A Love Affair
He is an organic part of the Torah tradition and in Elijah, a summation of the Word as spoken through the prophets.
As with Moses, the real purpose of it all is the work that awaits down off the mountain. The work of liberation.
But Peter cannot contain himself. In that sublime moment he lapses into foolishness. He thinks they can stay there forever. Much as I longed to stay at that church camp with that red-haired girl, holding hands.
Yet that sparkle of love from that camp, from my years in Sunday school, from hearing my father read to me from Hurlbut’s Story of the Bible took up a subtle residence in my soul. The luminosity grew in my encounter with a campus minister and his wife and in the close fellowship of the Wesley Foundation at Cal State Long Beach.
There I encountered the greats of the faith, Tillich, the Niebuhr brothers, Bonhoeffer, the Jewish theologian Martin Buber. Finally, Dr. Martin Luther King and César Chávez. Soon my wife and I had grape strike workers from Delano living with us during the Safeway Grape Boycott. Yes, Safeway finally came to the table. Jesus’ Transfiguring Light for worker justice burned brightly in my spirit through that work.
It was the same light I felt burning in my heart upon hearing of our Black neighbors down the street being flooded out of their home by the supposed “good Christian” white neighbors. And when my church down the street said absolutely NOTHING — a Transfiguring Fire burned in my bones. Shine, Jesus, Shine.
I had grown up in a staunch Republican household. I proudly wore my “I Like Ike” button to school every day in junior high. Still have it. You could say, I had a love affair with America. The smiling visage of my president was the confirmation that America liked me as well. Our family prospered and lived the good life. In the values and norms I revered, that Transfiguring Light shone. When I placed my hand over my heart for the Pledge of Allegiance, it was that generous, warm smile of my president that flooded into my being.
When President Eisenhower sent the troops into Little Rock to enforce the education rights of Black children, I was filled with pride that our country would side with the shoved aside, the dispossessed having to suffer with underfunded, dilapidated schools. I was proud of our president, my president. And of those brave students who ran a gauntlet of hate every day just to get an equal education. And the National Guard troops upholding their rights as Americans to equal treatment.
I saw that drama every night on our small black and white TV and in the newsreels shown at the movie theater matinees. In the courage of that president and those students and their teachers, Jesus’ luminosity shown as the blazing Sun of Righteousness. Yes, “Shine, Jesus, Shine.”
That Light shown ever brightly on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963 on a warm, sunny day before millions, both in person and glued to their TVs around the world. “I have a Dream.” Tears rolled down my eyes from the joy of that promise. Transfiguring Light burning through the hatred and lethargy of those still on the sidelines. Shine, Jesus, Shine.
It could not be extinguished by the hate and terror inflicted on those peaceful marchers as they attempted to cross the Edmund Pettis Bridge on their trek to Montgomery in 1965. Fire hoses, beatings, police dogs, the hate of snarling racists could not snuff out that Light. The Transfiguring Light of Liberty can never be finally extinguished. No darkness can ultimately overcome it. “Shine, Jesus, Shine.”
You see, our compact with one another is a great love affair that, through rocky times and moments of true heroism, has endured for neigh on 250 years. And through those values that we as a people hold dear, hold in common, Jesus Light yet shines – as we act on them.
And now the beams of that Light fall upon our soiled and troubled faces. Present to illuminate the way forward as members of the Jesus Movement.
I was delighted (pardon the pun) to receive the word that my church, the national Episcopal Church, would proclaim this last Sunday as Immigration with Dignity Sunday. Yes, in the leadership of our presiding bishop and our Bishop John, Jesus Transfiguring Light brightly burns, searing away the scorn of those who would dehumanize the sojourner in our midst.
I see reflections of that light in the witness of other faith leaders across this nation, especially in the unity of the faith leaders in Minneapolis. There the Transfiguring Light of Holy Resistance brightens the corners of injustice and terror.
And for a few who sometimes think I’m sometimes a little too far out there, they haven’t been reading the posts of our Bishop John Taylor on Facebook. Now, there’s some radical Gospel preaching. In his prophetic leadership – Shine, Jesus, Shine.
As the Mount of Revelation was illuminated by the Glory of God as Moses ascended it, as the visage of our Lord shone with the radiance of a hundred suns, yet we shall shine in some measure in our witness to the Gospel Truth – God’s love embraces all creation. The movement of the Spirit is to rouse up the greatness in each one of us.
