Yet Even Now -- a sermon on Joel, for Advent

Rev. Teri Peterson

Gourock St. John’s

Yet Even Now

Joel 2.12-16, 26-29

29 November 2020, Advent 1 (blessings of an impossible Christmas)

(Text: Advent 2, NL3-13)

The prophet Joel was a learned interpreter of sacred text—he quotes the Torah and other prophets many times in his short book. He spoke to people in Jerusalem, warning them of the consequences of not following God’s way, and painting beautiful word pictures of God’s promise and faithfulness. Today’s reading from chapter 2 begins with the words “Yet even now” which signal a big change, a complete turnaround, that needs immediate attention. I am reading from the New Revised Standard Version.

Yet even now, says the Lord,

   return to me with all your heart,

with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; 

   rend your hearts and not your clothing.

Return to the Lord, your God,

   for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,

   and relents from punishing. 

Blow the trumpet in Zion;

   sanctify a fast;

call a solemn assembly; 

gather the people.

Sanctify the congregation;

   assemble the aged;

gather the children,

   even infants at the breast.

Let the bridegroom leave his room,

   and the bride her canopy. 

You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,

   and praise the name of the Lord your God,

   who has dealt wondrously with you. And my people shall never again be put to shame. 

You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,

   and that I, the Lord, am your God and there is no other.

And my people shall never again

   be put to shame. 

Then afterwards

   I will pour out my spirit on all flesh;

your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

   your old men shall dream dreams,

   and your young men shall see visions. 

Even on the male and female slaves,

   in those days, I will pour out my spirit.

This may seem like a strange reading to start the season of Advent. We don’t read from Joel very often, though bits and pieces might sound familiar from other times of year — sometimes at the beginning of Lent we hear the call to “rend your hearts and not your clothing” and of course Peter’s sermon on the first Pentecost quoted this bit about “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” Maybe Advent was feeling left out, and didn’t want to be the only season with nothing from the prophet Joel! 

The first chapter of the book of Joel describes a nation losing hope — he talks about a plague of locusts, which could be about ecological destruction or a metaphor for an invading army, which brings its own kind of environmental damage. The first chapter of Joel is all about a land that has been ravaged and has nothing left to offer, and a people who don’t see their own part in bringing the story to this point or how they can play a role in the unfolding of God’s future story either. The world was turned upside down and everything was uncertain.

And that is when Joel says: Yet even now.

Even now, when you’re anxious and worried.

Even now, when it feels like you have nothing to offer.

Even now, as you try to figure out how to manage everything going on.

Even now, with this situation and these rules and restrictions and under these circumstances.

Even now, when it feels impossible.

Yet even now, says the Lord…return to me with all your heart.

Your heart that has been broken again and again in this season — as we have had loss upon loss, of life, of livelihood, of relationship, of security, of celebrations, of hope, of time. Bring it all.

And then…though it feels like our hearts can’t take anymore, God invites us to be broken open one more time. But this time it’s just that, a breaking open— a chance for all that is in us to be revealed, and for all that God offers us to be received. 

In that open space, God will leave a blessing, even if we aren’t sure what that means just yet. 

But isn’t that just what Advent is about? An opening, a making space, a preparation for God to come into the world and do a new thing. An impossible new thing, the divine becoming human, taking on flesh and living among us…even now.

The prophet called the people to come and worship, in the midst of all the devastations of the year — and remember, worship involved bringing offerings of the land to the Temple. But there was nothing to offer, the land was ruined, the crops and animals gone. They were empty-handed. They could not worship the way they were used to…but still all of them, even the people usually left out, were to bring what they had: their hearts, their minds, their strength, all broken open. God would take care of the rest, though maybe not in quite the way they expected.

Perhaps this is not such a strange reading for Advent after all. 

This year when so much we are used to feels impossible, God is still calling us to break open and make space…to turn to God with all our heart, and find that there is a blessing we never expected, poured out. 

