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CHRIST THE KING SUNDAY SERMON We've got two main characters on stage this morning: Jesus of Nazareth (itinerant rabbi), and Pontius Pilate, Roman point man (and authority) of Judea. The contrast between these two men could not have been more dramatic. Pilate was appointed by Rome to this outpost of the Empire. He had behind him the greatest power on earth, enormous wealth, far-reaching government, amazing engineering skills, and holding it all together, unparalleled military might. Herod was called 'king,' but he was a mere puppet, put in place to keep the locals content. Pilate & Co. ruled the roost on behalf of the Emperor. Jesus, on the other hand, was one of many traveling religious teachers, attempting to be faithful to God while eeking out an existence based mostly on the kindness of those he taught. He hailed from Nazareth, a tiny no-account village of cave dwellers up north in Galilee. Son of a carpenter, mostly self-taught Scripture-wise, Jesus seemed to have a way with words, some claimed even a healing touch. But, by and large, the religious establishment wasn't buying it. In fact, they found Jesus so unsettling--dangerous even--that they trumped up the charges which brought him there to Pilate. "He claims to be king!" they declared, although nothing in any of the gospels records such a claim. But "he claims to be king" ought to get the attention of the authorities, and it does! So Pilate demands, "Are you the King of the Jews?" In the other gospels, Jesus replies "You say so," but John has a bit more finesse. "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?" In John, Jesus becomes the interrogator, putting mighty Pilate on the defense. He blusters, "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and chief priests have handed you over to me." His comment reflects the opening of John's gospel, remember: "He came to his own people, but his own did not receive him." Then Pilate asks, "What have you done?" Again, Jesus turns the table, telling him not what he's done, but rather who he is. "My kingdom is not from this world." That preposition is important: "not from this world." Jesus isn't vying for Pilate's position or Herod's. His authority needs no election for verification or military for defense. As so often happens in John's dialogues, what begins on earth is taken to a level far above. (With Nicodemus, he went from birth to being re-born from above. With the woman at the well, it was from her bucket to the water of eternal life.) Here it is from Pilate's praetorium--his sentencing room--to authority that comes from God alone. So, there they stand: Pontius Pilate, impeccably dressed, gilded and perfumed, and Rabbi Jesus, probably barefoot in his one-and-only dust-laden robe...the might of the world and the Son of God! Jesus says, "You say that I am a king. For this I came into the world: to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." (The implication being that Pilate is not among them!) Although he tries to wash his hands of the situation, Pilate ends up in the Creeds of the Church responsible for Jesus' death. In a few hours, the "criminal" would be executed, and it would seem as if mighty Rome--once again--triumphed by silencing the rebel. Within 40 years, Rome would also destroy the great temple in Jerusalem, taking much of the religious practice with it. And, within a couple of centuries, the might of Rome itself would become a memory, as the so-called 'barbarians' of Northern Europe invaded and took over. Every king and nation on earth has flexed their muscles, paraded their pomp, and eventually faded away. It is the nature of this world that nothing--not kingdom, Reich, or republic--is forever. "Christ the King Sunday" was established after the horror of WW I, as a way of bearing witness to that most fundamental truth: that while empires rise and fall, the reign of Christ Jesus endures forever. So what does it all mean for us citizens of the wealthiest, most powerful nation on earth to call Jesus "King" and "Lord"? What does it mean for us to pledge allegiance to the flag of this country at public gatherings and also to renew our baptismal vows to the Lord of Life here each week? Both of those actions are connected to the most compelling question of all as Jesus asks his disciples: "Who do you say that I am?" Is he a good luck charm? Ace-in-the-hole? Last resort? Sunday morning dalliance? Or, is he the one who claims allegiance of heart, soul, mind and strength? The answers to those questions are clearly between each of us and God, but understand that the implications have an impact much farther reaching. While Jesus' authority does not come from the world, he most certainly intends to exercise it in the world! I've said it before, that Jesus didn't die just to get us to heaven, but, more, to bring heaven's rule to earth. And, until he finally makes all things new, he engages us who belong to him in the process. I love Luther's reminder of this in his explanations of the Lord's Prayer in the Small Catechism (page 1163 of the ELW). For the petitions "Your kingdom come; your will be done" Luther writes, "God's kingdom will come and his will done on their