were willing to participate. God’s work has often been accomplished this way—not because God needs us, but because God delights in inviting us to become partners in bringing healing, hope, and wholeness to the world.

Mission work has taught me that generosity and sharing is only the beginning. The deeper invitation is presence.

It is slowing down long enough to truly see another person, listening before speaking, learning before leading, and recognizing that Christ is already at work long before we arrive. Walking alongside people has changed the way I understand service. Rather than asking, “How can I solve this problem?”; I am learning to ask, “How is God already at work here, and how might I faithfully participate?”

It has also led me to wonder about those who received the bread. How did it feel to have someone kneel beside them instead of simply passing them by? How did it feel to be seen instead of overlooked, to be treated with dignity instead of pity? How did it feel to receive not only food but also the assurance that they mattered?

Perhaps this is why Jesus involved the disciples. Not because He needed help multiplying bread, but because they needed to discover that every act of compassion changes both the one who gives and the one who receives. In God’s kingdom, we are rarely able to say with certainty who received the greater gift. More often, it is about showing up with open hands, willing hearts, and trusting that Christ can multiply whatever we are able to offer.

That is still the invitation today. “You give them something to eat.” What do you have? What has Christ placed in your hands for this season of your life? And who is Christ inviting you not simply to serve, but to know, to learn from, and to walk beside?

My prayer is that you will discover that this passage is not simply the story of a miraculous meal, but an enduring invitation to participate in Christ’s ongoing work of feeding hungry bodies, nurturing hopeful hearts, building stronger communities, and walking faithfully alongside one another.

I invite you to carry four questions into prayer: What has Christ placed in my hands? Who is Christ inviting me to walk beside? What might Christ want to give me through the people I imagine I am going to serve? How can I live the invitation of Mark 6:37?

Grace and peace,

Kim Lewis

Deaconess and Global Missionary

Give Ye Them To Eat, Puebla, Mexico

About the author: Kim Lewis is a Deaconess and Global Missionary serving with Give Ye Them To Eat in Puebla, Mexico. For more than 30 years, she has dedicated her life to serving marginalized communities through nonprofit leadership, advocacy, and compassionate service. Her calling is to walk alongside others, helping cultivate health, hope, and opportunity while sharing Christ’s love in practical ways. Kim holds an MBA and a Bachelor of Arts from Pepperdine University and is the author of They’ve Always Been Nice to Me. Kim joyfully serves in ministry with her husband, Patrick. They have two daughters and two grandsons.

Photo credit: Scott James-Vickery

After months of being chilled daily by news confirming the worst white supremacist authoritarian predictions in my stack of library books and articles, I had enough information about Christian Nationalism to compose a resolution to bring to the Indiana Annual Conference.

But how to approach the subject? We who value the separation of church and state, who celebrate religious pluralism, and who see Christian Nationalism as the very opposite of Christ’s living message of love for our neighbors, can smell the rat that it is. What are the words that will bring us together as United Methodists against this scourge?

Recently the Presbyterian Church in America voted officially to declare Christian Nationalism a “theological error,” an assessment I agree with wholly (https://pres-outlook.org/2026/07/pcusa-labels-white-christian-nationalism-theological-error/). I also agree with the East Ohio Annual Conference of the UMC that “the philosophy, goals, and values espoused by Christian nationalism are inconsistent with the United States Constitution, and with the history, teachings, and practice of the United Methodist Church, and as such, the advocacy of Christian nationalism is unacceptable in the congregations of the East Ohio Conference” (version submitted, https://www.eocumc.com/eoac26/resolution2026-03.html). Even the Indiana Annual Conference presented a resolution that emphasized how un-Christlike Christian Nationalism is.

Like I said, I agree wholeheartedly that Christian Nationalism is theologically untenable, that it is inconsistent with the U.S. Constitution as well as the UMC, and that it is devoid of the humility and justice for the downtrodden demonstrated in Jesus’s life and teachings. But how to focus these objections for myself? And what approach would galvanize United Methodists, especially Hoosiers?

Sitting at the table with my dad one morning, before getting my mom up, dressed, and through breakfast, I had this epiphany: Christian Nationalism is a social issue as defined in the United Methodist Social Principles. Like every generation’s challenge, there will be naysayers who say it’s not our business whether children work in coal mines, or whether women are allowed to vote, or whether segregation is wrong. And sure enough, when I rose to read part of my resolution in support of the resolution that was brought forth (mine was written hopelessly past the submission deadline), the next person to the microphone was prepared with his point that Christian Nationalism is ‘too political’ and ‘not our business.’

So here it is. I’m taking out the Whereas-es that build points toward an actionable conclusion and making them more readable Sinces and Becauses.

Draft of Resolution Opposing Christian Nationalism to the Indiana Annual Conference, by Deaconess Lisa Miller Maidi

Since the gospel-devoid, anti-democratic patriarchal white supremacist ideology of Christian Nationalism is doing actual damage to disenfranchised individuals via policy reversals and exclusionary proceedings, thus creating a threat to our country’s enshrined freedom of religion,

And since the Indiana conference of the United Methodist Church abides by the 2024 Social Principles that state: “We assert the right of all religions and their adherents to freedom from legal, economic, and social discrimination” (P 162.B), our objection to Christian Nationalism does not overstep the religious freedom of Christian Nationalist devotees, because Christian Nationalism is an ideology that is not unique to one denomination,

And while Christan Nationalism may be associated with a certain political party at this historical moment, its influence pervades the United States, permeating society tacitly as well as deliberately; therefore, our objecting to its pointedly political usage does not betray our United Methodist guidance that restrains churches from affiliating with political parties (Social Principles P163),

Thus, because Christian Nationalism may thus accurately be considered a social issue that both disregards the reconciling grace of God through Christ Jesus in creating an unrecognizably deformed non-Christ-centered idolatry and that subverts the wisdom of the Establishment Clause of the Constitution that explicitly prohibits the establishment of a single state religion. Therefore, we must do as our Social Principles (P163) call us to do: “speak out boldly on social issues from a Gospel perspective”!

Let the Indiana Annual Conference be resolved to address Christian Nationalism in three powerful ways:

I. In order to effectively address this alienating and damaging social issue, we must be aware of what animates it. We must learn its roots in the Gospel-deprioritizing theories of dispensationalism that limit focus on the bible from St. Paul’s institution-building, spiritual-litmus-testing to an apocalyptic, literalist reading of Revelation. We must understand how fundamentalist and stridently evangelical doctrines influenced by theocratic Christian Reconstructionism appeal to fearful people in uncertain economic times. Let the Indiana Annual Conference resolve to sponsor workshops about Christian Nationalism led by experts in this next year;

II. Let us speak out boldly and effectively against Christian Nationalism from a Gospel perspective. Where its devotees have followed uncritically, let us make them aware that the Gospel is the centerpiece of our shared Christian scriptures, and that conflating love for the United States of America with Christian beliefs leads ultimately to religious authoritarianism that would easily use purity tests to eliminate opponents to warfare, non-Christians, immigrants, racial and gender minorities, and finally anyone who disagrees. Where Christian Nationalism directly contaminates our state’s and nation’s policies and laws, let us join our voices with others citing religion-neutral military codes, everyone’s Constitutional rights to the free exercise of religion, and the ‘wall of separation’ that has traditionally democratized the use of funds for education and social programs;

III. Through the transformative power of the Holy Spirit, not in obedience to human law, let us embody God’s love as brought to us through the life, teachings, sacrifice, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. Jesus is neither a triumphalist mascot enjoining us to fresh Crusades nor is he urging us to cower in the supposed security of an imagined white, heterosexual, patriarchal past. As Christ’s disciples, we seek to comprehend the radical humility of Jesus’s parables, to courageously welcome the stranger, and to demonstrate robust compassion to the marginalized in word and action. Let our Christian discipleship lead us to rightfully counteract the dangerous social issue of Christian Nationalism.

About the author: Deaconess Lisa Miller Maidi was consecrated and commissioned in 2024. Although she previously volunteered full time with refugees and poverty amelioration, since she became full-time caretaker of her mother, she is grateful to serve as editor and writer for the Deaconess-Home Missioner Substack. She invites D/HM submissions so that we may build a progressive presence in the church.

A New Testament book is Acts, not Beliefs. My early understanding of Acts was the coming of the Holy Spirit to help us follow Jesus, as well as issues early followers had living into Jesus’ second commandment, i.e. loving new neighbors. My experience with the second commandment is that it is a matter of LEARNING to love all our neighbors, LEARNING about their history, natural history, culture, gifts and interests. LEARNING about God’s diversity, human and natural, as well as our interdependencies is connectional, eco-spiritual.

I realized early that LEARNING to love is an awareness process: I loved learning, but kindergarten did not love me back. I had a friend who also could read whose father was college faculty and we had permission to use the college library. At kindergarten, however, the teacher asked the boy to read aloud to the rest of the class, but I was not allowed to, ‘for my own good’ she said. SOMETHING I LOVED WOULD NOT LET ME BE MYSELF, early ‘empathy training’ before I knew what it was. We took naps in the morning, and I had to nap later with my younger brothers. Mom tells the story of the day I brought my mat home, saying I didn’t need school. Well, I went back and adapted yet pushed limits all my life. Two women in the Bible were early models: the woman who persisted to gain justice for herself from the judge at the gate and the Syrophoenician woman who disagreed with Jesus. They boldly interacted, pushing the limits of their marginal status, and important for me, Jesus treated them with dignity. Much later, I met them and other women in a book, Jesus and Courageous Women by Elsa Tamez. Our local UMW used it and so did two Carmelite missionaries living and teaching in the outskirts of Juarez, Mexico.

Jesus crossed boundaries to meet new neighbors, such as the Samaritan woman at the well and Dad took me to deliver groceries at the state mental institution and ‘on the other side of the tracks.’ I had a Catholic friend, and we talked Sunday school and his grade school education while playing outside: the word Catechism fascinated me. In fifth grade I met a new friend, a Black girl, and we both loved playground sports. Early LEARNING challenged the stereotypes I was hearing about Catholics and Blacks, such as Catholics don’t read the Bible and be wary of Black people. Instead, my spiritual journey has deepened by LEARNING with Catholic Sisters, and my comfort with the Holy Spirit’s presence has solidified while sharing its presence with Black colleagues.