Into all those open hearts, God was pouring out the Spirit — not just on church people, not just on leaders, not just men, not just adults, not just on those who were ready or worthy — on all flesh. God coming to earth wasn’t just for some, but for all. We might hear the word from strangers or outsiders, we might hear it coming from our own mouths, we might hear God speaking through the people on the lowest rung of society, in a different accent or a completely different way of communicating. Joel calls us to be ready, to open our hearts to receive the truth that God is in our midst — even if God comes in a peasant baby born to an unwed teenage mother in a borrowed stable in an occupied foreign territory. 

This Advent season, can we stand to break open our hearts one more time? To listen for the voice of the Spirit coming from unexpected quarters, in the midst of a devastated land? 

Perhaps we might listen for the Spirit speaking through those who show us our complicity in that devastation — something the people of Joel’s time couldn’t see, and something we too often turn away from. When we recognise our part in the destruction of the land we can also recognise our part in its healing — the visions poured out on the young and the old can show us a way forward for living in harmony with creation. 

Perhaps we might listen for the Spirit speaking through those who are imagining a way of worship that meets the challenges of a new day and a new generation — in Joel’s time they were forced to change because they physically could not do what they use to do. How familiar that feels today! Will the visions and prophesies poured out on young and old show us a path toward encountering God anew?

Yet even now, says the Lord: return to me with all your heart. 

Yet even now, says the Lord: you shall know that I am in your midst.

Yet even now, says the Lord: I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh.

This may be an Advent and Christmas like no other…but in the most important way, it’s the same as ever: in the disruption, in the darkness, in the wondering and the waiting, Emmanuel, God is with us.

May it be so. Amen.

Blessings of an (im)possible Christmas -- Advent Candle Liturgies for 2020

This year I am adapting the Narrative Lectionary slightly for Advent, so the readings/themes are:

29 November, Advent 1: Mercy & Gift (Joel 2.12-29)

6 December, Advent 2: Living Hope (Isaiah 61)

13 December, Advent 3: Possible (Luke 1.26-45)

20 December, Advent 4: Promise Fulfilled (Luke 1.46-56)

You are welcome to use the candle liturgy, or to adapt it if you need to! I have made it sort of minimally-responsive...for pre-recorded worship, it will be read by one voice of course. For in-person worship, it will include some actions (covering eyes, reaching out hands, and a posture of blessing).

The numbered section is the bit that changes each week, the rest will remain the same.

In the darkest times we cannot see to make our way…

our eyes adjust, but still everything is shadowed and grey.

We reach out, desperate  

for comfort

for balance

for the familiar

for hope

In the darkest times,

even a faltering light can be just enough:

the flame flickers, twinkles, dances—and it is dazzling!

For in its light, we see light: God in our midst.

~Candle is lit~

1. However impossible it seems, 

God’s mercy is from everlasting to everlasting,

and blessed is the one gifted with God’s vision.

Come, O come, Emmanuel, God with us, and we will rejoice.

2. However impossible it seems, 

hope is alive, even in the midst of this world,

and blessed is the one whose living hope reveals God’s good news.

3. However impossible it seems,

here we are, the servants of the Lord, both perplexed and joyful —

and blessed is the one who trusts that with God all things are possible.

4. However impossible it seems,

God’s promise will be fulfilled —

and blessed is the one who sees the truth of God’s kingdom in our midst.

a new call for a new time -- a sermon on Isaiah 6

Rev. Teri Peterson

Gourock St. John’s

A new call for a new time

Isaiah 6.1-8 (NRSV)

15 November 2020, NL3-10, Becoming God’s People 9

The prophet Isaiah lived in the 8^th century BCE, when the Assyrian empire was expanding, conquering the northern kingdom of Israel and destroying much of the southern kingdom of Judah. Isaiah lived in Jerusalem, the only city relatively unharmed in this war, and he spoke primarily to the kings, priests, and their wealthy advisors. Isaiah insisted that being God’s people involved not only worshipping the One God, but also behaving in ways consistent with God’s plans—and that God’s concern was primarily for those outside the halls of power, without wealth or connections. Much of the first section of Isaiah is about God’s vision of justice and righteousness, and how the leaders of the nation fall short of that vision, and therefore both oppress their people and lead them astray. In today’s reading from Isaiah chapter 6, the king has died and the nation is in turmoil. We hear about Isaiah’s vision of a visit to the throne room of God, where heavenly beings worship and where Isaiah receives the difficult grace of confession and call. I am reading from the New Revised Standard Version.