own, without our prayer, but we ask in these petitions that it may also come to us and be done in and among us." Jesus' birth among us and his death for us were accomplished to bless the world. Christ's resurrection and ascension took place so that his 'gentle rule,' as the prayer of the day puts it, may work in us and through us. Perhaps I'm just becoming a curmudgeon, but as time goes on, I am more and more dismayed by the topics that occupy so much of our time, effort and resources, both as church and as nation. Some act as if the world is coming to an end because the ELCA has affirmed gays as church leaders. Some claim that the United States was woefully compromised by the president's bow before another head of state. Surely we have more important things to be about! Jesus corrects obsession with trivialities by giving a compelling description of what will take place when the world really comes to an end. And I think he means it to affect the here and now--the passion and devotion of world leaders and church leaders, citizens and church members in every land. He promises and warns: "When the Son of Man comes in his glory and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate them as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats." And the criterion of his judgment will have nothing to do with the accumulation of wealth or power or influence, but rather with the use of it all: for the sake of the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned. Those who served these needy ones, served Jesus. He says it! Those who didn't, denied him. Do you see how extraordinary this is?! The judgment of the whole world before Christ the King hinges on his identity with those who lack the basic necessities of life. That needs to speak loud and clear to the citizens, leaders, and, yes, church members of this great, wealthy and powerful nation. Food and water, clothing and shelter, health care and nurture are the things that matter to God in Christ, because they are so critical to those he created, died for and loves. If Christ is King, it cannot be in name only, merely on our lips, written the texts of hymns, or depicted in stained glass windows. Those things will matter little to the world or ultimately to God. Rather, if Christ is King and Jesus is Lord for us , his gentle rule will be made known in the use of our time, talent and treasure, in the policies and politics of church, city and country. If Christ is king, it will be apparent to all that we who belong to him are indeed listening...that his kingdom comes and his will is done through us. So, we've got these two characters standing before us today...and every day: Pilate, with the power of force; and Jesus, with the power of love. Who gets your bow? Amen.
PENTECOST XXIII SERMON They were just widows, after all...pretty much at the bottom of the social ladder. Widows and orphans were lumped together into a category of "needy ones" which society had to endure, but would much rather be without. In those days, long before Social Security, pensions, life insurance (and other 'socialist' programs!), widows were most often destitute. Even if husbands were well-off enough to leave them something (that was maybe 2 or 3% of the population), that money would eventually run out. And the means for a widow to make a living honestly were extremely limited. In most circumstances, she would simply be forced to beg. There was the added stigma of Semitic culture which said that if you were a widow, you probably did something to deserve it. (Please take a look at the fascinating articles about patriarchy in the new "Lutheran" magazine.) To them, if long marriage was a blessing, short-lived unions were likely a curse. Maybe the woman nagged her husband to death! Being a widow was better than never marrying, but not by much, especially if there was the added burden of dependent children. So the Lord says to the prophet Elijah, "Go to Zarapheth" (in Sidon, a Baal-worshipping region), "and you will find a widow whom I've commanded to feed you." ("Oh great," he must've thought. "Just what I need!") Making the story all the more interesting was that the trip occurred during a devastating drought and famine caused by Elijah, who hoped to make a point about the effects of worshipping Baal. You get the picture: The prophet is sent to a miserably poor widow in the worst of economic times, and he demands something to eat. She tells him that she and her son were one measly meal away from death. All they had was a little flour and oil, and then they're done. Incredibly, Elijah asks for his food first, then they can have what's left, assuring her that God will take care of them. (It's rather like saying, "God bless you" as you empty the tin cup of a blind man.) But, miracle of miracles, this pagan widow obeys Elijah and trusts in his God enough to do it. She gives him what she's got, and the Lord keeps the flour and oil going until the drought's finished. Amazing indeed that this otherwise invisible mishap from a foreign land is lifted up as a model of faith, generous and trusting beyond reason. And so she is blessed by God. Her story is paralleled in many ways by the woman in today's gospel reading. The plight of widows hadn't