Not everyone has early stereotype-challenging experiences, so their LEARNING about diverse neighbors comes later. Many of our neighbors are different from us socially, religiously and ethnically/culturally. Even when we visit the homes of friends like us, we are the ‘other’ just a little, as they are more familiar with their space and items. This is magnified when we visit neighbors of different social, cultural and ecological contexts. When there, embracing our temporary status as ‘other’ opens our eyes and ears to insights that renew our minds and soften our hearts: windows to LEARNING to love our neighbors – learning our similarities and appreciating our differences. Service and mission trips offer rich opportunities to LEARN to love ‘others.’ We are welcomed as ‘others’ into homes, churches, centers and communities. During the Christian Appalachian World Fest college students use their spring breaks to go to Kentucky and help rehab and build homes. One spring we helped repair a house along a winding road to a mountain-top-removal mine. The blasting and trucks hauling coal had rendered the woman’s house unsafe. One of our students was ill-at-ease and questioned why people would choose to live there; I loved its beauty and bemoaned its destruction – past and present. Our host had invited us in for cocoa and bathroom breaks the first day and showed us her stacks of homemade quilts. Students wanted to buy some, but she said they were not for sale. As the uncomfortable student waned the second day, we suggested she go in and visit. I wished I could have been there, hints of a grandmother’s likeness. On the third day, the weather warmed up, the student experienced an attitude change and helped on the roof, and she also took breaks to go in and visit. On the last day, we spent some of our time saying goodbyes to our hosts, how usually had treats. We were preparing to leave when her ‘mountain-top grandmother’ went into another room, pulled out a quilt, and gave it to her. We all wept. LEARNING to love.

LEARNING to love our neighbor surfaced during COVID with discussions on racism around police killings. Both UWF and Sisters of Charity confronted these challenges with courses; I was asked to help teach a remote course on racism with Sisters and remotely attend our UWF mission u on racism. As we moved along in the Sisters’ course, we held discussions with a few Black Sisters and Associates. Near the end, a former Black sister was willing to talk candidly with us about why she left the order. Most of us anticipated hearing about discrimination; she assured us right away that was not the issue. We had reviewed the new concept of micro-aggression, and as she described her responses to daily interaction, I sank into my chair, as I realized that we whites kept invalidating her. WE WOULD NOT LET HER BE HERSELF. God made the world diverse and interconnected; loving our neighbors means LEARNING of them, their interests and gifts. Unfortunately, awareness has become the controversial ‘woke,’ even though it seems to fly in the face of the very heart of Christianity – to love our neighbor as ourselves. Philippians 2:4-5 goes even further than acquiring awareness of others: “Each of you should look not only to your own interests but to the interest of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Jesus Christ.” Jesus embodied God and the we in me.

LEARNING to love our nature neighbors is equally important. A task at Girl Scout camps was helping homesick campers: I took them for walks where I knew wildflowers grew. We talked about their feelings but also flowers, maybe an insect. Their homesick thoughts were exchanged for flower talk, perhaps a metaphor for replacing our modern obsession with material ownership. Today, wellness and soul care advocates expound on the physical, mental and spiritual benefits of time in nature: awareness of the sacred, empathy, curiosity, humbleness, patience, and optimism. Added to this is LEARNING the richness of nature resources and the functions of nature, such as trees as carbon sinks, wetlands as water purifiers and flood control, insects as pollinators, etc.

Jesus tells us to love our neighbors. Who are our neighbors? Certainly, all humans are our neighbors; eco-spirituality expands our circle of neighbors and love in action to all God’s creation, nature’s beings and processes. Discipleship is also LEARNING about them as God’s creation – with the help of our outdoor education, science, indigenous knowledge and more interaction with nature.

About the Author, Kay Clifton

I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in a mostly Methodist cocoon, family, friends and church, then went to Iowa Wesleyan College in the late 1950’s. After changing my major every semester, I finally graduated with a Sociology major and went to the University of Iowa for higher degrees in the 60’s. There, I also dabbled around but did eventually earn a master’s and a Ph.D. in Sociology. I was later to add an MSW and a Masters in Religious Studies and Pastoral Care. I cannot stop learning!

I worked at Illinois State University, earned tenure and promotion to Associate Professor when I realized that I missed the ‘God talk’ so prevalent at religious colleges. I secured a position at the College of Mt St Joseph in Cincinnati, Ohio, a Sister of Charity college. Within a year I realized they were teaching me how to live my Methodism in daily life, upon which I entered a period of discernment. In the midst of not finding a satisfactory ‘call,’ one afternoon while looking up program ideas for our local UMW, I googled Deaconess, even though our paster thought the program had died out. I found the still kicking program with applications on-line. Later I also studied to be an Associate of the Sisters.

After a few years of scrutiny and study, I became a Deaconess with my assignment the position at the college plus occasional additions, such as pastoring at an inner-city Appalachian church. I had begun to collaborate with the Department of Religion in our development of service-learning courses in the Cincinnati area, Appalachian Work Fest, Cherokee, N.C. and the US -Mexico border. As a Deaconess I also served as a hostess at the Deaconess House at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. I mostly retired from the college in 2008 (formally from Deaconess in 2017) and came to Illinois, where I joined UMW, now UWF. I have been a District VP and President and am now Conference Spiritual Coordinator.

At this year’s East Ohio Annual Conference one resolution failed to gain approval. This resolution received 62% approval but, because the East Ohio conference is unique among US annual conferences, it did not receive the required two thirds majority. This resolution asked the conference to answer the call outlined in the Kairos II Palestine document.

Wondering why East Ohio had this unique requirement for resolution legislation I decided to research the origins of this rule change. I discovered that this change to the rules was made at the 2014 annual conference.

At that conference there were 5 resolutions offered. The first resolution encouraged clergy to practice pastoral care and perform ceremonies according to their conscience. Next, a resolution asked the conference to support the “love prevails” movement. This movement was seeking the systematic exclusion and discrimination of LGBTQ+ members. The third resolution called for the removal of discriminatory language from the Book of Discipline. Another resolution called for prohibiting funding of church trials of clergy who performed same-sex wedding. Finally, the last resolution was one that sought the conference to offer ordination and equal covenant rights to LGBT+ individuals within the East Ohio conference.

All five of these resolutions were able to pass with a simple majority vote. Immediately following, conservative members of the conference asked for a Decision of Law from Bishop John L. Hopkins. Some of the resolutions were subsequently ruled out of order or were not binding on the annual conference by the Judicial Council, the controversy and heated nature of the debate on the resolutions led the East Ohio rules committee to propose a rule change that would require all resolutions from that point forward to have a two thirds majority for passage.

This rule change required a two thirds majority according to Roberts Rules of Order. In the run up to the vote speeches were offered for and against the change of rules.

The first argument in favor of the rule change was that close votes (51% approval) did not represent the actual “will” of the annual conference. Later events would show that the “will” of the conference was just slightly larger than the one third who could overrule any resolution that needed a two-thirds vote. (In 2023 38% of the churches in the conference voted to disaffiliate largely over the same issues raised by the 2014 resolutions.)

The second argument was that the conference was meant to be a connectional body of mutual respect. The claim was that forcing controversial resolutions through on a simple majority just increased polarization and hardly fostered “holy conferencing.”

The last argument was that if resolutions were to be approved, they would need two thirds majority so that they carried the “full institutional weight.” This would represent a broad, cross-factional consensus rather than a temporary “political” victory by one faction.

There were also several arguments against the rule change. First, by making this rule change, the prophetic voice of the church would be effectively silenced. Historically being a prophetic voice was never popular and rarely achieved a two thirds consensus.

Ever since the very first General Conference, the Christmas Conference of 1784, the church has had a tradition of just a simple majority vote to approve legislation. This is in keeping with the democratic culture of the United States.

Finally, the progressives argued that by now requiring a two thirds majority the institutional “status quo” would be protected. A two thirds majority would effective allow just 34% of the conference to veto any progressive resolutions, thereby ensuring the conference could never officially signal a desire for inclusion or change.

Photo courtesy United Methodist News Service

After this rule change no prophetic or controversial resolutions were passed in the East Ohio annual conference until after disaffiliation.

Was the motivation for the rule change really a desire to have holy conferencing? Holy conferencing is a sacred, communal practice of spiritual dialog and decision-making. It encourages participants to discern the Holy Spirit’s guidance together by listening actively, showing mutual respect, and approaching differences with grace.

While one of the arguments for the rule change was that by approving controversial and polarizing resolutions holy conferencing could not be achieved. The truth is, at this point neither side was willing to participate in holy conferencing. Hard positions had been formed on both sides and there appeared to be no room for compromise. With a two thirds majority a minority effectively froze out the voice of the majority. They were unwilling to listen to opposing views.

One of the speeches against the Kairos Palestine II resolution was a rehash of views that are being propagated by Christian Zionists and some Christian Nationalists.

This is not to suggest that holy conferencing has never been successful. When people are open to new ideas and follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit holy conferencing is effective. Scholars and church leaders have gathered in structured summits to worship, pray, and write lay-oriented books. Rather than debating, those groups use holy conferencing to discern how to convey the beauty of the Christian faith and the Bible collaboratively.

Or in another case networks of pastors and worship leaders use holy conferencing to share their faith, pool ideas, and guide ministry priorities. This collaborative conferencing has resulted in successful community outreach and shared community-building resources.

Unfortunately, in today’s internet-connected world it is easy to get isolated into a bubble of what one chooses to call the truth. We as humans can easily fall back into tribalism, especially when politicians resort to fanning these fires for political gain.

Careful reflection and thoughtfulness are scarce commodities today. We must be willing to listen to opposing views and consider their possible motivation. After this exercise, we may still wish to maintain our existing views. But we may be able to appreciate what might lead someone to adopt views that are contrary to our own. This is the first step to holy conferencing.

Mark Hrabe is a Home Missioner in the Ohio Conference. A resident of Warren, Ohio, he is the chair of the East Ohio MFSA Resolutions Committee and a member of the MFSA Program Council. In his spare time Mark enjoys gardening, woodworking, and along with his wife, retired Deaconess Marjie, being entertained by their 2 rescue Dachshunds.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” We prayed kneeling at the bed, ending with people who needed prayers. Decades later, we used it as our church’s KidsConnection, an after-school program for our small town. We ended the program with singing, often marching, and then forming a prayer circle. They shared family news: the name of a sick pet or family member who was sick, addicted or in jail. An adult concluded with a pastoral prayer and ended with ‘and all God’s children say’ –AMEN- and threw our hands over our heads. They so valued their prayer circle that even when we ran late and parents had come, they insisted on a prayer circle. We read that prayers, joys and concerns during worship and prayer trees connect us with God. They also connected our thoughts with neighbors, reminders of the we in me.

The Lord’s prayer and dinner graces were prayers learned early. ‘Grace’ at family dinners varied from home to home, sitting if we said it and standing behind our chairs if we sang it. Sunday dinners at an uncle’s introduced me to spontaneous prayer; I developed a little anticipatory anxiety as my older cousins were asked to lead these prayers. However, spontaneous prayers soon became comfortable; I collect and adapt others’ published prayers, far more creative than mine. Petitionary prayers are prevalent and often accompanied by questions of effectiveness. Most of us rely on the belief that God answers, his time, his way. Often, we just know they worked.