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. ²Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. ³And one called to another and said:

‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory.’ 

⁴The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. ⁵And I said: ‘Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!’

6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. ⁷The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’ ⁸Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’

I love the prophet Isaiah. It’s my favourite book in the entire Bible, in part because of the beautiful language. Isaiah paints pictures with words. He’s the one who gives us the peaceable kingdom, where the wolf will dwell with the lamb, the calf and the lion, the little child shall lead them. He shows us God’s vision of the mountain where all people from every nation come and feast together and hear God’s word throughout the world, where swords will turn into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. Isaiah writes about every valley lifted up and mountain brought low, about the desert springing into life, and about God’s justice breaking yokes of oppression. And even when he is writing about the consequences of the people’s sinfulness, he does so with such lovely poetic language!

Today we get one of his famously beautiful word-paintings about an encounter with God in the Temple. He saw, with his own eyes, a God so overwhelming that only the skirts of his robe filled the whole temple, and the heavenly worship literally rocked the house. In a flash, Isaiah realised he was in over his head — and he said so. He didn’t pretend that he was worthy, or that he understood, or that he was certain he was in the right place. He didn’t assume that he was seeing this vision because of his great faithfulness or as a sign of favour. Just as we offer a prayer of confession near the beginning of a worship service, the first thing Isaiah did on entering this heavenly worship experience was admit his failings. He knew that a face to face encounter between humans and God could be dangerous, because close proximity to such holiness burns — as it did for Moses, and as it did for the disciples on the Emmaus Road, and for many others throughout scripture and history. 

I love that the response of the seraphim, the heavenly attendants who are flying about and singing, is to say “we can solve this problem.” God doesn’t kick Isaiah out, instead they reach out and make Isaiah ready. A burning coal to the lips sounds like a nightmare to me, but remember that fire cleanses but also heals. It can be used to purify…and it can be used to cauterise and close up a wound. Isaiah is strangely made whole, made clean, made ready to stand in God’s presence, and he lives to tell the tale. 

This encounter with God was both an experience of overwhelming majesty — of smoke and singing and painful beauty — and also an intimate experience, being noticed, and touched, and spoken to. It’s that experience that was still tingling in Isaiah’s mind and heart when he heard God ask the heavenly court “who will go” and it’s that burning desire to serve this overwhelming God that caused Isaiah to speak up and say “here I am, send me” even though he had no idea what he was saying yes to. God didn’t say “I need someone to go to this place, do this thing, and say these words” — Isaiah answered a call based only on his relationship with God, not based on whether he thought he could do the task. He had already experienced God making him ready to stand in the holy presence, so surely God would also be able to equip him for the work ahead.

At this point, I think we need to know that Isaiah began his life as a prophet in the last year or so of King Uzziah’s 40 years on the throne. Even though things around the kingdom were changing and disintegrating and while other empires were rising and encroaching, this had been a long period of relative political stability with the same leader…but now it was over, and it wasn’t really clear who would succeed Uzziah or what sort of king they would be. The world must have felt upended and uncertain, as many periods of political transition feel. The people he would speak to were not following God’s ways, the society was unjust and people were suffering. A prophet’s job is to tell the king things he often doesn’t want to hear, so Isaiah must have wondered what sort of relationship he might have with the next ruler, and whether he would be more or less receptive to seeing things God’s way. 

I love that we get this story of Isaiah’s encounter with God a few chapters in to his book. Usually call stories are right at the beginning, but the way this book is written, it feels as if the prophet was already following, already faithful, already working, and in the midst of that life and work came this moment of awe and wonder and confession and compassion and a renewed sense of purpose.