changed much in the centuries between Elijah and Jesus, and that reality maker her offering perhaps even more astounding: it comes freely, without command. Jesus is in the middle of a discussion/argument about the religious elite who enjoy rank and privilege. They wear long robes, they're greeted with respect and have the best seats at worship. (I'll try not take it personally, Lord!) "They bask in all that pretentious glory--looking so holy--but they take advantage of the widows--the most vulnerable ones," says Jesus. Then, writes Mark, Jesus goes to the temple and sits right across from the offering chest "to watch how the crowd put money into it." (That's the literal translation: to see the attitude behind the giving.) You heard what he saw! Some put in great sums with great flourish. C a-ching! But this dirt-poor widow came offering the two smallest coins (1/2-cent pieces)--barely a clink-- and Jesus calls it the greatest gift of all. Why? Because it was everything she had! "All the others contributed from their abundance," explained Jesus, "but she gave from her poverty." Her devotion to God was so profound, her trust so overwhelming, that she "put in all she had to live on." Ca-ching! Ca-ching!! You do understand that I don't pick the Scripture readings for worship. They are chosen by an ecumenical group years in advance. But I couldn't have hope for a more dazzling duo on this Commitment Sunday! These two women who have so little offer so much in response to God's promises. These 'social nuisances', barely noticed (or outright ignored) by those who 'count' are lifted up as supreme examples of faithful giving. So we've got this 'treasury' in front of the altar today, wide open for our responses in the midst of an economic "drought" worse than most of us can remember. Some of us are widows and widowers, others are single, still others married. But, however tough our lot, I dare say all of us have far more than these two from Zaraphath and Jerusalem. So blessed by God, we are called, as they were, to trust in his word and promise, to give not from the leftovers, but from the essence of our being. I need to say here that, although the amount on your cards is certainly important to the well-being of this congregation, it is the motivation of your giving--what's behind it--that matters to our well-being before God. The amounts these women gave were a pittance--handful of flour and one red cent--but they represented the sacrifice of all that they were. (They were at 100% on the "Comparison of Giving" chart!) In fact, they prefigured the complete self-giving of Jesus, whose emptying was/is life for the world. Strange God we've got, huh? Strange rabbi/teacher/Lord as well! He says that emptying makes us full, that we need to lose ourselves to find ourselves, that in giving we receive, and that dying gives us life most abundant. It doesn't make sense. I'm the first to admit it. The world's wisdom seem right: "Take care of yourself first; save it for a rainy day; tomorrow may be worse; you earned it--you deserve it." There are banks, brokers and mattresses galore to receive the cash. It's not by sense or reason, but only by faith that the widows are commended, lifted up, emulated. Perhaps it's the case that those who have the least--who know the pain of hunger and truly live from day to day--are more willing to let go. Perhaps they have no choice but to trust in God. (There's nothing else/no one else left!) I read this week that the highest percentage of giving to charity per capita is in the state of Mississippi, certainly not the bastion of national wealth. And I've shared before that Lutherans are just about at the bottom--OK, 2 nd from the bottom--of the churches' giving ranks...average about 2% of their income. What's that mean, I wonder? This is important, says Jesus, not because of the amount, but as a reflection of faith. Who we are is so completely tied up in what we have--values are so connected to our check books--that hording is an affront to God, while giving glorifies him. "Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those others who have given great amounts." He doesn't mean that literally, of course. This is one of those examples when the truth goes far beyond fact and figure--deep into the heart of the one who is giving. The Stewardship Committee will tally the numbers and share them with all, but only God can know what's going on inside each of us, what's behind the offering of time, talent, treasure. And, of course, God's judgment is the one that counts. "Where your treasure is, your heart will be also," declares Jesus. Conventional wisdom tells us the opposite: "Where your heart is, your money will follow." Makes sense, perhaps, but not to our Lord. "Heart follows treasure," he insists, so that we actually become faithful by giving. Jesus says "follow me!" to the disciples before they know what's going on. They did follow, and their lives were transformed. "Follow me", he says to us. "Give me all you are, trust me, and you'll see what happens." He calls us to give not until it hurts, but to give until it feels good. "Follow me in my self-giving," says Jesus, "and I promise you, you will come to God." Amen. ALL SAINTS SUNDAY