Sunday’s scripture comes from Isaiah 43:
Don’t fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when through the rivers, they won’t sweep over you.

We Methodists have no shortage of traditions to ring in at the very beginning of each year:

Biblically, it’s a little early to be talking about stars in the sky. We haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet; Epiphany isn’t for another couple weeks!

I have shared before that there is no slow season of ministry. If you trick yourself into thinking summer is the slow season, you will be caught completely off guard by service-learning trips, Methodist conference season, annual programming plans, and clergy transitions.

How does a weary world rejoice? 

This is the question we are wrestling with as we travel through this Advent season.

Your weekly newsletter is popping into your inbox a day early, thanks to the Thanksgiving holiday. Whether your Thanksgiving will be with friends, family, or in cozy solitude, I hope that this week you will know that there are many who give thanks for you.

Clickbaity, silver bullet self-help gimmicks collect the highest amount of skepticism. Titles like “One Quick Trick To Unlock A More Productive You,” “The One Thing Every CEO Does Before 8:00 am,” “Hack Your Finances With 3 Easy Tools,” or “5 Steps To Your Happiest Life Now,” make me cringe.

We’re at cruising altitude and the beverage cart is finally coming around. Just as I asked of you all in worship a couple weeks ago whenever you’re in this scenario (or anywhere else out in the world), I wonder now: What is God’s dream for the future of First Church? Today, my wondering is around God’s dream for our resilience. 

A wise colleague highlighted this word from God as the one needed today. When that word was first spoken, the prophet Elijah was in a cross mood in a cross time. The journey ahead felt too difficult. He had given up. However, God had not given up on him.

In the summer of 1992, the world witnessed the greatest sports team ever assembled: the U.S. Men’s Olympic Basketball team. The Dream Team.

When I relayed my latest fantastic sports metaphor to my spouse, he said, “Karyn. This has gone too far! You’ve got to be stopped.” I took this as a grand compliment.

Chest open, arms up, on your feet- and streeeeetch! In the middle of a road trip, while hunched over your desk all day, or after 6 ½ innings of a baseball game, a well-timed stretch feels good.

It is a blessing to have lots of folks to love and who love you. During the holidays, however, this can make for tricky scheduling. Paul’s and my families have always been 2000 miles away from each other, and our closest friends are scattered from coast to coast.

The Blue Ridge Mountains are a feature in our home. During a week exploring Ashville’s brilliant fall foliage, we came upon a giclee triptych of those gentle peaks: layer upon layer of rolling hill, seeming to go on as far as the sunset.

As a sports fan, I am not difficult to impress. Paul and I enjoy attending Blazers games at the Moda Center. He is a diehard basketball fan, down to every player’s stats, personalities, contracts, the philosophy of the game, and the strategy of a team in each era.

A committed Portland Timbers fan knows: In the 80^th minute of every Timbers game at Providence Park, a melody emerges from the raucous crowd: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“Courage doesn’t always shout but whispers and reminds, when we get up one more morning and we try another time.” - Carrie Newcomer, “A Simple Change of Heart”...

I was taking a break from my tasks this week when I popped onto Facebook to see what was going on in the lives of my friends and acquaintances. One friend had posted: “ Apalachee High School. Winder, GA. Lord, in your mercy.”

As I was working on my sermon for this week, I found myself overwhelmed by the enormity of the world’s grief. Not only am I working through my own grief, but I am also living in a world that is crying out in agony over the painful ways we have treated her.

My daughter goes to preschool during the week. While she is there she learns her numbers, her alphabet, and perhaps most importantly, how to interact with her peers. She is learning language to tell us how she feels, what she needs, and how to address those things that she feels most intensely.