My concern over whether or not prayer work is dwarfed by concerns about whether or not we work for what we pray for, expressed by Thomas Moore, #409 in the UMC Hymnal: “The Things good lord that we pray for, give us grace to labor for.” Public controversy surfaces about sending our ‘thoughts and prayers’ to those in tragedies, perhaps assuming we are done. Prayers connect us with God and hopefully with everything that concerns God, raising our awareness enough to engage our hearts and hands in works of mercy and justice – love and care, including earth care. It is the beginning of tending to others. This concern was combined with struggles with 1 Thessalonians 5:15-18: “Rejoice always, pray ceaselessly, give thanks in all circumstances, for it is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.” Brief prayers of gratitude accompany daily situations, as do prayers of repentance. During a morning devotion on one of our trips, while listening to someone read Jesus’s prayer for the disciples from John 17, new meanings emerged. Jesus begins with an ‘accountability’ conversation with God about his task on earth: “For I gave them the words you gave to me and they accepted them.” (17:8a). My talks with God while walking and ‘wildscaping’ reflect on my tasks and purposes as I understand them. They include some ‘Martha-like’ grumbling: it gives weeding some ‘umph!’ They morph into problem-solving: I messed up, I should have said this or should not have said that; can I make amends; should I try another approach. I ask God to give me the grace to continue more humbly and wisely. These repentance and guidance prayers have been part of my life for decades, ongoing ‘love and disappointment discussions’ that began with Dad and continue with God.

Giving thanks, asking for justifying grace and petitionary prayers are not a life of ceaseless prayer, which seems too monastic. I admire people who set aside extended parts of their days for prayer; instead, I engage with both God and God’s creation while walking and working outside. I looked further and found words of wisdom from John Wesley and Mother Teresa that set a new perspective. The Upper Room, November 2, 2021, quotes from Howell’s Servants, Misfits and Martyrs: “For Mother Teresa, service was not somehow the outcome of prayer or something done while not praying. Serving the poor and opening one’s heart to Christ were one and the same thing. She taught the sisters to ‘pray while working, doing it for Jesus and to Jesus. This brings a tremendous closeness to him.’” This reminds me of Matthew 25:40… “whatever you did for the least of these, … you did for me…” Similarly, The UMC Discipleship site quotes John Wesley: “All that a Christian does, even eating and sleeping, is prayer, when it is done in simplicity, according to God’s order.” Wesley’s means of grace, visiting, feeding and giving, meeting the needs of the poor and seeking justice are works of mercy that are connectional, and when ‘done in simplicity’ are earth care: eco-spiritual living.

Traditional prayer advice often suggests that we find time and space to set apart, yet much spirituality writing also suggests that we recognize that God is not walled off at church and prayers are not walled off from life. God accompanies our daily lives, always available. As Wesley and Mother Teresa suggest, we pray with our words and we pray with our works. The Celts teach us that there are ‘thin spaces’ where we become more aware of God. We may not have to travel to find these ‘thin spaces;’ they may be with us and within us. When we are co-creating with God, using our spiritual gifts, we pray with our minds, hearts and hands, whether we talk or not. These crystallized for me on Service-Learning trips to Cherokee, where basket weavers and carvers were deep into their souls while working and carving. When they shared verbally, it felt like prayer and I was drawn into their prayer works.

Romans 12:6-8 reminds us that “We have different gifts, according to the grace given to us.” Our God-given gifts may be our personal ‘thin places’ meant for the common good. Co-creating, using our gifts for works enlivens our own souls and helps enrich the lives and souls of others. Whether these gifts are what we call arts and crafts, or what Romans 12 lists as gifts of prophecy, serving, teaching, encouraging, giving, leading, or showing mercy, they are to be shared for the common good. The fruits of our own and others’ gifts come from our respective ‘thin places’ and enable neighbors to experience a glimmer of prayer and prayer-works is possible and helps build the kin-dom on earth. John 17:15-21 is summarized as ‘being in the world but not of the world’ and carrying some monasticism, some asceticism, into the world is akin to Wesley’s living in simplicity, Sisters’ vows to a simple life, and earth care’s simple living.

Recent uses of Aramaic versions of the Lord’s Prayer are consistent with prayer works, especially phrases that suggest Thomas Moore’s request for grace to work for what we pray for. “…Focus your light within us – make it useful … Grant what we need each day in food and insight. Loose the cords of mistakes binding us, as we release the strands we hold of others’ guilt. Don’t let surface things delude us, but free us from what holds us back. And I add from Job 12: 7-8 to remind us of all our neighbors: “But ask the animals and they will teach you, or the birds of the air and they will tell you, or speak to the earth and it will teach you, or let the fish of the sea inform you.”

Prayer:

God, I pray and work for useful light, daily food and insights, grace sufficient to override guilt and anger about my own neighbors’ sins, and purpose engaging enough to pull me away from distractions. I pray and work to learn from your creation the wisdom to sustain it and us. Amen.

About the Author, Kay Clifton

I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in a mostly Methodist cocoon, family, friends and church, then went to Iowa Wesleyan College in the late 1950’s. After changing my major every semester, I finally graduated with a Sociology major and went to the University of Iowa for higher degrees in the 60’s. There, I also dabbled around but did eventually earn a master’s and a Ph.D. in Sociology. I was later to add an MSW and a Masters in Religious Studies and Pastoral Care. I cannot stop learning!

I worked at Illinois State University, earned tenure and promotion to Associate Professor when I realized that I missed the ‘God talk’ so prevalent at religious colleges. I secured a position at the College of Mt St Joseph in Cincinnati, Ohio, a Sister of Charity college. Within a year I realized they were teaching me how to live my Methodism in daily life, upon which I entered a period of discernment. In the midst of not finding a satisfactory ‘call,’ one afternoon while looking up program ideas for our local UMW, I googled Deaconess, even though our paster thought the program had died out. I found the still kicking program with applications on-line. Later I also studied to be an Associate of the Sisters.

After a few years of scrutiny and study, I became a Deaconess with my assignment the position at the college plus occasional additions, such as pastoring at an inner-city Appalachian church. I had begun to collaborate with the Department of Religion in our development of service-learning courses in the Cincinnati area, Appalachian Work Fest, Cherokee, N.C. and the US -Mexico border. As a Deaconess I also served as a hostess at the Deaconess House at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. I mostly retired from the college in 2008 (formally from Deaconess in 2017) and came to Illinois, where I joined UMW, now UWF. I have been a District VP and President and am now Conference Spiritual Coordinator.

Every time I read Luke 24:13-35, the story of the road to Emmaus, I have so many questions. Who were these two people and why didn’t they recognize Jesus? And where was this Emmaus?

First – who were these two people? Luke tells us that one of them was named Cleopas. Now Cleopas was one of Jesus followers and was well known to the community when Luke wrote this Gospel. His youngest son, Simeon, was even the head of the Christian church in Jerusalem, after James was martyred, and Simeon then led the church for over 40 years. Cleopas was also the brother of Joseph – Jesus’ earthly father. So, this would make Cleopas Jesus’s uncle and Simeon his first cousin.

The next question, then, is who was with Cleopas? The church in the middle-ages had become a very patriarchal institution and started assuming the second person was another male disciple. But most current scholars now believe the second person was actually his wife, Mary, who was also a devout follower of Jesus. John 19:25 says, “Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister [or sister-in-law], Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene.”

We also know Jesus sent out disciples in pairs. Luke 10:1 “After this the Lord appointed 72 others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go.” And we know that Paul took husband and wife disciple pairs as normal. In First Corinthians 9:5, Paul says, “Do we not have the right to be accompanied by a believing wife, as do the other apostles…?” and in First Corinthians 16 Paul acknowledges the prominent married disciple pair of Aquila and Prisca.

Historical writings of the early church years are also full of examples of married couples being sent out together. This type of discipleship pairing was critical to allow the gospel to reach women without violating the social protocols of the time. The husband could preach to the men of the villages while the wives preached to the women.

In this passage, Luke tells us Cleopas was in Jerusalem that morning, and we know from the Gospel of John that his wife, Mary, had also been in Jerusalem; she was even at the cross. They had probably gone to Jerusalem together that weekend for the Passover celebration, which was a common custom for those who lived near to the city. It only makes sense then that if Cleopas was returning home after the Passover weekend he would have been walking home with his wife. And in this Luke passage, it says they asked Jesus to “Stay with US” which would imply they were inviting him to their own home.

So, what we seem to have in this story is Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary walking on the road home from Jerusalem, talking about all that had happened over the weekend, when their nephew Jesus shows up on the road beside them. But they don’t recognize his face or voice.

I’m sure there have been many times that Jesus has walked along beside ME and I didn’t even recognize it was him.

When Jesus came near to them, and asked them what they were talking about, they sadly recounted how Jesus had been condemned to death. And they even told Jesus that some women had said that Jesus was alive. But they don’t sound very convinced of that fact.

You see, Jesus’ followers were feeling lost and hopeless. Even though they had listened to him preach for three years, they still didn’t really understand who Jesus was and what he was about. In verse 21, Cleopas utters what I think is one of the most poignant phrases in Scripture when he says to Jesus: “But we had hoped...”

They had all hoped that Jesus was the redeemer – the Messiah who would set Israel free. They thought the Messiah was going to be someone who would overthrow Rome and all oppression, setting things right forever in Israel and the world. So, when Jesus was crucified and died, their hopes died along with him.

Cleopas even refers to Jesus after all this has happened as just a Prophet, instead of the Redeemer he had thought he was.

Jesus then calls Cleopas foolish – he says “Oh, how foolish you are and how slow of heart..!” and he goes on to tell them how the scriptures foretold what would actually happen to the Messiah – thereby explaining that Jesus WAS the actual Messiah.

Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary don’t make a single comment on all that Jesus has explained to them. And they still don’t realize they are actually speaking to their nephew – they still don’t recognize Jesus’ face or voice. But, being kind people, they urge Jesus to come and stay with them as it was almost nighttime. They arrive home, and Aunt Mary probably gathers up the food for them to eat. And then they all sit down together at the table. This is when we see Jesus taking the bread, blessing it, breaking it, and giving it to them. And it is by his ACTIONS, not his face or voice, that Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary finally realize that they are with their nephew Jesus! And then he disappears.

Now this text of Cleopas and Mary isn’t the only one in Scripture where people do not recognize the risen Christ. The very day of the resurrection, when Mary Magdalene went to the tomb, we see one of these examples. John 20:11-16 tells us: (11) Mary stood weeping outside the tomb… she bent over to look into the tomb, (12) and she saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying… (13) They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”  (14) When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. (15) Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him… (16) Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!”

Mary had not recognized the face of Jesus, and didn’t even recognize his voice at first. It wasn’t until Jesus called her by name that she finally realized it was him. It was her deeply personal relationship with Jesus that finally allowed her to recognize him.

Now Jesus had appeared to the disciples at least twice in closed rooms after his resurrection and had showed them his pierced hands and feet to prove who he was. Later, seven of the disciples went out fishing at the Sea of Tiberias but did not have any luck catching fish. John 21:1-7 then tell us: (4) Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. (5) Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” (6) He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. (7) That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” Even though the disciples had seen him previously, they still didn’t recognize him on the shore until his actions – helping them catch fish – allowed them to realize it was indeed Jesus.

How many times have we been with someone, not seeing the actual face of Jesus - but then recognized Jesus through their very actions?

So now when Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary recognize Jesus because of his actions of blessing and distributing the bread, they seem to finally grasp all the scriptures that He had explained to them and finally realize that - Yes – their nephew Jesus was the Messiah, and he was still with them. So, despite just walking long miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus, Cleopas and Mary get up and head all the way back so they can vouch to the other disciples that Jesus was in fact alive.