As we gather round the Lord’s table each Sunday, in our affection and care for one another and the stranger, in the tough work in St. Francis Garden of Hope and the strained backs and arms moving pallets of food at the St. John’s Food Bank. In the fruition of our dreams for House of Hope — Yes, the luminosity of Divine Transfiguring Light. Today, tomorrow and in days to come – Shine, Jesus, Shine. All to the Glory of God and our neighbor’s good. Amen.
February 8, 2026
Epiphany, Last Sunday – Transfiguration Sunday
Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2
2 Peter1:16-21; Gospel: Matthew 17:1-9
“A Love Affair”
Light Shining in ICE Darkness
We’ve all seen the sickening TV coverage. ICE agents bursting into people’s houses. No warrant. Hauling out suspected immigrants in their underwear, forced to lie facedown in the snow. No warrant necessary. Car windows smashed as a disabled woman is jerked out of her car and body slammed into its side. And smirking ICE agents ridiculing her as she struggles for breath.
All with no warrant.
And Trump’s cavalier attitude toward such Constitutional niceties? In an interview with NPR’s Luke Garrett, it was evident when he glibly answered the question, did he need to uphold the Constitution, “I don’t know,” he dodged.
ICE is now his private army. Might makes right. And the courts be damned. Where are Jefferson, Madison and Hamilton? Jane Adams?
The most venerable of us, immigrants are the prime victims of this lawlessness.
This Sunday, the Episcopal Church, nationally, is honoring our immigrant neighbors. It is Migration with Dignity Sunday 2026.
It is most fitting that the Old Testament selection from Isaiah falls on this Sunday.
The religious folk in Isaiah’s time gathered with great gusto. Processions in the finest vestments. Incense wafted to the ceiling. Praise hymns echoed from wall to wall. A sermon would challenge no one. Platitude piled on platitude. No one walked out in the middle of the homily. No one was offended. They got what their itching ears longed to hear. You are the people of Abraham and Sarah – what could ever be amiss?
And the congregation that Sabbath left self-satisfied that in their solemn assembly they had fulfilled their minimal duty. Now, off to the marketplace to lie, cheat and steal. And get filthy rich. To sell the poor for a farthing.
BUT WAIT…WAIT. Isaiah’s shout interrupts the saccharine proceedings.
Your assemblies of song and holy smoke are to no avail. They amount to less than nothing. They are a hypocrisy. They are a blasphemy… Utterly useless to the Lord of all Compassion. UNLESS…UNLESS…
UNLESS you have consummated this spectacle in deeds of justice and mercy. Actions are the completion of your worship. The final “Amen.”
As Jesus warned, “Don’t say we have Abraham as our father. That will get you nowhere. If God wanted children of Abraham, he could make them from the stones on the ground and the cigarette butts trashing our highways. Same for daughters of Sarah.
Your fast??? “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly…”
This is the completion of your worship, its fruition. And in the midst of this ICE darkness your light shall shine as the brightest supernova.
And do our immigrant neighbors ever more need our Light than in this day of ICE terror!?
Here their stories.
I spoke with one of our ICUC[1] organizers who recently returned from the Coachella Valley where ICE has run rampant through the agricultural fields rounding up anybody with brown skin, anybody speaking the wrong language. Anybody working at the wrong job.
One mother told of finding a note from her four-year-old girl when she returned from a day of drudgery in the fields. “Dear Mommy, I love you so but I am afraid everyday when I come home from school you will be gone. And I will never see you again. Love (daughter’s name).”
No child should be subjected to such anxiety and mental trauma. No child!
Minneapolis is under a state of siege. The city is virtually shut down. Local merchants have borne the brunt of the economic chaos. Restaurants closed. School and church attendance slashed from fear. And the horrifying pictures of neighbors being brutalized by this army of masked thugs, sadistic federal agents, smirking and laughing at the plight of their hapless victims – it’s beyond the pale.
Is this the fast, the worship, the Lord requires? It is a travesty of our American values. A travesty of any nation purporting to be a so called “Christian” nation. We mock God. Blasphemy!
Have a heart. Have a heart, cries the Lord of Hosts. Then your light shall rise in darkness. Even ICE darkness. “You shall be as a spring of water, whose waters never fail.” That very same light shall blaze forth in the hearts of those we welcome.
Hear Paul’s story.
“I asked for asylum at the border station in Tijuana. That is what the law tells you to do. I started to worry when border patrol put us on a bus with blackened windows. When they shackled our hands and feet, I was terrified.”