SERMON As I was thinking about today, it occurred to be that All Saints' Day is a sort of combination of two other days in the church year. Let me name the first and see if you can guess the second. The first of those holy days is Ash Wednesday. All Saints is a day of death, remembering that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. In the early church, saints were remembered on the day of their death, but there were more and more for whom the exact death days weren't known. So by the end of the 300's, about the time they started celebrating Christmas, they set apart this day to remember that group all together. We have just recalled those loved ones who have died in this past year especially, but of course we join them with those many others dear to us who, as the prayer says, "now rest from their labors." This is a day to be honest with our mortality, to acknowledge that this flesh and blood that I carry around is woefully limited and short-lived. The death rate of the human race is 100%! We don't need to look far for signs of that reality. Most of you walked through an old cemetery to get into the building today. We've got graves in the courtyard, under the auditorium and even beneath the front steps of the church. And, if that isn't enough reminder, we've got these crosses about everywhere you look. Those placid reminders of mortality are joined to the more vivid pictures of death assaulting us in the daily newspaper. You've probably noticed that the Reading Eagle always has an obituary page or two. (The funeral industry is one of the few not likely to be shipped overseas!) The news also includes accounts of hideous bombings in Afghanistan and Pakistan, devastating famine in Ethiopia, senseless shooting and fatal accidents much closer to home. One could make a rather convincing case for a whole 'culture of death', I suppose: from the falling leaves, spent gardens and impending winter, to war, terrorism, disease, global warming, and the inevitability of our own last breath somewhere down the line. Perhaps you noticed that a common thread through all three of today's readings was the shedding of tears: on the mountain of the Lord in Isaiah, at the coming of the kingdom in Revelation, and at the grave of Lazarus in John's gospel. (Even Jesus weeps, remember?) We simply can't go very far without stumbling over painful reminders of the sting of death, loss and mourning. Isaiah pictures the whole earth covered by a funeral shroud. Pretty dismal! And Halloween images help us imagine the Grim Reaper, standing at the door ready to knock, pound, break down the door. But it is another door that's broken down today. We heard the account from the Gospel of John. It is the door of Lazarus' tomb that tumbles days after his burial. "Take away the stone!" says Jesus. Mary protests, "There will be the stench of death." Undeterred, Jesus commands/shouts: "Lazarus, come out!" And he does. Still wrapped in his linen burial cloths, he emerges, given new life ("vivified", writes Calvin) by Christ's word. Jesus says, "Unbind him," so that Lazarus can go free into that new life. Well, if Ash Wednesday is the first piece of All Saints Day, can you figure out the second? Anyone? (Don't be shy!) Right. Shout it: Easter!! Oppressive as it seems, death is not the last word. Life is--resurrection--Jesus' undying love, turning the graveyard into a garden and grieving into celebration. "If you had been here, Lord, our brother would not have died," cries Mary. They had sent for him days earlier, when Lazarus was ill. But Jesus' intentional delay was to show a power greater than mere healing. He wanted to demonstrate the strength of his love against the worst that world has to offer. And so, in John's gospel, the cross becomes his throne and death his glorification, "drawing all people to him" through it. There is so much that proclaims the sway of death in the world. Daily news, devastating illness, haunted houses, even the most popular video games: blood, gore, pain, loss, sorrow. Thank God the church has the antidote to that stuff. We gather on the Mountain of the Lord for the Feast of Victory. "The shroud is lifted from the earth--destroyed!" sings Isaiah. That's why we not only remember our loved ones today, but also commend them to the One who is Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. By God, there is so much more to come for them and for us! All Saints Day urges us to anticipate, looking forward to the wonder of what God has in store. God wipes the tears of his beloved, but that's not all! He prepares to 'make all things new.' Life after death will not be more of the same, but is frankly beyond our imagining. New Jerusalem, Bride of Christ, and Eternal Banquet in today's readings give us a glimpse, but only a glimpse. Even Revelation's streets of gold and gates of pearl can't begin to do it justice. I know that a lot of people get hung up on those details. But what's most important to me is not the schedule of events (what happens when, to whom, and how?); it's not the menu or accommodations, not even the choral music list. What matters most is that promise of God's all-transforming love. If we've got that, it's enough, to my mind. The rest is God's