So, let’s go to the question of where Emmaus was and how far this walk was from Jerusalem? This passage in Luke says it was seven miles away – about a two-hour walk. There is a town that is now called Nicopolis that is 19 miles away from Jerusalem – about a six-hour walk – and is the place that tradition has claimed was called Emmaus during the time of Jesus. There was even a church built on the supposed home of Cleopas in the year 108 AD. If this was indeed the Emmaus that Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary had gone to, then they had walked for six hours, ate a little bread, and turned around and walked six hours back!

There is a lot of scholarly research on where Emmaus was with locations that range from just four to up to 19 miles away from Jerusalem, but the fact is we still don’t really know where Emmaus was located at that time.

Now, the word Emmaus, in Hebrew, means warm or burning spring. And in this passage in Luke, Cleopas and Mary, after recognizing Jesus, said, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us.” So more important than where this happened is what happened. Emmaus is a symbolic place representing revelations of Jesus that bring about a burning in our hearts. And these warming encounters with Christ are not confined to just one place. Turning from hopelessness, and awakening to Christ’s redemption, can happen in any place at any time. And stories of Christ’s appearance, wherever they happen, need to be passed on to others.

Before smartphones and Facebook, people had to rely on other people to verbally tell them news. But even then, some people, like Doubting Thomas, wanted even more proof than what his friends told him. He wanted to see it for himself. Sometimes we are like that even though we have many modern ways of getting news. And maybe we are even more doubtful of what we hear now that there is AI or people who intentionally pass on false stories and information just to get more clicks and followers on their social media pages. But actually seeing the things we hear about in the news is a rare thing.

Learning from the story about Thomas, we need to be better believers in what we hear about Jesus from other people. Remember what Jesus said in John 20:29: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” But yet, Jesus promised he would show Himself to those of us who follow him in John 14 - “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me…They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me, and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

Reading about Jesus appearing to Uncle Cleopas and Aunt Mary, to Mary Magdalene, and even to Thomas, leads me to believe that we WILL experience Jesus. And I believe that each of us who follows Christ needs to BE the “Jesus” that people see through our actions.

This post-Easter season, we need to keep alert for the presence of Immanuel around us. We need to remember that we have a deeply personal relationship with Jesus who still journeys with us.

We need to keep our eyes open and watch, as Jesus will reveal himself to us as we walk along our road.

Prayer:

May you know that Christ is alive and with you. Look for his face. Listen for his voice. Feel his warmth inside you. And thank him, for his blessings will surely be upon you. Amen.

Colleen Caldwell is a retired Deaconess living in Arkansas. Commissioned April 7, 2011, she had to retire from appointments in 2017 to be a caregiver for her mother and father-in-law. But even though retired, Ministry did not stop. After her loved ones passed in 2020, she was able to get even more active in Ministry. She ran three ministries at her local UMC, worked for five years at a county-wide food pantry that is run by 14 local churches, was an Arkansas Conference delegate, is on the Arkansas Conference Board of Church and Society, and is a trustee on the Historic Arkansas Methodist Museum board. In April, Colleen was diagnosed with an illness that is requiring intensive treatment, and she has had to temporarily step away from these active ministries. However, there is one personal ministry that Colleen attends to which is a prayer card ministry. For about ten years, she has been praying for and writing cards and postcards to people with joys and concerns. Perhaps some of you have received one or will receive one yet, but she will continue this ministry for as long as she is physically and mentally able. The Order of Deaconess and Home Missioner is precious to her and she loves and admires all who serve.

I have dear and close covenant group siblings who wanted our covenant group to use the Twelve Step process for a season. I told them I didn’t want to do it. But, my brothers persisted, so I reluctantly agreed. And then we reached it … The Step. I knew we would. My grandfather received his 25th A.A. chip before he died. I went to multiple meetings with him. I know the process and I knew The Step was coming. Make a fearless moral inventory.

I don’t think most civilians can fathom the depth of this step. I admit, I’ve never been at the bottom of the bottle, or at the end of a needle. And yet, I do recognize why there are so many vets who are. And why, Stop Soldier Suicide is a thing.

How do you make a fearless moral inventory of the horrors you have wrought, the families you have destroyed, the children … the children burned? And I freely acknowledge, I kicked in no doors. I carried no rifles. But I certainly put weapons on targets.

Even as I write this—and oh yeah, I have pondered this before, many, many times, as my guts felt ready to burst through my stomach—as I ached with his pain, as I found myself completely helpless in the face of his darkness—even as I write this, I wonder if my son’s … my son’s … early struggle with addiction does not flow out of this evil that I helped unleash onto the world.

So, yeah, I do get angry when people who have no idea ask me to make a searching and fearless moral inventory. It is a hellhole of self-hatred. Because there is no way to put it all back in the bottle.

It is deeper than a nightmare. It’s why a friend still wakes up in the middle of the night screaming … thirty years later. It’s why, after thirty-five years, I still dream every week—sometimes many times a week. On bad nights … many times.

It’s why a friend calls me three weeks ago: “Help me. I’m really struggling.” It’s why a Delta soldier—tough, muscular, fit, capable—weeps in my arms outside of a Fayetteville church. And I thought I had just gone to lead a Bible study.

It’s why, when bombs fall and missiles appear like video games, and little men thump their grotesque facades and speak as though they are Nathan R. Jesup, something rises up in me. I simply want to silence them in any way possible. Because I know: more children will die, and more young soldiers will be saddled with a life of nightly death.

Go make a list and make amends, another step will say. You can’t imagine the list. You don’t want to imagine the list.

“Oh,” the voices will say, “but Steve, you didn’t personally do all of that.”

Flashback—

Conversation with a young airman as we watched the video of a GBU-16 blow apart a Serbian command center: “Sergeant Taylor, do you think anyone was hurt?” Me, incredulously: “Tim, look around inside here.” Slowly, he does. The commander and staff are down below us. The planners are in the next glass compartment over to our left. A couple of other controllers are running a training scenario in our training compartment, and a few other folks are milling about because they can engage the conversations over classified war plans in our secured facility. “Now, tell me what you think would happen if you dropped a thousand-pound bomb full of high explosives inside these three-foot concrete, rebar-reinforced walls?”

The blood drained from his face as he saw clearly. “I don’t want to think about it,” Tim says. Me: “Then, Airman, you need to go talk to the First Sergeant and tell them you want out—to leave the military.” Because to sit in here and help direct those bombs onto targets full of people with lives, and stories, and families, and not give one thought—or one fuck—about what you are doing is the worst kind of evil.”

So yeah, I didn’t personally kill those folks that day—and all the many other days that we put weapons on targets—but I was most certainly a willing part of the apparatus, the machinery of evil, that did it.

I have atoned. I have sought to repair. I have really tried.

I have sat with nuns in El Salvador and more broadly shared their story. I have wept with a bishop whose brother was disappeared in Chile and built relationships between our churches. I have shared a meal with a woman from Guatemala whose job was to find the children kidnapped and brought to the U.S. and have proclaimed a need for justice. And we condemn such evil when others commit it, even while struggling to confess our own complicity in the same.

All the stories, all the horrors, all the evil. Make a fearless and moral inventory. Good God.

I was a nuclear control officer. I would have killed the world.

What do you do with that?

There is a point—if you are to survive—when you finally have to release it somewhere. God? Another person who understands? There comes a point. Or you die. And before you die, you crucify everyone around you, at least metaphorically, and sometimes in reality.

And at the end of it… there is really no moment of ecstasy. No religious experience. No sound of angels or trumpets. Just a whimper, and a thankfulness that you can still breathe. But there is no making it right. There is no final release. There is just the promise that you will hold it. With God. And hope it is enough. On good days, there is a deep and profound sense of forgiveness. I pray for more good days.

So, please, don’t tell me I am forgiven. I believe it. Rather pray for my unbelief.

And for all our sake, don’t tell me how much you appreciate my service.

Steve Taylor is a United Methodist Home Missioner serving as Director of Antiracist Discipleship and Beloved Community at The Church at Spring Forest UMC, with more than 30 years of experience helping congregations engage their communities in collaborative ministry and justice. Grounded in a lifelong commitment to antiracism and discipleship, he invites the church to ask, “Where do we see Jesus?”—seeing ministry with the poor and marginalized as sacred communion and Christian transformation.

What is baptism? Do you remember yours, or have a vison of long white infant gowns? The scandal at my 1965 baptism in the Methodist church in Mt. Sterling, IL, was that I wasn’t wearing any booties. My bare-footed-ness only served to contribute to a great aunt’s perception that my parents were beatniks, only she thought the term was beach-nuts.

A different image of baptism is portrayed in the wry comedy-melodrama “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” (2000). The three main characters, escaped convicts in the deep south of 1937, are played by George Clooney, John Turturro, and Tim Blake Nelson. In this scene they are talking about cooking gophers when people all in white begin streaming slowly past them through the woods. Delmar gets caught up in the siren call of them singing, “As I went down to the river to pray, studying about that good old way,” (sung by Alison Krauss) and splashes pell-mell to the front of the line of evidently non-Methodists to be fully immersed in baptism. Baptism was irresistible and utterly transformative for Delmar.

Baptism is sloppy and a bit absurd, according to Anne Lamott, who says in Traveling Mercies, “Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain, in tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at the same time, it is also holy and absurd. It’s about surrender…”.

For contemplative Franciscan priest Richard Rohr, baptism is about surrender, initiation, and has everything to do with awareness. Rohr calls it a “deeper surrender to a deeper life’s purpose” (from homily, Center for Action and Contemplation, July 11, 2023) that people gain in moments of clarity throughout their spiritual journeys. He is saying that despite being soaked or dribbled on at whatever age, you’re not truly baptized until you realize how surrendering to God connects you to absolute meaning, purpose, and God’s unconditional love.

Baptism is an initiation rite that takes the place of circumcision, one that marks Christians invisibly. It may not leave a physical trace on us, but it ties us essentially to a profound act of surrender by Christ. John the Baptist makes it clear that Christ outstrips his baptizing authority many times over. Not only did Christ not need soul cleansing or redemption, Christ also didn’t need to submit himself to John the Baptist to have this act done to him, passively. But Christ does this act of surrender with us, initiating us into becoming his followers, demonstrating the power of giving our lives to God.

The imagery of the story boosts its power even more. Luke’s baptism story draws on Psalm 29, the great thunderstorm, in which God’s voice thunders over the turbulent waters, and God’s voice ‘flashes forth flames of fire,’ causing all to see and feel God’s glory. Evoking these familiar images of God, John tells the crowd that he baptizes with water, but the One coming will baptize them with fire.

Wait. Fire eclipses water? Doesn’t water put out fire? Maybe in the ancient near east, they didn’t waste water putting out fires; maybe they used sand to smother fires. And if you recall all the Bible verses that mention a preference for running water, maybe stagnant water wasn’t so purifying. We might be cleansed by water, but we’ll be really purified by fire.