“They but us on a plane and would not remove the shackles to let us eat or go to the bathroom. Why this humiliation? Were we going to jump out of the plane?
That was just be beginning of a regime of fear and torment. Yes, with this beast, cruelty is the point. This policy has the mark of the beast written all over it, 666. The Antichrist, antithetical to the Christ-affirming values of care and dignity. 666 from start to finish.
Consider the case of Junita who was just one of the many who have died in ICE custody due to neglect or murder.
Juanita is an asthmatic and was held in an isolation cell. Given no mattress, food with worms in it. The light on day and night, depriving her of any beneficial sleep. When she began to have difficulty breathing and complained, three guards wrestled her to the floor and held her there while life and breath were slowly drained from her limp, unconscious body. This, folks, is your taxpayer dollars at work. 666 written all over it.
She is just one of the 30-some in recent months who have died from such cruel neglect and torture.
The racism of this administration knows no bounds. In public and private he refers to our Somali neighbors as “garbage.” This weekend the Orange Felon posted images of the Obamas as chimpanzees or orangutans. We have become the shameful laughingstock of the world. The brand of this loathsome racism is 666.
We affirm in our blessing every Sunday that in Christ we can make a difference. We are that illuminating light that brightens every corner – even the most putrefying, inhumane ICE corner.
Sojourners lists a number of ways we can help the citizens of Minneapolis, and by extension every community besieged by this army of terror. These are the asks of faith leaders of that city:
Donate! Even small amounts make a big difference. They add up and strengthen the souls of the activists on the front lines. They are solidarity, an excellent translation for the biblical term, “righteousness.”
Go to Stand With Minnesota. That website lists numerous organizations that have been vetted and will efficiently use your dollar.
Wear your ICE whistle. You may find yourselves on the front line. You in that moment are being Spirit-called to be Holy Resistance.
Call your elected officials. ICE defunded and out until proper constitutional protections are in place for our immigrant neighbors and the activists who stand with them. Such essentials as: judicial warrants for any search or apprehension. Body cameras. Remove the masks. Identifying information on every ICE agent. Unhindered inspections by congressional leaders of any and all ICE detention facilities.
Raise hell. Yes, raise hell because our immigrant neighbors are living in the lowest regions of hell.
Sign up for action alerts: Church World Service, Faith in Action, SojoAction. Access 5calls.org find sample scripts to use if you’re unsure what to say.
Folks, this is the time to leave it all on the Gospel-field of faith. How will you know you’re in the right Gospel-groove? You are feeling a bit uncomfortable, maybe a LOT uncomfortable.
Remember, if you are not ever being led outside your comfort and convenience zones, what you thought you thought was a long-distance call to your heart, was only the salve of local delusion and self-complacency. Not the worship response Isaiah and Jesus are summoning us to.
Remember, in Christ Jesus YOU are the Light. As that wonderful hymn puts it out there: “Shine, Jesus, Shine.” And your brightness in whatever deeds you can muster in His name will shine forth as the noonday sun. I guarantee it! Amen.
[1] ICUC – Inland Congregations United for Change.
February 8, 2026
Epiphany 5 – Migration With Dignity Sunday
Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 112:1-9
I Corinthians 2:1-16; Gospel: Matthew 5:13-20
“Light Shining in ICE Darkness”
What Does the Lord Require
In our basic training post at Fort Sam in San Antonio, all of us in Company D-3 were conscientious objectors to be trained as Army Medics. Before going on to our medic training, we went through an 8-week course.
Usually in the evening if we didn’t have much homework or Army busywork, we’d head over to the PX and have some beer and pizza. One of our fellows was a Buddhist named Holderbaum. One night someone asked him, how with a German name like that, was he a Buddhist.
He said that to be given conscientious objector status he had to be some religion. He knew he couldn’t be a Christian because they can’t drink or have sex. He knew he wasn’t a Catholic because he didn’t believe in the pope and all the saints mumbo jumbo. By elimination, that must have left Buddhist.
Yes, some of us starchy, legalistic Protestant types are a bit over the top in our understanding of Jesus’s basic message. We get caught up in the jots and tittles, neglecting the weightier part of the message: “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”
Today’s gospel passage also contains the basics of the Christian-Judeo faith.
It is eloquently summed up in Matthew’s Beatitudes. You know them — ”Blessed are those who” – fill in the blank
If these are used as a legalistic standard, imposed in a ridged way, who could possibly be saved? Holderbaum’s right. No mortal could live up to them in an exacting way. In some congregations they are “weaponized” to beat others over the head — doing incredible spiritual and psychic damage.