I wonder if we who are in the middle of our own faith journeys, who are experienced Christians and church-goers, still expect to encounter God when we come to worship, the way those who are new to the faith do? And if we did, would we be focused on explaining the ways we think we’ve gotten it right, or on admitting we need God’s help to make us holy, or just soaking up the beauty and wonder? Are we open to a mid-life correction, to a new call from God that might take us in a different direction than we’d been going before…and that might burn a little bit? And would we answer that call before we even knew for sure what it would entail?

So often I think we are prone to simply doing what we’ve always done, believing what we’ve always believed, praying how we’ve always prayed. We forget to notice beautiful things, and even when we do, we don’t let them soak in and transform us, which makes it harder then to put that beauty back out into the world. We think that if it hurts to let go of something, that must be a sign that we’re supposed to hold onto it — forgetting that sometimes the old has to be burned away. We forget that learning and growing and changing is a part of life, and we chastise politicians who change their positions over time, or mock people who adjust their behaviours as they learn new information. But from the simple things, like how we have learned the value of face coverings over the past eight months when initially they weren’t thought to be important, to big things like shifting our views and actions of colonialism or white supremacy or sexism, we all learn and grow and change. 

How much more, then when it comes to God? We know that the love of God is never changing, but we also know that God’s call to us is for particular times and places…and that can change as the context we live in changes, even if that means we need a burning coal to the lips to make us ready for the new thing. 

In Isaiah’s time, the political leader was changing, the world stage was in some disarray and it wasn’t clear how it would shake out, and the prophet needed to both be reminded of God’s unchanging power and majesty and also hear a new call for a new time. 

Honestly, that sounds a bit like it could have been written today, doesn’t it?

So perhaps we ought to be ready for an encounter with the Holy…to soak up God’s glory and to listen carefully for what new thing God might be calling us to do in this new time. Like Isaiah, we may be overwhelmed by God’s greatness in the face of all the uncertainty around us, or we may cry out when we realise we can’t keep going on the same path. But also like Isaiah, we can trust that God will equip us with whatever we need for the days ahead, and our relationship with God will carry us, even into the unknown — and so we say, Here I am, send me.

May it be so. Amen.

Just Enough -- a sermon on Elijah and the widow of Zarephath

 Rev. Teri Peterson

Gourock St. John’s

Just enough 

1 Kings 17:1-24, NIV

1 November 2020, All Saints Day, NL3-8, Becoming God’s People 8

David’s kingship involved a lot of ups and downs, including some pretty serious mistakes, yet God continued to work through him. After David, his son Solomon became king. Solomon built the Temple in Jerusalem that his father had not been called to build. That and other building projects were completed via forced and conscripted labour, fulfilling the warnings that Samuel had given the people so many years before. Solomon famously made political alliances via marriages with women from other nations, and they brought their religious practices with them…and eventually, the nation’s faithfulness to the One God was corrupted. It wasn’t just that the people worshipped false gods, but they also laid aside the way of life commanded by God, including the care of the vulnerable. After Solomon, there were a number of difficulties in the monarchy and ultimately the kingdom was divided. Both the northern and southern kingdoms had a series of kings who were unfaithful to God, and led the people down a dangerous path. When we pick up the story today, King Ahab had just married a foreign princess who came with her religious, economic, and social practices that were contrary to God’s way, and the prophet Elijah tried to warn the king about his poor choice. I am reading from the 1st book of Kings, chapter 17, verses 1-24, in the New International Version.

17 Now Elijah the Tishbite, from Tishbe in Gilead, said to Ahab, ‘As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, whom I serve, there will be neither dew nor rain in the next few years except at my word.’

² Then the word of the Lord came to Elijah: ³ ‘Leave here, turn eastward and hide in the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan. ⁴ You will drink from the brook, and I have instructed the ravens to supply you with food there.’

⁵ So he did what the Lord had told him. He went to the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan, and stayed there. ⁶ The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.