But how can we be baptized by fire? How can fire be managed so as to burn only the chaff away? You know that the metaphorical “chaff” aren’t the “sinners” outside of church, because as Jesus says time and time again, it’s the rich who refuse to follow him and give up wealth as their priority, not to mention the religious leaders who make an empty show of obeying the religious codes, who are the chaff.

Pentecost comes closest to showing us baptism by fire. As described in Acts chapter 2: 1-13, after Christ’s Easter Resurrection and Ascension the Holy Spirit comes like a flame of insight to the crowd of believers, bringing them the ability to comprehend all languages, and thus inaugurating our understanding of the Holy Spirit, which is God-among-us, God inspiring us, connecting us, and sending us out with the Good News of Christ. But Pentecost isn’t described as a second round of baptism per se.

So I dug around, looking for ways to interpret baptism by fire. Brace yourself for a deep dive into Methodism. What if these events are a process, or a series? If the fire of Pentecost comes after Baptism of the Lord, what precedes it? Obviously (to me), that would be Birth of the Lord, or Christmas. Suddenly, the Christian calendar maps onto our Christian spiritual journey. And like a Charles Wesleyan, theology comes to me in music. At Christmas, in “O Little Town of Bethlehem” we sing, “Be born in us today,”[vii] as we anticipate the Word coming into the world and into our hearts. On Baptism of the Lord Sunday, we surrender to God and enter into initiation of the fellowship of Christ. Where there’s fellowship, instantly, the Church is formed, “By water and the Word,” as we sing in “The Church’s One Foundation” (UM Hymnal #545). At Pentecost we receive the Holy Spirit, singing with the imagery of sacramental fire, “Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me” from “Spirit of the Living God” (UM Hymnal #393). Incidentally, those words beautifully describe melting and molding a substance into a bowl to be filled, and then poured out, perfectly describing this arc of spiritual formation. It goes from entering our hearts (at Christmas), clarifying our purpose together (Baptism), to transforming us into Christlike agents of God in the world (Pentecost).

Having developed this connection of holidays, I sat back and thought,
“this progression of faith looks suspiciously Wesleyan to me.” But even though I recently refreshed my Wesleyan theology in five college courses during the process of becoming a deaconess, I had to look this up. These stages of spiritual development are due to God’s GRACE acting in our lives. Of course! John Wesley conveniently identified them for us[x]: Prevenient grace, which is God’s latent, always-waiting-for-us-to-reach-out grace; Justifying grace, which is both redemptive (taking away our sins, like in “O Brother Where Art Thou,” Delmar’s sins of knocking off a Piggly Wiggly and lying about it are forgiven) and justifying in the sense of aligning us as followers of Christ; and Sanctifying grace, which is grace guiding the natural outlet of this Christian transformation into our actions, being tested and honed throughout our lives. God’s prevenient grace appeals to us through the humble birth of a baby, God’s justifying grace invites us to follow Jesus into the cleansing waters of baptism, and God’s sanctifying grace ignites the spirit in us.

Once again, what is baptism by fire? It’s a great idiom for describing triumph over struggle, such as a new employee being thrown a case with few resources, who rises to the challenge to become a member of the team. But how biblical (or Wesleyan) is that usage? Maybe its gut-level impact is useful for us here. In terms of the abject submission and deep repentance of baptism, it’s kind of a relief that we aren’t supposed to become and remain submissive. Rather, fire follows baptism, and according to John the Baptist it’s a whole lot more powerful than his type of watery baptism. Some Christian denominations prioritize Pentecost, and I can now understand that impulse better now that I’ve examined it. Surely a United Methodist pentecostalism would refrain from full-fledged speaking in tongues, (although I have seen the passage of Acts 2 read in multiple languages), but in our own understated way we need to envision and claim the power that Christ brings us through baptism in the Holy Spirit.

Let’s work with what text we’ve got: John the Baptist offers us the analogy of the winnowing fork that will separate the wheat from the chaff, which, according to the NRSV footnotes (for Luke 3:1-7, The Harper Collins Study Bible, 1989) is an Old Testament symbol for judgment. Picture this: Add the roaring wind and lightning from Psalm 29, and the tongues of flame from the Pentecost story in Acts 2 to the granary setting. With a sort of pitchfork Christ is flinging the grain up in the air so that the wind will blow off the chaff, while the chaff is being continually burned off.

Now imagine that Christ is standing by a great bonfire, and that Christ is flinging you high, like a parent tosses a gleeful baby, into the air full of flame. In the moment while you are free floating, your petty grievances, useless distractions, prejudices, and all traces of evil intentions fly away from you. Those unnecessary and bad things are instantly seared away in the lapping flames of the bonfire. When Christ catches you, giggling, for that wonderful cuddle hug, you have been melted, molded, purified, sanctified, and all the while beloved. All that’s left are your good virtues---patience, humility, holy love for your neighbor and even your enemy.

As you are released to trot joyfully out into the world, you retain a certain spark. The flame of the Holy Spirit leaves you just enough fire to speak up against injustice, advocate for the disadvantaged, make a change somewhere that lessens suffering.

Now, I’m not proposing a baptism-by-fire ceremony, although we could use a zipline at a United Methodist retreat center... In the meantime while that rite is being developed, the next time you’re on a roller-coaster, cresting a hill weightlessly in your car, pumping high on a swing, or swinging on a vine out over a river to let go and jump into the water, imagine the chaff of pettiness falling from you, and know that God is encouraging the best in you.

Adapted from a sermon I gave at First United Methodist of Seymour, Indiana, 1/12/2025, for Baptism of the Lord Sunday.

Deaconess Lisa Miller Maidi is grateful to be editor and writer for the DHM Substack. She invites all DHM to contribute to our Substack!

Photo by author

I recently returned from a trip to Ireland. I went with a group from my former church in Tucson, Arizona. The main emphasis was a deep dive into Celtic Christianity. As such we visited many churches that were dedicated to St. Patrick, including one that he built and where he died.

As I became acquainted with his life, I realized that he serves as the perfect antithesis to those who espouse Christian Nationalism. This is despite his becoming the patron saint when Irish nationalism rose in the 18th century, using his story to symbolize Irish independence from Britain.

Let’s examine the life and ministry in detail to discover what sets St. Patrick apart from Christian Nationalism.

St. Patrick was born in Britain in the late 4th century to a Romanized family. His father, Calphurnias, was a deacon from a Roman family in high social standing. Patrick’s mother, Conchessa, was a close relative of the great patron Saint Martin of Tours. Patrick’s grandfather, Pontius, was also a member of the clergy.

Although he was raised in an atmosphere of high social standing, his education was modest, at best. Later, Patrick would write in his Confessio, “I blush and fear exceedingly to reveal my lack of education.”

When Patrick was 16, he was captured by Irish pirates. They brought him to Ireland where he was sold into slavery. There his job was to tend sheep. Patrick’s master was a high priest of the Druids, a pagan sect that held major religious influence over the country at the time.

Patrick came to view this time as a deep test of his Christian faith. During the six years of captivity he became deeply devoted to Christianity through constant prayer, as well as envisioning a Christian Ireland. Around the year 408 CE the idea of escaping enslavement came to Patrick in a dream in which a voice promised him he would find his way back home to Britain. He decided to bring his dream to reality and convinced some sailors to let him board their ship.

The ship was bound for France, where Patrick disembarked and traveled to Auxerre. Under the tutelage of St. Germanus, he studied to become a priest, being ordained as a deacon in 418 CE. During this time Patrick never lost sight of his vision to convert Ireland to Christianity. In 432 CE he was ordained a bishop and soon Pope Celestine I sent Patrick to Ireland to spread the gospel to non-believers.

Upon his return, Patrick was initially met with resistance but managed to spread Christian teachings far and wide.

Recognizing the spiritual practices already in place in Ireland, he incorporated nature-oriented rituals into church practices. He was sensitive to the cultural environment that was in place and realized that rather than trying to impose strange and foreign ideas, he could use their own familiar ways as a stepping-stone toward Christianity.

A good example is his incorporation of native sun-worshiping symbols with the Christian cross to create the Celtic Cross that we know today.

St. Patrick died on March 17 circa 461 CE. He is buried in the Northern Irish town of Downpatrick, not far from where he died, at the church he established in Saul.

Details of St. Patrick the man can be found in the opening lines of his Confessio: “I am a sinner, a simple country person and the least of all believers. I am looked down upon by many.”

Throughout this document one can spot similarities to the Apostle Paul. Not only does he talk about his failures, some of his failures and his faith in God. But notably, his doubts in God. “You know, it’s been really hard, but I have kept going.”

In his life we see not a man who set out to bring Christian Nationalism but truly had a heart for the people of Ireland. No wonder he is so beloved there today.

I will leave you with a portion of St. Patrick’s Prayer:

Christ shield me today

Against poison, against burning,

Against drowning, against wounding,

So that reward may come to me in abundance.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,

Christ in the eye that sees me,

Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through a belief in the Threeness,

Through a confession of the Oneness

Of the Creator of creation.

Amen

Mark Hrabe is a Home Missioner in the Ohio Conference. A resident of Warren, Ohio, he is the chair of the East Ohio MFSA Resolutions Committee and a member of the MFSA Program Council. In his spare time Mark enjoys gardening, woodworking, and along with his wife, retired Deaconess Marjie, being entertained by their 2 rescue Dachshunds.

How is it with your soul ...

Soul ... soul ... soul

As if to say,

how is it down in that deep part of you, that little shattered part …

that cries, and grieves, and loses, and suffers, and weeps,

and claws for a way to be heard.

And then, how is it with your soul ...

with barren wombs and suffering servants and silenced prophets

and calling out when all around you have gone ...

Abandoned in the garden ... and waiting for the soldiers to come ...

and everyone around you sleeps.

How is it with your soul

inside the broken heart,

in that beating, pulsing,

yearning place where all that is left is ... prayer.

Only inside prayer, in silence, in special space, where the LOVE flows

and wraps around the wounds and acts as humus ...

rich and real and moist and BIRTHING ...

Hope.

How? ... anyway ... when? ... anytime ... where? ... in my head,

where, in my heart, where, in my loneliness,

where, in my brokenness,

in my lostness, in my fear,

In my joy, in my songs, singing and laughing and in community,

in that space where when I can’t believe, you believe for me ...

it is, you see, my, our ... life.

How is it with your soul ...

Through the word ... made flesh ... holding ... carrying ... moving us to the edge ...

into relationship with those who are spilled upon, put down, shut up,

shoved aside ...

into relationship, into connection, into solidarity,

with the ones he calls “the least of these,”

which includes, of course,

that little busted up part of my own self …

And in their liberation

... my liberation

... our liberation.

It is, you see, the movement to justice,

It is, you see, the reality of transformation,

It is, you see, simply ... Jesus.

It is … how it is … with my, with our ... soul.

Steve Taylor is a United Methodist Home Missioner serving as Director of Antiracist Discipleship and Beloved Community at The Church at Spring Forest UMC, with more than 30 years of experience helping congregations engage their communities in collaborative ministry and justice. Grounded in a lifelong commitment to antiracism and discipleship, he invites the church to ask, “Where do we see Jesus?”—seeing ministry with the poor and marginalized as sacred communion and Christian transformation.