I decided to look in the Trump Bible to see how modern man has approached these injunctions. I wasn’t going to give him one red cent – he’s already monetized the presidency for some $1.4 billion[1] and counting — so I snuck a free peak.
The modern ethical version goes something like this.
Blessed are those who use the public trust of elected office to run a grift of hundreds of millions of dollars, for they shall have many friends.
Blessed are those who appoint the least qualified to office, for no one will confront you with embarrassing “alternative facts.”
Blessed are those who trash our immigrant neighbors by sending armies of undisciplined goons into the streets of our cities, for they will imagine themselves safer when might makes right.
Blessed are those who ignore the laws and statutes of their nation, for they shall not be inconvenienced by legal niceties and pesky lawyers.
These are Caesar’s beatitudes. And the spiritual warfare with Caeser yet rages full on in the Book of John’s Revelations. The mark of the beast, 666, is firmly stamped on this administration’s “banality of evil.”[2] It has become normalized, cavalierly dismissed.
Not quite the ethic of the Jesus Movement that I learned in Sunday school or seminary. Or you either. No, we as members of that saving movement are held to a higher standard. “To do justice, to love kindness, to walk humbly with your God.”
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.
These beatitudes are the goal for which we would strive. Yet, being far from perfect, we will mostly miss the mark. They are the hallmark of a mature spirituality.
This Easter, Luther James Forney will be baptized.
I was in a quandary as to how to assist Christopher and Alexis in fulfilling their baptismal vows made on Luther’s behalf.
One book that came immediately to mind was Bishop Budde’s book, How We Learn to be Brave.[3] It was occasioned by her interview on CNN after Trump and an entourage of cabinet officers and military generals proceeded to St. John’s to hold up a Bible upside down.
This was a desecration of our scriptures and a place of worship under Bishop Budde’s jurisdiction. “I had to say something,” was her stance. Later, came the blowback she received after she had had the temerity to ask the president for mercy for those being hurt by his policies.
Courage is the character of a mature person of faith, regardless the religion. Courage to change what can be changed. This I would hope for young Luther as he grows into his personhood.
I passed along also Dag Hammarskjöld’s book, Markings.[4] This volume of meditations reflects the mature spirituality of one of our most notable UN Secretaries General.
In Markings a most courageous Swedish diplomat wrestles with his purpose of existence as he enters some of the most harrowing sites of conflict on the planet. Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld would be killed in a small aircraft crash while on a dangerous mission into the heart of Africa.
In the introduction by W.H. Auden, there is Hammarskjöld’s introduction for an interview on CNN.
“I found in the writings of hose medieval mystics for whom ‘self-surrender’ had been the way to self-realization, and who in ‘singleness of mind’ and ‘inwardness’ had found strength to say Yes to every demand which the needs of their neighbors made them face, and to say Yes also to every fate life had in store for them.”
“Love…for them meant simply an overflowing of the strength with which they felt themselves filled when living in true self-oblivion. …love found natural expression in an unhesitant fulfillment of duty and an unreserved acceptance of life, whatever it brought them personally of toil, suffering—or happiness.”[5]
I would hope for young Luther that he would have the spiritual strength and courage to wrestle with life in this same way. That he would realize that truly living would be found in a task greater than himself. That he would find where the needs of the world met his innate gifts and interests, there would be his vocation – his true calling as did Dag Hammarskjöld.
In Mitch Albom’s book, Tuesdays with Morrie,[6] I found a delightful and most poignant story of a former student spending time with his dying professor. It is graced with compassion and deep understanding. It is a master class in the Beatitudes.
Mitch had promised upon graduation to keep in touch with this favorite professor. But, of course, work and family and a hundred other things got in the way.
Flipping through the channels late one night he inadvertently comes across an interview with Ted Koppel on his program “Nightline.” There was his professor, Morrie Schwartz.
Koppel had been alerted earlier on by a friend to a headline in the Boston Globe: “A Professor’s Final Course: His Own Death.” The professor had recently received a diagnosis of ALS, Lou Gehrig’s Disease. A slow wasting disease inexorably leading to death, beginning with a wasting of the muscles of the legs and proceeding up the trunk of the body.
Cameramen and sound equipment were situated in Morrie’s living room. But before Morrie would let Koppel proceed, Morrie said he would first needed to “check him out.” One of Morrie’s friends quipped, “I hope Ted goes easy on Morrie.” Another replied, “I hope Morrie goes easy on Ted.”