⁷ Some time later the brook dried up because there had been no rain in the land. ⁸ Then the word of the Lord came to him: ⁹ ‘Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have instructed a widow there to supply you with food.’ ¹⁰ So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, ‘Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?’ ¹¹ As she was going to get it, he called, ‘And bring me, please, a piece of bread.’

¹² ‘As surely as the Lord your God lives,’ she replied, ‘I don’t have any bread – only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it – and die.’

¹³ Elijah said to her, ‘Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: “The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.”’

¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the Lord spoken by Elijah.

¹⁷ Some time later the son of the woman who owned the house became ill. He grew worse and worse, and finally stopped breathing. ¹⁸ She said to Elijah, ‘What do you have against me, man of God? Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?’

¹⁹ ‘Give me your son,’ Elijah replied. He took him from her arms, carried him to the upper room where he was staying, and laid him on his bed. ²⁰ Then he cried out to the Lord, ‘Lord my God, have you brought tragedy even on this widow I am staying with, by causing her son to die?’ ²¹ Then he stretched himself out on the boy three times and cried out to the Lord, ‘Lord my God, let this boy’s life return to him!’

²² The Lord heard Elijah’s cry, and the boy’s life returned to him, and he lived. ²³ Elijah picked up the child and carried him down from the room into the house. He gave him to his mother and said, ‘Look, your son is alive!’

²⁴ Then the woman said to Elijah, ‘Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.’

It seems a harsh decree, for Elijah the prophet to declare there will be no dew or rain — no water at all — until he said so. The situation must be dire for him to call down that kind of punishment, not just on the Israelites but on the surrounding areas as well. This entire story takes place outside of Israelite territory — meaning that Elijah was in territory belonging not just to other nations, but to other gods! And yet his God was proved more powerful than even Baal, the storm god who was thought to control the rain. 

The dispute between Elijah and Ahab was indeed dire. Ahab and his new wife were corrupt, and their poor leadership was trickling down to the people, who were turning aside from God and God’s ways, picking up all sorts of practices, behaviours, economic patterns, social norms, and religious rituals that were forming them into a selfish, stratified, violent, and divided society. The problem started at the top, as the nation followed the example of their king instead of the call of God. Elijah wanted the leaders to lead on faithfulness and goodness and justice, and of course Ahab wanted none of that as it wasn’t pleasurable or profitable for him and his infamous wife. 

So Elijah declared there would be a drought. The whole world dried up, little by little. And yet God sustained Elijah, caring for him by sending him out to the desert, to a stream where the ravens brought him two square meals every day, and he was able to drink the fresh water running down from the mountains. It wasn’t comfortable, but he had plenty. 

Eventually, though, as the drought wore on and there was no rain to refill the stream, it too dried up. While Ahab did not repent, Elijah did not give in, and God did not forget. Elijah’s next instruction was to travel for a few days, around 60 miles, to a town in the home country of the offending Queen, in the territory of Baal. There was no rain there either, despite all the prophets of Baal doing their best to call on their god. There, in Zarephath, Elijah met the widow — a woman among the most vulnerable in society, who would always be on the lookout for those men who wanted to take advantage of her unprotected position on the edge of society. 

At first he asked only for water. In the middle of a drought, that was already a sacrifice, to give her water away to a stranger! But she understood her duty to offer hospitality, so she turned to her water jar.

Then came the impossible request. Could she feed him? 

Of all the people for a stranger to encounter in a foreign land, seeking hospitality, he encountered a widow, vulnerable and stretched to her limit.

Her answer is so heartbreaking: I am going to try to find some sticks — even firewood is hard to come by — and turn the last handful of flour and oil into a roll to share with my son, and that’s the end for us. So no, I can’t give you a meal.

Elijah was undeterred. He insisted on God’s faithfulness, even to this woman who was not an Israelite and did not worship his same God. Her god, in fact, was the one who was unable to undo the drought that had brought her to this cliff edge…a drought caused by Elijah’s word! Of course she did not know that her imminent death was a side effect of the dispute between this prophet and the king. At this point, she didn’t even know he was a prophet. All she knew was that he told her not to be afraid.