I questioned everything, except ‘going to church.’ Dad said we belonged, and I have long pondered the meaning of belonging. From belonging as “you belong at school!” to church belonging as passive attendance to active membership, to the social sciences since Maslow recognized belonging as a basic human need, after food, clothing, shelter and safety. The social sciences recently elevated belonging over self-esteem as a foundation of wellness. Belonging is feeling and acting our parts in systems – human and natural. Belonging is connective, ecological, consistent with eco-spiritual world views.

Our family would ‘go to church;’ occasionally we went to Sunday school and drove to grandma’s for dinner; we did not ‘go to church’ then. Other times we went to grandma’s early enough to ‘go to church’ there. ‘Go to church’ had one referent – worship with specific behaviors. Psalm 100 tells us to: “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord with gladness; come into his presence with singing.” We did the latter, as both churches had choirs and stately processionals. I experienced worship as reverence, gratitude and guidance, not noise or gestures. Sunday school teemed with ‘joyful noise,’ but in church only when singing, and not with gestures. Not being heard was just as vital as being seen, even for adults managing their restless children. Belonging meant behaving: I soon felt the Spirit while singing hymns and I swayed, albeit gently, UNTIL a firm hand touched my elbow.

Yet, my WWJD ethic sees ‘a child of God’ mostly outside church. I loved nature hymns, like “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and “All Creatures of Our God and King” and “The Hymn of Promise.” I feel a deeper sense of belonging in outdoor worship, as humbleness is salient and “…all nature sings.” Church and Scout camp worship services are still valid, as are Chautauqua’s. The amp is a huge natural bowl with covered stage and tiered seats, plus bleachers in the back. ‘Nature nuts’ sat in back for evening programs, to see the bats fly out to ‘ooh’s and some ‘EKES.’ Bats and restless children belong! Belonging as behaving was important in the inner-city Appalachian church. We invited children to come worship and sing our first hymns, played by a retired barroom pianist. We could be chatting or feeling funky, but when she began, we like honking geese forming Vees assembled and sang with vigor. One Sunday the children did not file back downstairs; they jostled with unjoyful noises. Suddenly, Peter, a long-time member, came flying down the aisle and took hold of the two most rowdy boys. He calmly said to them: “This is church; this is worship. We are glad to have you here, but you need to show respect.” The children may have experienced a ‘tough love,’ for the first time. They nodded wide-eyed at Peter with his arms around two of them, sat down and kept coming. I realized deeper meaning of belonging in this temporary assignment. Members adopted me, told stories of an early Deaconess and introduced me as we walked around, asking what the church could do. I experienced neighbors wanting the church to be theirs whether or not they came to worship. More came to worship and belonging was more than behaving, bigger than the building: we joined neighborhood problem-solving.

Belonging blossomed in shorter experiences, along with culture shock while living and worshiping in the cement block homes and churches on the outskirts of Juarez. I worried that not knowing Spanish would render it too superficial. Instead, I experienced ‘base communities’ where churches and missionaries help resurrect community with lay members as daily leaders. Community residents hosted us, welcomed far-off neighbors as sincerely as they did next-door neighbors. Their hospitality extended beyond their homes and included gatherings with prayer and Bible study, building new economic skills, sharing migration stories, discussing the ‘disappeared,’ sex trade and alcohol problems. Lay leaders nursed their neighbors, and older women tended their extended families, including those with jobs that involved two-thirds of a day. My fear of language superficially turned inside out the first night of the first year. The husband got home in time to watch the 10PM news, and as we were settling in he said in halting English: “I’m sorry we’re so poor.” Shocked, I said “Oh no! You are rich in… in”, as they looked at me as if I were crazy, I asked the student staying in the home to look up ‘spirit’ in the Spanish/English book, and she finished the sentence Espiritu. The family beamed, so did the student. I breathed a sigh of relief and joined them, having blundered into one of my most important lessons: shared efforts with shared challenges build trust, belonging and community.

I took all this back to urban and later rural ministries, where the hymn phrase “the church is not the building” has poignant messages: It is vital to find ways to take church outside. Churches in inner-city and first suburbs had become shadows of their pasts as a few members drove in for worship and a few residents held on while demographics shifted and nostalgia reigned. It was unusual to do more than Sunday worship. Our pastor at my first suburb ‘neighborhood-in-transition’ church began reaching out by meeting new neighbors in their homes and inviting them to his on Sunday evening. United Methodist Women members made a food garden and meditation garden. The inner-city church began with Sunday breakfast, a Sunday school for children right away and one for adults later. We partnered with a local social service agency and the regional drug prevention agency to write (and receive) a community drug prevention grant. Hispanic festivals and an after-school program were added as a Puerto Rican woman became our pastor.

When I returned to rural Illinois, I was struck by similarities between urban and rural ministries. I have been a member of four rural churches, have preached or talked in many others – two of them on rotation for two years – and as a District and Conference United Women in Faith officer have met many members. Church spirit, or its lack, is evident: as aura of joy or duty, inclusive or cliquishness, purposefulness or wistfulness, connectedness or uncomfortableness with neighbors. Size does not matter as I have seen joy, connection and shared purpose (mutual care and a visiting food pantry) in a church of five!

In this time of pastor shortages, I worry that we imply that ‘going to church’ to worship is church. Church is a place to belong in both its deepest and broadest sense: to God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit; to one another, to community, world and the earth. Churches of joyful belonging irrepressibly spread Jesus’ caring and God’s indwelling expandability into worldly and earthly communities around us, co-creating the kin-dom on earth. Church is more than going to church to worship. Worship is praise and gratitude as well as preparation for ‘being church,’ and ‘being church’ is more than asking people to come to worship. It is rolling back our huge walls and working in the world and with the earth where we also belong. Church belonging may be behaving in worship but also behaving and belonging in the world and with the earth, co-creating in God’s diverse web of life – human and natural. When we do, others want to belong.

About the Author, Kay Clifton

I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in a mostly Methodist cocoon, family, friends and church, then went to Iowa Wesleyan College in the late 1950’s. After changing my major every semester, I finally graduated with a Sociology major and went to the University of Iowa for higher degrees in the 60’s. There, I also dabbled around but did eventually earn a master’s and a Ph.D in Sociology. I was later to add an MSW and a Masters in Religious Studies and Pastoral Care. I cannot stop learning!

I worked at Illinois State University, earned tenure and promotion to Associate Professor when I realized that I missed the ‘God talk’ so prevalent at religious colleges. I secured a position at the College of Mt St Joseph in Cincinnati, Ohio, a Sister of Charity college. Within a year I realized they were teaching me how to live my Methodism in daily life, upon which I entered a period of discernment. In the midst of not finding a satisfactory ‘call,’ one afternoon while looking up program ideas for our local UMW, I googled Deaconess, even though our paster thought the program had died out. I found the still kicking program with applications on-line. Later I also studied to be an Associate of the Sisters.

After a few years of scrutiny and study, I became a Deaconess with my assignment the position at the college plus occasional additions, such as pastoring at an inner-city Appalachian church. I had begun to collaborate with the Department of Religion in our development of service-learning courses in the Cincinnati area, Appalachian Work Fest, Cherokee, N.C. and the US -Mexico border. As a Deaconess I also served as a hostess at the Deaconess House at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. I mostly retired from the college in 2008 (formally from Deaconess in 2017) and came to Illinois, where I joined UMW, now UWF. I have been a District VP and President and am now Conference Spiritual Coordinator.

(photos courtesy of PSTF-Cal-Nev)

Nine activists labelled as terrorists were included in the April 19, 2026, “Toboso 19 Killings” in Negros, Philippines. Among them were two Filipino-American young adults who had traveled to the country for a mission trip to listen, learn, and stand in solidarity with local communities.

Human rights advocates report that the victims were unarmed civilians engaged in work with farmers and workers in Negros. Their deaths have sparked grief and renewed calls for accountability, as faith leaders and advocacy groups urge a thorough investigation and justice for the victims.

Tonight, Deaconess Josephine Sanchez will read this poem she authored at a prayer rally in Sacramento, CA. The Deaconess/Home Missioner community in North America affirms that every life is sacred, and we join in solidarity and prayer as we advocate for a just and lasting peace for the Filipino people.

The Blood Still Speaks

In Negros

where the land yields sweetness for the tables of the rich

and hunger for the hands that harvest it.

You stood as witnesses: Not neutral, not safe,

but chose the ground where God has always stood

with the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized,

whose cries unsettle the comfort of the powerful.

You named the truth:

Wealth built on suffering is exploitation.

Power secured by violence is tyranny.

Silence enforced by fear is oppression.

You lived among the poor close enough to know their names and stories.

You walked with them, sat at their tables, and felt the weight of empty plates.

You fought a good fight in solidarity with the people’s struggle.

And that made you dangerous - not to the people you served,

but to those who benefit from them.

They named you enemies for telling the truth.

They killed you, not for violence, but for refusing to lie.

They thought your blood would vanish into the earth

But it has soaked the soil, long thirsty for justice.

Before God, what is sown in truth will rise.

Blood on the ground becomes seed,

growing resolve, unyielding, unafraid.

And this struggle will not end until justice is done.

Still, we cannot speak of you without grief and rage.

You had lives that should have continued.

Voices that should have grown old.

Hands that should still be working, serving, and holding others.

Your loss is not abstract.

It is felt in silence when your name is called, and no one answers.

Before God, this loss is not forgotten.

Your blood speaks against rulers who govern for the few,

against systems that protect wealth over life,

against a government that serves an empire and abandons its own people.

Why is there a people’s struggle?

Because hardship is imposed. Because poverty is maintained.

Because injustice is organized. Because peace without justice is a lie.

Negros Nineteen. Now countless.

Grief has become courage. Memory has become a clenched fist.

So, the struggle remains, and we continue to rise,

not because we desire conflict, but because we refuse a life stripped of dignity.

Not because we reject peace, but because we will not accept peace that requires our silence.

And we know this:

Freedom will not be given freely by those who profit from bondage.

So, the struggle continues, and we will not stop!

We cannot be stopped until the land is returned.

We will rise until no more life is sacrificed for profit.

We will fight even if it means offering our lives so others may live.

We will not be silent until peace based on justice is served,

and until Liberation is achieved.

The blood still speaks.

We remember.

We continue.

Justice for Negros 19!

(photo courtesy of PSTF-Cal-Nev)

Josephine Sanchez is a United Methodist Deaconess.

“For what human being knows what is truly human except the human spirit that is within? So also no one comprehends what is truly God’s except the Spirit of God.” (NRSV)

Why promote the Holy Spirit? We need the Spirit more than ever, not just to enthrall the Nones who never got the Trinity, and not just literally, to help sustain us through these ominous days, but as a corrective for ourselves and our Christian Nationalist compatriots.

First, we have to quit reading the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5: 22-23) as desirable individual attributes. That’s just quaint. There’s much more riding on these qualities originating from the Spirit when they’re applied beyond the individual. Let’s imagine a creation with only the Creator, minus the Spirit.