The door closed and Ted and Morrie were left alone inside Morrie’s office. Morrie began, “Tell me something close to your heart.”
“‘My heart?’ Koppel studied the old man. ‘All right,’ he said cautiously, and he spoke about his children. They were close to his heart, weren’t they?”
“Good.” Morrie said. “Now tell me something about your faith.”
When Ted demurred, saying that he didn’t often talk about such things with strangers, Morrie interjected, “Ted, I’m dying,” peering over his glasses. “I don’t have a lot of time here.”
Once they were back in the living room with cameras rolling, towards the end of the interview, the reporter asked Morrie a question: what did Morrie dread most about his slow decay.
“Morrie paused. He asked if he could say this certain thing on television.”
“Koppel said go ahead.”
“Morrie looked straight into the eyes of the most famous interviewer in America. ‘Well, Ted, one day soon, someone’s gonna have to wipe my ass.’”
A thousand miles away Mitch, the professor’s old student. heard Koppel intone, “’Who is Morrie Schwartz…and why, by the end of the night, are so many of you going to care about him?’”
Mitch Alom’s precious book, which has sold in the millions, came into being out of that late night happenstance before his TV.
The compassion displayed by Mitch as week after week he sat with his dying professor is the entire summation of the Beatitudes.
These brief injunctions are the door to eternal life, yet a blessedness possible in some measure right now in this life. This is the gentle spirituality I also would hope for Luther James as we baptize him in April.
Such compassion is the most courageous act in these disjointed and inhumane times. It is the mark of our full humanity.
And like Morrie, we don’t have a lot of time here, so what we do have, let’s use to the Glory of God and for the love of our neighbor. Amen.
[1] The Editorial Board, “Trump’s Cash Grab Undermines our Republic, The New York Times, January 25, 2026.
[2] Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (New York: Viking Press, 1963). Arendt makes the point that the evil Eichman spawned seemed so benign that ordinary Germans would dismiss as well as participate in it. It became normalized in the culture of Hitler’s Nazi regime. Here, a matter of degree, not kind.
[3] Mariann Edgar Budde, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith (New York: Avery, Penguin Random House, 2023)
[4] Dag Hammarskjöld, Markings (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1964).
[5] Op. Cit., viii.
[6] Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie: An old man, a young man, and life’s greatest lesson (New York: Doubleday, 2007) 18-23.
February 1, 2026
Epiphany 4
Micah 6:1-8; Psalm 15
I Corinthians 1:18-31; Gospel: Matthew 5:1-12
“What Does the Lord Require?”
We’ve Been to the Mountain Top
It was a cold and rainy night in Memphis, Tennessee. As the sanitation workers were given no provision to get out of that weather, two Black workers had taken refuge in the bin at the back of their truck.
Inadvertently, they were crushed to death when the compactor mechanism was triggered.
It was that incident and the strike that followed that prompted Dr. King to head to that troubled city. Many of his followers had advised against the trip, but Dr. King resolutely set his face to Memphis. Why, for just a bunch of garbage collectors? Why? King set his face for Memphis in steely resolve despite their counsel.
That night, after his arrival, a congregation gathered at the Mason Temple. It was a hot, sweltering crowd that packed the sanctuary as Dr. King addressed the congregation. We should all remember that stirring line that came towards the end of his sermon. “I’ve been to the Mountaintop.” I’ve been to the Mountaintop.
This, it so happened. would be the culmination of that marvelous life, for in the morning a shot would ring out at the Lorraine Motel as Dr. King stood on a balcony for some fresh air and conversation with colleagues.
In his witness to the dignity of all people, he not only made it to the mountaintop, but he took this nation with him.
I had the experience of hearing him talk in person. It was in Lincoln Nebraska at a conference for some 5000 United Methodist students and pastors from all across the U.S. He was the keynote speaker for the last day of that event.
I didn’t know that much about him at the time. I did know he was famous and he had led a bus boycott in the south.
But when I heard him that evening, he took me to the mountaintop. I said to myself, if this is the church, INCLUDE ME IN.
It was a rebirth of my faith. It made all those lessons in my early Sunday school years come to life – cohere into a faith I could claim as a young college student. King opened up an entire new world for me.
I grew up in a very conservative, prejudiced family. Cloistered in an upper-middle class neighborhood of Long Beach, California. My parents made very clear to me who “our people” were and who they weren’t.