Elijah asked her to go ahead and make her final meal….but to give it to him instead. And then, after she had given that away, she would find that there was enough for her and her son as well, and there would be every day.

In many ways, I think the miracle here is that she did as he said…and secondarily, that things turned out as he promised. I think many of us would have hesitated to give our last meal away, especially to a foreign stranger!

Elijah proceeded to stay with her and enjoy her generous hospitality, within these limited means, for a long time. And every day, there was just enough at the bottom of the flour jar and just enough in the jug of oil. It doesn’t say that the jars were suddenly full and never seemed to diminish — it says they did not run out. Every day there was that last scoop, the last drop. 

It must have felt like a bit of a change for Elijah, to go from being fed two meals of meat and bread every day with no effort on his part, to sharing a home with two other people and constantly living on the edge of their resources as the world continued to dry up around them. Elijah had promised the woman daily bread, not an overabundance of bread…and God delivered. God kept that promise, just as both Elijah and the widow trusted him to do.

I think it is fascinating that twice God says to Elijah that he has “instructed” someone to take care of him. First it’s the ravens — “I have instructed the ravens to supply you with food.” God uses the creation to help care for Elijah during the first part of his journey in the wilderness, and they seem to do so without complaint, even though as scavengers it was not in their nature to hand off meat to someone else! 

The second time it’s the widow — “I have instructed a widow there to supply you with food.” The same sentence, but this time about a person. Yet when Elijah arrives, it seems that she has not heard this instruction herself. It’s only when he calls out to her, asking for the impossible, that she hears. 

How often is that the case! God may be calling us, but it’s only when we hear it in the voice of another person that we actually understand the instructions God is giving. Especially when it comes to giving of our resources, we often hear God best in the cries for help that come from our neighbours. Unfortunately, it is also far too easy to ignore those voices, or to talk ourselves out of hearing the Holy Spirit through them.

Ultimately, the woman trusted that nudge from God. Even though she was an outsider, she heard the word of God in the voice of Elijah, asking for her last bread…and she gave it. And it turned out not to be the last, every single day.

Could we give like that? Could we offer to God a little bit more than we think we can, and see how God’s faithfulness sustains us in turn? Could we take something from our own cupboard and offer it to those in need? Not just what’s leftover, or things we think they ought to have, but something we personally enjoy, that we bought for ourselves — give it to the food bank or to a neighbour who is hungry or to a family that’s struggling to provide a celebration, as the world has dried up around us?

The widow does not offer Elijah her leftovers. She gives him the meal she was planning to eat, and then there is enough for them all. Too often I think we are prone to offering our leftovers, the nearly-out-of-date tins from the back of the cupboard, or shopping for the food bank from the reduced-to-clear shelf, keeping back the things we don’t think “they” should have. But we are in the process of Becoming God’s People — being formed in Christ’s likeness, learning to live as a community according to God’s way. So in these days when so many are on the edge of poverty, so many more are vulnerable to mental health difficulties, so many are desperate and worried, watching the options fade away and the children ask for things they can’t have: can we, God’s People, hear God calling us through their voices, to give a little more generously? Whether that’s by a gift of both treats and essentials to the foodbank, cooking for a neighbour, or increasing our offering to the church’s ministry, perhaps God is instructing us to care for others in tangible ways, right here and right now. Sometimes we don’t hear God instructing us until someone else asks, so I’ll be the one to ask, on behalf of all those whose voices we can’t hear: can you, the people of God, give a little bit more? 

The woman’s trust and generosity did not lead to a windfall that changed her circumstances forever. It just kept them going, day by day by day. And it was enough. That’s what God promises: morning by morning, new mercies we see. God works for life — day by day, sometimes hour by hour; even at the edges of society, even beyond the borders of our understanding, even through despair and heartbreak and grief, even when the world dries up, even through the cries of our neighbours and the generosity of strangers…and even through us, for others. 

May it be so. Amen.