God creates a mud figure, a Golem. It will only become human with ruach, Hebrew for spirit, breathed into it.

One principle of creation is surplus. Excess eggs, seeds, tadpoles, appetite, greed, all insurance that some DNA survives. Without self-control, a fruit of the Spirit, systems develop into rapacious tyranny, unfettered capitalism, dominion-driven development.

Created things fall apart through entropy. Spirit-infused faithfulness to families, tradition, laws, and ideologies upholds what’s worth keeping as discerned through the Spirit’s fruit of goodness.

Without gentleness, people deprived of meaningful jobs or education will turn in anger to theologies of strength and scapegoating. Leaders without kindness will exploit their anger to gain power.

Without forbearance and love, the supposedly open-minded will vilify and hate the angry, exploited scapegoaters.

If people don’t strive for peace, well, you know.

Communal joy can help head this tragedy off.

Focus on Christ’s all-inclusive Resurrection.

Deaconess Lisa Miller Maidi is grateful to be the DHM Substack editor, as she is largely homebound caring for her parents. When she gets a moment to write, she is developing a critique of Christian Nationalism.

Lisa Miller, early 1970s

Yet from the moment I stepped onto the grounds of Brooks Howell, I was welcomed. The residents, active and retired Deaconesses, extended warmth that felt intentional and sincere. Among them was retired Deaconess MaryZ and her partner, Marcia, who embraced me not as a visitor, but as family.

One evening, MaryZ invited me to downtown Asheville for a community drum circle. People of every age, identity, and nationality gathered in a wide circle. Some carried drums; others simply brought open hands and willing hearts. There was no audition, no qualification, only invitation. The rhythm began softly, then grew stronger, weaving layers of sound that called bodies to move and spirits to awaken.

Photo credit: Ruth Campbell

As I listened, I felt something shift within me. The beat was different from the drums of Kenya, yet it carried the same ancestral echo. In that circle, far from Busia and the red soil of my childhood, I felt at home. The drum became a bridge; between continents, between identities, between calling and community. In that rhythm, I was both welcomed and empowered to welcome.

Years later, in July 2025, that rhythm found new expression on African soil. At the Diakonia World Assembly in Tanzania, fifteen African Deaconesses and Home Missioners were consecrated for the first time on the continent of Africa. The theme was “Drumming the Faith, Dancing Up Hope.” What began as a solitary journey in 2019 had become a collective movement. The drumbeat that once comforted one African deaconess in North Carolina now echoed across a global church recognizing Africa’s diaconal voice.

Welcomed and welcoming. The rhythm continues.

Prayer: Drumming Faith, Dancing Hope

Gracious and welcoming God,

You gather us from many nations, languages, and stories and place us in one sacred circle.

Thank you for the spaces where we are received with love when we feel far from home. Thank you for mentors, companions, and communities who embody your hospitality.

When we feel alone in our calling, remind us of the steady rhythm of your Spirit; beating beneath our fears, guiding our steps, connecting us across oceans and generations.

Teach us to be people who welcome as we have been welcomed. Open our hands like drums ready to sound your justice. Move our feet to dance your hope into weary places.

May the rhythm of faith rise in Africa, in America, and in every corner of your world until all your children find their place in the circle.

In Christ, who welcomes us home,

Amen.

Leah Wandera is a deaconess serving as the Africa Region Coordinator for the Office of Deaconess and Home Missioner. She also runs a nonprofit organization, Wema Health Foundation, which focuses on education and healthcare for women and girls in Kenya.

Photo Credit: Laurel Akin

The rhythm of God’s welcome carried me across continents, from a drum circle in Asheville to a drumbeat of consecration of 15 DHM in Tanzania, reminding me that when we are truly welcomed, we are called to widen the circle for welcoming others.

Actual bombs explode lives and life-bearing systems in a remote pre-spring, so far away that all I see are burkas and sensual fighter jets propagandizing my country’s unprovoked attacks.

Passing clouds break and a bluebird’s feathers glow soft indigo, dimensional tangerine, to my wondrously living eyes, unlike the ghastly dead-end eyes of the bombed.

So far only a coupla thou. Like October 7 and the next day’s eye-for-an-eye. Since all human life is precious, from schoolgirls to olive farmers to firefighters to financiers, numbers like 9/11.

My leashed dogs are avid for neighborhood animals squiffling for thawed food. Lawn-spaced homes feel neat, a far cry from dusty blocks of inside-out, shredded, collapsing apartments.

Down at the creek, verdant, sickeningly lurid moss captivates and revolts me. Am I depressed? Empire citizen malaise tailgates me everywhere. But I’m not suicidal, like pilots launching the supposed videogame bombs. I feel the exquisite point of springtime, resurrection.

And also atonement. I’m implicated in this horrifying invasion. Not by Christian Nationalist rallying call, but as beneficiary—receiving diminishing returns—of decades of fabricated war economy. An armament and ‘roid glut that spills over into local precincts and ICE.

Clouds glide swiftly. Come, Spirit, come, alongside tonight’s wind howling judgment on me and my house.

Come, Holy Spirit, not to reassure me, as the Resurrection does, but to give me voice and courage against the bombing.

Lisa Miller Maidi is grateful to be editor and writer for the Deaconess/Home Missioner Substack. She is developing a critique of Christian Nationalism that begins by reclaiming the Holy Spirit from charismatic evangelism for progressive, justice-seeking Christians.

I was a Sunday school WWJD girl before the bracelet; I knew Jesus more than God, soon accepted his incomprehensibility by humans and eventually relished it. Confirmation developed nascent core UMC concepts: Trinity; Bible as inspired word of God; two sacraments; free will, sin, salvation (repentance), sanctification (very vague), and justice. Except for WWJD, my journey is questioning and ‘looking it up.’ Bible citations that didn’t fit WWJD were suspect, such as Sodom and Gomorrah’s oft-cited verses for sexual immorality. I was relieved to find Ezekiel 16.49 (NIV): “Now this is the sin of your sister Sodom. She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed, and unconcerned: they did not help the poor and needy.” A WWJD ethic was innocently practiced at church with visiting, caroling, and gleaning corn, in our neighborhood with food and child-care sharing and at our family grocery store. Working and delivering groceries with Dad introduced limited diversity, as we took groceries to Black families ‘on the other side of the tracks’ and the state mental health institute. Interest and kindness were expected Christian attitudes and actions.

In college, we were told to take Methodism into our worldly jobs. I joined the anti-war and civil rights movements in the 60s, and, with relief, Earth Day and the women’s movement in the 70s; the anti-war movement grew sexist and mean to veterans. The overlap between the civil rights and women’s movements led to deeper meaning of WWJD. I learned about the richness of biodiversity in biology, was an avid companion gardener and applied the richness of diversity to humans. Deeper meaning of 2 Cor. 12:4-11 (different gifts) emerged: it is much more than diversity of presence. We are to embrace diverse gifts and weave them into mutually beneficial systems, eventually of and by and for all God’s creatures, modeling creation. Before ‘intersectionality,’ Black women taught us white women the complexities of minority status as black, woman, and likely poorer. During early teaching women were told we were too emotional to lead. But I was mentored by two faculty colleagues, a Black woman and an Asian woman who displayed calmly passionate demeanors, like the faith-works I learned from Dad. Emotional intelligence, often spiritual, is recognized as women’s gift to leadership.

By the mid-1980s, I was at Mount St. Joseph college and social movement interests expanded to environmental justice and immigration. I volunteered at EarthConnection, a Sister of Charity ministry with a solar building, woods, wild-scaping, food pantry gardens and ecology programs. Eco-theologists burgeoned and S. Marge and I team-taught justice and ecology issues partly through Service-Learning. My two childhood loves (WWJD and nature) began coalescing into one world view, and I experienced the most mentally and spiritually integrating years of my life. Practicing my Methodism in the world was sealed with life-time commitments as a Methodist Deaconess and later an Associate of the Sisters of Charity.

Meanwhile I was meeting church members whose faith is beliefs, certainty about a few beliefs about God, Jesus, sin, and salvation. It seemed the opposite of mine, even though we used many of the same words, and certainly questioned my questioning. I now worship and do ministry in some contexts in which there is the only Christianity. Their God seems far off, acting upon them and the world. Sin is talked about, but not much is said about repentance, nor Genesis 3:19: “For dust you are and to dust you shall return.” Salvation is personal salvation in heaven and Jesus ‘died for their sins’ so that they could go. Many of them donate generously to mercy missions but they are alienated from worldly and earthly works of justice.

I needed to reconcile these dilemmas, and it took years. Questioning, reading, writing and sharing have modified the dilemmas. I’m sure that life is a quest, a quest for meaning and purpose. I’m sure that purpose calls for works and meaning calls for questioning; other sureties are emerging, yet enough questions remain that I’ve accepted that God is not yet done with my call. For me, Jesus is Lord and Savior, with Lord understood as master and teacher. I have long cherished Mary’s recognition of the resurrected Jesus in John 20:16 as: “Rabboni,” Master, Teacher. In John 13:13, while washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus tells them: “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am.” In Luke 6:46-47, Jesus emphasizes his teaching purpose: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say? I will show you what he is like who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice.”

Jesus’ life and teachings have been saving and urging me all my life, most recently to foster “Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.” ON EARTH! I learned from Jesus to love all neighbors and from creation that integration of diversity is God’s order and will for us. Jesus was sent as revelation of God’s love and will because of our sinning ways. I cherish my childhood lessons in ‘justifying grace’ too much to be comfortable with ‘Jesus died for my sins:’ I am accountable for my sins, but God’s grace includes forgiveness, which frees us from the burden of our sins for the practice of spiritually heathy and mutually beneficial living, eco-spirituality for all God’s creation. Jesus taught these values in public under the eyes of threatening authorities so well that they put him to death. His resurrection authenticates his message and inspires me to witness God’s will on earth: co-creating renewals, human and natural. Jesus’ life and teachings reveal God’s will, and some of us experience a close God working with and through us as we practice Jesus’ kin(g)dom lessons.

My heart and soul are kin-dom, but most of my days involve teaching and serving with folks for whom kin-dom is non-biblical. Kin-dom expresses an interdependent human and nature eco-spiritual world view and lifestyle. However, getting there is a two-step process for many people: the first is like Jesus’ purpose in getting followers to understand his meaning of kingdom; not wiliness and force, but honesty and persuasion-–love in action. I spend much of my church life with this first step; I relish time with the second step, a long cherished all creatures’ kin-dom. Both ministries are needed today as we distrust rather than love one another, and as we experience more climate disasters, chronic and acute. To do so, faith and words need to be reintegrated. Some churches have a poster by Bishop Raines which binds faith and works with a modern metaphor: “Christianity is like electricity: it cannot enter a person unless it can pass through.” James suggests ‘faith without works is dead. For me, the energy flows both ways: Faith urges works and works enliven faith. Works witness God’s love and will, weaving all of us into a mutually beneficial life that sustains one another, the earth and all earth’s creatures, the abundant kin-dom. Our task is to help others to experience both worldly and earthly works of love and justice as more inspiring than beliefs alone.