They weren’t blacks, though that’s not what my father called them. They weren’t Mexicans. They weren’t Jews. On my mother’s side, in addition to all these, they also weren’t Okies and Arkies.
These last two had come into the San Joaquin Valley in the 20s, fleeing the desperation of the Oklahoma Dust Bowl. They are the characters of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family, poor as dirt.
The struggle for economic and racial equality in Black theology is grounded in Moses’ experience in a wasteland when a burning bush catches his eye.
The message of God to him, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters…So come, I will send you to Pharoah to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.’”
“Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land,
tell old Pharaoh: Let my people go.”
The image of Dr. King’s mountaintop in his final sermon in Memphis comes out of the Book of Deuteronomy. God told Moses, “This is the land I promised… I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you will not cross into it” Moses from the top of Mount Nebo could overlook that Promised Land, but would not make it himself, but his people would.
Dr. King had been to the mountaintop. Though he was not sure if he would make it to that promised land of equality, opportunity and respect, he had absolute faith that God would lead his people, and by extension all people to that land.
Yes, the promises of our creeds and Constitution had not been fulfilled.
My dad, a dentist had a number of Black patients, but in the way he spoke of them, it was clear to me he didn’t respect them. Somewhere in the category of the Cadillac Welfare Queen.
BUT, BUT, BUT…the transformation King wrought over my lifetime was nothing I could have imagined. Our entire nation (or at least a lot of us) were taken to that mountaintop of brotherly and sisterly love – and something had happened in my dad’s heart.
Late in life, he began to realize that if this nation didn’t work for everybody, it wasn’t going to work for much of anybody. That included his former Black patients.
One morning when I showed up at the office when I was working with him to run our family construction company, he greeted me, “John, how’s Al Gore doing?”
“What do you care about him,” I responded. Puzzled that this life-long Republican cared a wit about this Democratic candidate.”
“I always thought, as a dentist running a small business that the Republicans were the party of small business. They don’t give a damn about small business, nor much of anyone else unless they have a ton of money. It’s all about the money. And Bush is an idiot – he’s destroying the country.”
An EPIPHANY!
He went for quite a bit more of a rant about how the Republicans were ruining the country and everybody was getting poorer and poorer.
My father had had an entire change of heart and mind about who counted in America. It was the “little people” – people like him and many of his patients on welfare. He was even now okay with unions. They’re the only ones standing up for the average worker.
Dr. King has indeed taken this entire nation to the mountaintop and we have seen a shining promised land of harmony and opportunity for all.
I also realized a moment of closure. In our “nice” – read “white” –neighborhood a Black dentist and his family had purchased a house down the street from us. I still remember moving day when I and some of my playmates went down to see what was happening as the van unloaded furniture and lots of boxes.
The mother served us up some cups of lemonade. Their boy seemed like he’d fit into our group.
Several weeks later, while they were on a vacation, one of their neighbors ran their garden hose through the second floor and turned on the water. It must have run for almost a week, completely ruining the house. Shortly afterward, they moved out.
There was only some hush-hush talk about what had happened. This to my young mind seemed so unfair. Completely contrary to what we had learned in Sunday school about Jesus. AND our church said absolutely NOTHING. NOTHING!
For me, Dr. King brought some resolution to the guilt and pain I had felt over that incident. Things would not be perfect, but I could now see a time coming when this hateful act would be condemned. Publically condemned. And some of our white neighbors would rally around this anguished family.
The memory of that incident was front and center in my first ministry out of seminary. I and another seminarian founded a fair housing organization in the San Gabriel Valley, a suburb of Los Angeles. We and our committee of volunteers would work against injustice in the housing and apartment market. And irony of ironies, our first client? He was an Italian man. This one landlady hated Italians.
Yeah, we got him his apartment once she knew the consequences of violating California’s fair housing law.
As we now have government ICE goons beating and shooting people in Minnesota, we must rise up against a new Pharoah. We must march together, sing together, pray together. It will be a long struggle against the most vindictive president this nation has ever had.
But, as in Memphis, we can see a way ahead. We will take care of one another. Ada Limón reminds us, “Caring for each other is a form of radical survival that we don’t always take into account.”
With Dr. King, we have all – America has been to the mountaintop and looked over. That evening at the conclusion of his sermon, this was Dr. King’s message:
“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountain top. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to ive a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”[1]
Amen.
[1] Martin Luther King, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” delivered at Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee, April 3, 1968.