business. It is reason enough to gather this morning and every week. Each Sunday is a 'little Easter,' remember. We gather to celebrate Christ's victory over death, to hear the risen Lord speak to us, to share a foretaste of the feast to come, and to carry this 'culture of life' out into the world. "God's love forever" is the reason we connect Declan Rosenbaum to the death and resurrection of Jesus today, at the womb of the font surrounded by those old grave stones. (Ash Wednesday and Easter!) Drowned in the waters of baptism, he is raised to new life in Jesus, reflecting Christ's light, wrapped in the gifts of the Spirit, and adopted into the family--one body--in Christ. "Come out!" Jesus calls to him and to all of us. "Let go of the things that bind you to death and despair. Walk free in my love," he says, "and know that nothing can ever separate you from it." True, Lazarus would die again, years later. But you can be sure that each day till then had the imprint of resurrection--new life--the imprint of his Lord and Savior, knowing that when death came again, he would still be with Jesus. Isn't that our call as well? Marked with the cross of Christ, we can face mortality in all its forms, armed with hope beyond reason, filled with peace that passes all understanding, trusting always in what God will accomplish. As some of you know, back in 2003, I was invited to join Bp. Hanson on two ecumenical journeys to meet with church leaders in London, Geneva, Istanbul and Rome. In Rome we were given a tour of the catacombs of Calyxtus, where Christians of the second and third centuries were buried, and where, in times of persecution, they gathered to worship. We had the rare privilege of celebrating holy communion there among the saints of old. Perhaps most memorable to me, in that repository of the dead, were the still potent images painted on the walls among the crypts: there was the earliest depiction of the Virgin and Child, and a beardless Jesus as the Good Shepherd; Jonah coming out of the mouth of the great fish, loaves and fishes filling a table. There, in the midst of death were those amazing signs of life. There, with the dust and ashes of 2,000 years, we were claimed once again by the promises of God in Christ, filled with hope as can only come from him, revived ("vivified") for the journey. That's pretty much what goes on here, don't you think?! Surrounded by a graveyard, we sing the "Alleluia" songs, because you and I belong to the One who has death behind him. Easter is not just a Sunday in Spring. Neither is eternal life reserved for when we die. But, as members of the Risen Christ, Easter is now and eternal life blesses every day. Yes, this Trinity cemetery is teeming with life! Washed in living waters and fed with the bread of life, we are sent out to be Easter people, going through the graves to bring love, new life and hope to our homes and neighborhoods, workplaces and schools, (even libraries!) Called from death to life, we hear and follow the Christ who will make all things new. "I am the resurrection and the life," he declares. "Those who believe in me, even though they die, yet shall they live. And everyone who believes in me will never die." Thanks be to God. Alleluia. Amen. REFORMATION SUNDAY SERMON We've been hanging out with Mark's gospel since last Advent. Perhaps you've noticed that his book is really one not-so-long journey with Jesus, going from Galilee, where he grew up, down to Jerusalem, for what turns out to be the last week of his life. Mark uses the term 'on the way' time and again to connect us to that journey, and Jesus' followers come to be called "people of the way." (The word "synod", by the way, comes from the Greek, meaning "on the way/on the road together".) Our gospel reading today--the healing of blind Bartimaeus--is at the edge of the Jerusalem week. It's the last miracle that Jesus accomplishes and the last story from the journey, before they enter the city gates. That prime placement means (please pardon the pun) that there's more to this story of the blind man than meets the eye (!). You know how the journey has gone this last year. In scene after scene, Jesus preaches the kingdom of God and brings the signs of its coming, but the disciples just don't get it. Rather, it's the unlikely people who see who Jesus really is: the hemorrhaging woman after 12 years of suffering; Jairus, even after his daughter died; the determined friends of the paralytic, opening the roof to get him to Jesus; the Syrophoenician woman, asking for crumbs from the table; the father of a demon-possessed boy. Mark gives all these 'minor' characters take center stage, professing their faith in Jesus, while the chosen disciples bungle along, arguing over who's the greatest, trying to keep Jesus away from the cross, and--just before this scene--pleading for positions of honor in his kingdom. OK. So here's this blind guy, Bartimaeus, a beggar (what else could he do?), seated along the road, waiting for Jesus. Although he's blind, he can 'see' who Jesus is, and he calls out to him with words of profound Messianic understanding: "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." Then, as they did with the clamoring children a little while back, many try to silence Bartimaeus. He's a resident nuisance, an embarrassment, likely made blind as a punishment for something. (So they thought.) "Don't bother the rabbi. He's got more important things to do!" But Blind Bart won't take no for an answer, and he shouts all the louder, "Son of David, have mercy!" (Mark paints this scene so wonderfully!) "Jesus stood still," he writes. Can you see the crowds quieting all of a sudden, wondering what will happen next? Jesus calls Bartimaeus to him, and, says Mark, the blind man "sprang up"--think rocket launch!