About the Author, Kay Clifton

I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in a mostly Methodist cocoon, family, friends and church, then went to Iowa Wesleyan College in the late 1950’s. After changing my major every semester, I finally graduated with a Sociology major and went to the University of Iowa for higher degrees in the 60’s. There, I also dabbled around, but did eventually earn a master’s and a Ph. D in Sociology. I was later to add an MSW and a masters in Religious Studies and Pastoral Care. I cannot stop learning!

I worked at Illinois State University, earned tenure and promotion to Associate Professor when I realized that I missed the ‘God talk’ so prevalent at religious colleges. I secured a position at the College of Mt St Joseph in Cincinnati, Ohio, a Sister of Charity college. Within a year I realized they were teaching me how to live my Methodism in daily life, upon which I entered a period of discernment. In the midst of not finding a satisfactory ‘call,’ one afternoon while looking up program ideas for our local UMW, I googled Deaconess, even though our paster thought the program had died out. I found the still kicking program with applications on-line. Later I also studied to be an Associate of the Sisters.

After a few years of scrutiny and study, I became a Deaconess with my assignment the position at the college plus occasional additions, such as pastoring at an inner-city Appalachian church. I had begun to collaborate with the Department of Religion in our development of service learning courses in the Cincinnati area, Appalachian Work Fest, Cherokee, N.C. and the US -Mexico border. As a Deaconess I also served as a hostess at the Deaconess House at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. I mostly retired from the college in 2008 (formally from Deaconess in 2017) and came to Illinois, where I joined UMW, now UWF. I have been a District VP and President and am now Conference Spiritual Coordinator.

Photo provided by author

Love Always Remains

John 20:1-18

It was in darkness. That space where secrets remain hidden. That place where death is dealt, where exposure is never to occur. All the places in the world where under the cover of darkness, bombs fall, shots fire, doors get kicked in, and immigrants are pulled out. Under the darkness where large stones are placed and soldiers posted to assure –-“nothing to see here, people” -- only the truth of empire, only that power names what is and what is not. “You can all go back to your lives now.”

And yet, Mary goes alone. To the grave. To mourn. To grieve. Maybe she went hoping beyond hope, to anoint and engage in the practice of honoring the one whom she had followed and loved. He had always seen her when so few would see her, which of course allowed her to see him. It was a small act, this act of futility, this act in the face of the power of Rome. A peasant woman going to stand before the soldiers whom she knew she would find there.

She had journeyed with the Rabbi. She had been his student, maybe his best student. So, perhaps she was going to practice his Way of Being. Maybe she was simply going to offer them a word of forgiveness, to tell the Roman soldier, – Εὖ γε, ὦ φίλε. Οὐ θυμοῦμαί σοι. “It’s fine Dude, I’m not mad at you.”

Death is always empire’s ultimate tool, especially public, humiliating death like crucifixion – state sponsored violence meant to terrorize the populace. It was designed to say: This is what happens when you resist. And the tomb, the final seal of power and the promise of silence, stood as the final enforced compliance. “The story ends where we say it ends,” screams power from the shield of darkness.

But she arrives and there is no stone. There are no soldiers. There is no tear gas and no Humvees. God whispers, “You don’t get the last word.” The machinery of cruelty does not control the narrative. The Divine doesn’t negotiate with death – the Holy ignores it. In the face of the Resurrection, empire has no voice.

Yet the dominant forces are pervasive and teach us well, as if to say, “Forget about the script that says no oaths. Forget about that no-other-gods bit.” And because Mary was so well formed by her context, because she lives in a world where power enforces its will through violence and where the vulnerable are left searching for what has been taken, like most of us, Mary assumes the logic she was meant to embrace – “They have taken the body!” And so the men run and look … and what they see explains her cry. One of them believes, and yet they both leave. He sees the signs, his belief is real, and because he leaves, for him there is no encounter. But she stays, the women always stay.

Mary is all the women who stand by the graves in any space of war. When everything seems to have been taken. In the space of danger, in the space of threat, in the space where it would be crazy to stay, still, they stand, usually surrounded by other women. Tears of lament that outlast all empires. Hearts in community that continue to beat. Tendrils of support that make the Body grow stronger. Strengthened in pain. Forged in mutuality, vastly more powerful than empire will ever understand. And so, in the space of her love, Mary stays.

She looks in and sees them. One at the foot, one at the head of where the body had laid. They make no bold assertion. There is no loud triumphalism. There is no overwhelming spectacle. They simply affirm her grief, welcome her reality, offer her holy compassion. “Woman, why are you weeping?” And they gently hold her frantic cry, create hallowed space for her confusion and grief. Not challenging, not denying, just receiving. With care. In sacred reality. Maybe, they simply wept with her. Perhaps, they try to shield her when empire shoves her onto the hard sidewalk, and they use sacred wings to cover her from mace. God is always at work in the places that empire arrogantly dismisses, hot desert tombs and even snow-covered streets.

Of course she doesn’t recognize him. It is hard to see through the lens of loss. It is hard to believe in the depths of heartbreak. It is difficult to discern through the fog of violence. But he will not leave her there, and he calls her name, “Mary!” And recognition comes, not as a moment of doctrine, but in the intimacy of relationship. In a world that reduces people to categories – criminal, expendable, illegal – Jesus names and sees and restores. Mary, Peter, Matthew, Paul, Renée, Alex.

Mary Magdalene proclaims, “I have seen the Lord!” She becomes the first witness. This is not a peripheral proclamation; it is not a seemingly surprising one-off. It is a reality of the entire biblical narrative. The living Word, the Risen Christ, the Hallowed Yahweh, is continually made known to the most vulnerable, the least favored, and those forever deemed unworthy. Resurrection does not reinforce existing constructs of power, it disrupts them. It never gives authority to those who dominate, but to those who continue to say yes to life. And sometimes, maybe in its purest proclamation, resurrection is asserted not with singing choirs and exultant pipe organs but with plastic whistles and auto horns that refuse to remain silent.

So, let it end like this. Not in power, not in violence. But in a body that has known grief too well, broken open even as we continue to weep for those who no longer journey with us. In a holy pledge that remains -- not with trumpets, not with triumph -- but with a tenacious love that refuses to leave the spaces that empire has declared finished. And with the sure sound of a sacred name that promises the stone is not as fixed as we were told – empire will never suppress love. Death will never have the last word.

Steve Taylor is a United Methodist Home Missioner serving as Director of Antiracist Discipleship and Beloved Community at The Church at Spring Forest UMC, with more than 30 years of experience helping congregations engage their communities in collaborative ministry and justice. Grounded in a lifelong commitment to antiracism and discipleship, he invites the church to ask, “Where do we see Jesus?”—seeing ministry with the poor and marginalized as sacred communion and Christian transformation.

Pilate spent most of the year in Caesarea Maratima, along the coast of the Mediterranean 70 miles north of Jerusalem. This was the headquarters for the Roman power in Judea at the time of Jesus. But he was sure to travel to Jerusalem during Passover.

Pilate would’ve made this journey because Passover was one of two Jewish festivals where devout Jews were obligated to travel to Jerusalem. Because of the exile from 597 to 538 BCE there was a diaspora of Jews throughout the Middle East. At Passover they came streaming back to Jerusalem. This festival was also a time of nationalistic fervor and animosity toward the Romans who had occupied Judea since 63 BCE.

It didn’t help that Pilate had a history of provoking the Jewish leaders. He had Roman banners placed in the temple and had seized temple funds to build an aqueduct. The banners had an image of Caesar on them and so represented a graven image. No wonder there was outrage by the people.

So, Pilate had decided to be safe rather than sorry. He came through the western gate into Jerusalem with cavalry, chariots, and foot soldiers in battle gear. He was taking no chances with this show of strength designed to intimidate.

In stark contrast we have Jesus coming down from the Mount of Olives riding a donkey. This, too, was full of symbolism. This was meant to be a fulfillment of prophesy, particularly Zechariah 9:9 which described a coming Messiah as “righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey.”

In addition to the prophetic reference there was the stark contrast of the donkey of Jesus and the horses of Pilate’s procession. It was a subversive protest against imperial “might makes right.” In the ancient world, a king rode a horse when going to war but a donkey when arriving in peace.

There was also spiritual symbolism. The donkey is a beast of burden, symbolizing Jesus’ mission to carry the spiritual weight and sins of humanity. The colt was “unbroken,” never having been ridden previously. This symbolized its purity and sacredness for a divine task.

At this momentous Passover we have a violent imperial show of power contrasted with a non-violent symbolic and prophetic exercise of spiritual power. Even today we see extremes such as these. One only needs to consider the situation in Minneapolis. ICE has invaded intent on deporting anyone that fits the racial profile, US citizen or not. Yet there is a faithful, holy resistance, that has countered this invasion.

ICE has adopted all of the trappings of empire. With the masks, armored clothing, and administrative warrants they are counting on using intimidation to achieve their ends. If this doesn’t work they can and have turned to more violent means, tear gas, pepper spray and a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ policy. When questioned about some incident the default response is that ICE is just defending itself against antifa or left-wing extremists.

In response, there is non-violent, faithful resistance. Seeing injustice at work the country has responded with peaceful protests. This is a contrast that hearkens back to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. One of these symbols is “Is Leave Minnesota a Loon.” Along with this phrase is the image of the “Rebel Loon.”

This graphic was the creation of Bernardo Anderson and was inspired by the diverse characters in Star Wars who unite to fight a powerful empire. He wanted to symbolize the unity and hope he witnessed during protests.

Photo provided by author; credit Bernardo Anderson

Despite the violence that ICE has countered with, and some would say, because of that violence, the non-violent protests have turned the country against the tactics that the administration is using. Indeed, Congress is demanding changes to ICE policies to prevent recurrence of such draconian attempts to deport those that have been racially profiled.

Would this have occurred if there had been no nonviolent protests? More than likely not. What injustices are you aware of? Have the usual methods of bringing awareness to them been effective? Maybe it is time for public resistance in the form of protests. Where are such protests happening in your area?

When this is published on Substack, March 29, there will have been a nationwide No Kings protest held the previous day, the third No Kings protest. On February 25 in Washington, DC the United Methodist Church led the protest “Faithful Witness: A Public Witness for Immigrant Justice.”

Now that the weather is beginning to warm up there will be further protests, if anything like those that were held last year you will be only a short drive from one happening in your area. My wife Marjie and I attended several last year. In addition to holding cleverly worded and thought-provoking signs we wore our Deaconess Home Missioner tee-shirts, or in cooler weather our scarves. We wanted to bring a symbolic message that the United Methodist Church, and Deaconesses and Home Missioners in particular were faithful advocates for the marginalized.

Just as Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday was Holy Resistance, so too is the public resistance of protest. Sometimes it is only through public resistance that real meaningful change can come about.

Mark Hrabe is a Home Missioner in the Ohio Conference. A resident of Warren, Ohio, he is the chair of the East Ohio MFSA Resolutions Committee and a member of the MFSA Program Council. In his spare time Mark enjoys gardening, woodworking, and along with his wife, retired Deaconess Marjie, being entertained by their 2 rescue Dachshunds.