January 11, 2026
Epiphany 2
Martin Luther King Sunday
Exodus 3:7-12; Psalm 77:11-20
Letter from a Birmingham Jail; Gospel: Luke 6:27-36
“We’ve Been to the Mountain Top”
Our Baptismal Vows
I vividly remember a critical moment in our confirmation class when I served a medium-sized United Methodist Church out in Ridgecrest. As in the Episcopal Church, confirmation is that ritual wherein one claims for oneself the baptismal vows they made, or were made on their behalf if they were infants
I had arrived a little late and Kay our secretary had already let the class of about 8 into my office. I made my apology for being a few minutes late and moved to get the class going. “Alright, guys, lets get our books out and get started,” I urged. At this point one of the girls corrected me, “Hey, we’re not all guys.” At that point, the wise guy in the room blurted out, “Well, you’re sure flat enough.”
Instant thermonuclear explosion. Alicia jumped up in tears and stormed out of the room. I rushed out after her as she ran into the arms of Pete, our associate pastor, who just happened to be coming to my office to drop something off. I asked him to deal with distraught Alicia while I went back to the class.
Absolute quiet. The silence was an acknowledgement that a social rule had been violated to devastating effect.
I realized that the lesson for that day was out the window. Instead, I told them we were going to talk about community, what makes it and what rips it apart. I asked them to share what they were feeling at the moment. Of course, all comments were directed to the boy, Warren.
When they had had a while to share their thoughts and feelings, I asked them, what would it take to restore community of our class. Sheepishly, Warren quietly mumbled, “I guess I have to say I’m sorry.” At which point the entire class as a chorus erupted, “Yeah, Warren!”
Later that day, Warren did in fact apologize and the next week the class was able to resume according to schedule. As devastating as that incident was, in a strange way working through it as a group, we developed a much closer bond. And no one will ever forget that lesson of sin, repentance, making amends and grace.
I could have never devised such a powerful and lasting lesson on my own.
After confirmation, a good number of the kids drifted away from the church. For them and their families, confirmation was the end of the faith journey. So, it is with many of our mainline churches. Confirmation is the graduation ceremony right out the back door.
We might see them again at a few significant moments, the baptism of a child, marriage or when six strong men have carried them through the door at the end of their journey. As one wit put it, the church is significant if at all on three occasions: hatched, matched and dispatched.
If we look at Jesus baptism and commissioning, it is not a culmination, but a beginning.
Personally, I compare it to my induction into the U.S. Army. I had registered as a conscientious objector willing to go into the medics. I wasn’t willing to shoot anyone over what I considered an illegal and immoral war but I was willing to patch up anyone who got shot or worse.
I remember reporting at the induction station in downtown Los Angeles early on a dreary, overcast morning. My mood matched the weather.
A primary thing I learned about the Army would repeat itself throughout my two-year stint. After the first minutes of going through that door it was hurry up and wait. And wait. And wait.
Finally, someone assembled us in a loose formation and we were herded off to a battery of tests. We were tested, inspected and injected. And yelled at a whole lot as we went through this process.
Finally, in groups we were lined up before a white line on the floor. We were given the oath to “protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God.” One step over that white line and we belonged to Uncle Sam for the next two years.
Flawed as it is, our Constitution is the covenant that unites us together. The defense of it is what each of us, in our own specialty would be doing. I was trained as an electroencephalograph technician. I stuck pins in peoples’ heads for the next two years.
The other lesson I learned, take care of the colonel and he’ll take care of you. After my two years I was discharged as an E5, the equivalent of sergeant.
Likewise, we in our baptism are also commissioned. We are called, through word and action to respect the dignity and worth of all persons. How we each do that will vary over the course of our life’s journey.
From Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ baptism:
“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’”
And for all who follow, God’s honest truth holds: You are beloved, in you I am well pleased. You are commissioned. Go forth and be of good courage.
Bishop Mariann Budde lives out this commission in Washington, D.C. where she serves as the bishop of that diocese. She has written a wonderful book; How We Learn to be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith.[1] In it she explores what bravery means in light of our baptismal vow. In part this pledge is: “to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being.”
“The decisive moments in life are those pivot points when we’re called to push past our fears and act with strength.”[2] And I would add, push past our lethargy.
Through several life choices, like the decision to leave friends and move across the country at the age of 17 when her family fell apart – to leave an alcoholic and clinically depressed father and a step-mother who resented her, Mariann had displayed moments of bravery.