--and bounded over to him. Jesus asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" It's the same question he'd just asked James and John, remember?! And Bartimaeus, already having profound insight, asks to see once again. "You've got it," says Jesus. "Your faith has made you well." Like the long list of others from the journey, he believed and trusted in Jesus, and, because of that faith, his life would never be the same again. Jesus says, "Go!", but Mark tells us that immediately Bartimaeus regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way. (Next stop: Jerusalem.) And aside here: Many scholars feel that Bartimaeus must have gone on to have a leadership role in the early church, since he is remembered by name, while all of the others who were healed remained anonymous. "He followed Jesus on the way." This Reformation Sunday, you and I follow a host of believers on the road of faith: Peter and Paul, Bartimaeus, Augustine, Luther, Muhlenberg, Bonhoeffer, Mother Teresa, and countless others. And, of course, we celebrate five of our young people who mark a particular milestone en route as they affirm their baptisms today. It's been my joy and privilege to be involved with them and Deaconess Deborah these past 2 ½ years of 'the road', and a particular joy to read their statements of faith and to talk with them and their families about their relationship to Jesus and his church. Let me share some of their witness: "I grew up in a Christian home and cannot remember a time that I was not a follower of Christ." "My parents and family have influenced me in my faith journey, and they provided a good example of what it is to be good Christians." "Going to church has really changed the way I look at others and myself. It changes perspective a great deal, because no matter how different everyone is, God links us together like a big family." They've got a clear sense of being on a faith journey. They know where they've come from and thank God for those who've guided them along the way, many Trinity teachers and mentors included. And they have dealt with that fascinating question that Jesus poses time and again. "What do you want me to do for you?" (It's reminiscent of the Lord's question to Solomon as he becomes king.) If the waters of baptism connect us to the Risen Lord, it's a lifelong question posed to all of us on a regular basis, I think. (Like every day!) "What do you want me to do for you?" The Guatemala mission trip had an impact on two of our confirmands. One ponders, "When I went to Guatemala, it left me wondering why God would allow people to live in such poverty, when there are some people who have so much money." Another reflected, "That experience helped me learn how grateful I am for everything I have." There's work for you, Jesus! Being connected to him brings these insights as well: "My faith gives me comfort and confidence to face any challenges headed my way." "Being a Christian is not just about going to church on Sundays. It is also about treating people the right way and giving back to the community." "I look to Jesus for guidance to do and say the right things...to live my life as he would want me to." "I believe that actions speak louder than words, so it is important for us to life our faith by loving and serving others." Like Bartimaeus, these young adults have the insight of faith to walk the walk, and I pray that their families and this church will continue to support their growth in witness. Because the road ahead will almost certainly not be an easy one for any of them. At a time when so many things are vying for the God-position (#1) in their lives: image, money, popularity, success, cell-phones); in an age when church and Jesus are odd-ball options at best; when 'me first' absolutely denies discipleship, their foundation of faith must be solid, their community of faith must be vibrant, and their determination had better be relentless! "The end of something great brings the beginning of something greater," wrote one confirmand. "My journey is just beginning." I hope that we can all have that sense of being 'on the way' with Jesus. Faith is not longing for the past, or clinging to what we have, but rather letting go, venturing forward, living in trust and moving where God calls us, understanding as the bumper sticker quips, that "God is not yet finished with us." With that sense of this great and holy procession of the saints, of our journey together, I'd like to offer an ancient and still powerful prayer from the Service of Evening Prayer: " O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ or Lord." Amen. |
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