Bishop Budde had begun receiving phone calls about President Trump having assembled a group of top cabinet members and top military brass at Lafyette Park, across the street from the White House which then the whole entourage marched the short distance where Trump stood in front of St. John’s Episcopal church. There he held up a Bible upside down for a photo op and mentioned what a great country this is.
On CNN the Bishop was moved to say:
“Let me be clear: the president just used a Bible, the most sacred text of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and one of the churches in my diocese, without permission, as a backdrop for a message antithetical to the teachings of Jesus. Everything he has said and done is to inflame violence. We need moral leadership, and he’s done everything to divide us.”[3]
Her words, after the massive nation-wide protests over the George Floyd murder, captured the moment and spread throughout the airwaves.
Leading up to that point, the bishop’s essential work had been with clergy and congregations in her diocese. Definitely not on the national stage. But as phone calls flooded in after the incident, she arrived at that decisive moment where she knew she had to say something. This is what bravery looks like.
Many new beginnings are fraught with the call for bravery, for leaving our comfort zone. A new job can be quite a baptism into the unknown.
My friend Kep, having a Stanford masters degree in engineering, tells me of his first job with an oil company in Texas. Before he knew it, he was in a small boat being tossed about by a choppy sea. They were headed for an oil rig hundreds of miles out in the middle of the ocean. Everyone was getting seasick and Kep was wondering what he had gotten himself into.
But even the terror of getting on that flimsy contraption to hoist them up some nine stories, swinging over open ocean water to the living quarters of that rig. Even this was better than staying in that small boat retching over the rail feeding the fish.
Out of his comfort zone? You bet! A heart-in-his-throat moment for a city boy to be sure. No small degree of bravery is involved in some new beginnings. For Kep, a baptism by water, a lot of salt water.
I opened the paper on Friday to the headline: “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself.” Further: “My own morality. My own mind, It’s the only thing that stop me.”[4] This from one who has all the impulse control of a two-year-old.
The royal pronouncement of Louis XIV: L’État, c’est moi (I am the state) was given to his parliament in the assertion of complete and absolute authority. Well, Mr. Trump, we have no need of such royal rubbish. The last time we had a king, we had to kill an awful lot of British soldiers to get rid of him, and we aren’t about to go back now to any such subjugation. We’re not going back!
In his interview with the New York Times, Trump has abrogated the entire international order crafted following WWII. Tossed it all aside. It’s now Darwin’s rule, the law of the strongest. The United Nations may as well as fold up shop if it’s okay for any powerful nation to gobble up a weaker neighbor. A clear signal to Putin that Ukraine is up for grabs – along with any NATO country he might want — Lithuania or Latvia, or, maybe even, Poland. Yours for the taking.
Such sentiments are a reckless dismissal of the constitutional order that has guided our nation, for good or ill, for over two hundred fifty years. Lawless it is! The day after November 3rd must be Impeachment Day.
As our own Bishop Taylor urged in a recent Facebook post, we need all of us out in the streets on January 20 for the next No Kings Day.
I know some brave souls who have confessed that this was something they never thought they’d do. Be out in the streets with a sign protesting.
Their bravery is what our baptismal vows look like. The forthright statements of our religious leaders – that is what our baptismal vows look like.
Unfortunately, like some in my first confirmation class, too many Christians have come up from the baptismal waters stillborn. A lot of to-do to no noticeable effect.
That’s why our church believes that baptism is a public event wherein the community of faith pledges over the long haul to nurture the baptized in a life of faith that is courageous.
When we step up, screw up our courage to stand for the right thing, it is contagious. Our singular example gives others to follow the impulse to bravery, to join us. Yes, it will take not only a village but an entire nation risen up to rid ourselves of this tyranny. As someone said, they can’t kill us all.
As the nationally known gardener Paul Avellino asserts: “The point of standing together isn’t to change something overnight. It’s to become the lighthouse that reminds others there’s still a way through the storm.[5]
Remember your baptism and be thankful. Thankful for the most expansive journey opening up your days and years to come. And through that door lies eternity. Be thankful. Amen.
[1] Mariann Edgar Budde, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith (New York: Avery, 2023.
[2] Op cit., book jacket.
[3] Op cit., xviii.
[4] Katie Rogers, “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself,” New York Times, January 9, 2026.
[5] Paul Avellino, quoted in Bits and Pieces, January, 2025.
January 11, 2026
Epiphany 1
The Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43; Gospel: Matthew 3:13-17
“Our Baptismal Vows”
