On the Move

Excerpt from a sermon preached at the Church of the Good Shepherd, Scranton PA

on February 8, 2015

Isaiah 40:21-31

Mark 1:29-39

How did you get here this morning? What life circumstances, what twists and turns, what challenges and promises and hopes compelled you to choose this? How has your life in Christ led you to this moment? Whether you have grown up in this place or walked in the door for the first time, whether you have grown up in the church or felt called to it in later life, or stumbled into it along the way, you will discover, or have already discovered, or know deep in your heart that the Christian life is not about staying in one place—no matter how comfortable that place can be.

Jesus begins his earthly ministry on the move. Baptized by John in the Jordan, he is immediately driven by the Spirit into the wilderness. From there he passes along the Sea of Galilee calling to Simon and Andrew who immediately leave their nets and follow him. Farther along he immediately calls to James and John who also follow. They head right into Capernaum where Jesus teaches in the synagogue astounding all with his wisdom and before you know it they are at Simon and Andrew’s house and Jesus doesn’t stop even then. Simon’s mother-in-law is ill and Jesus wastes no time in raising her up and once she is healed she immediately begins to serve others.

When Jesus raises her up it is a significant moment. It is a resurrection act. The same words are used for Jesus when he is raised up from the dead. And this resurrection act engenders service and healing. The woman immediately serves others, which after all is the ministry of Jesus. And then Jesus multiplies this act by healing many, many others who come to the house that day.

But what happens next is also astounding. The next day, Jesus gets up before the busyness of the day, goes out to a deserted place away from everyone else, and prays. He spends time with God. He takes time for reflection and renewal. And when they come looking for him, he does not return to the house where everyone is searching for him and where certainly there are more people to be healed. Instead he says, let us go on to the neighboring towns so that I can proclaim the message there also. For this is what I came out to do. Jesus’ gifts and ministry will be multiplied because he chooses not to stay in one place and heal those who come to him, but rather to goes out and beyond. I am reminded of our own Baptismal Covenant which calls us to seek out people in order to serve.

The Christian life is not about staying in one place. Jesus travels, raises up, heals the sick, steps aside in solitude to pray, and then moves out and beyond to carry healing to more. It is this movement that I find compelling: that ministry is followed by renewal and regrouping and then going forth, going out, taking the show on the road rather than staying in one place and doing all the good work there is to do.

The Christian life is hardly about the status quo. It is not about figuring it out and then settling in. It is always about moving on and proclaiming the gospel. Let us go on to the neighboring towns so that I can proclaim the message there also, for this is what I came out to do.  We are called to place ourselves in the loving hands of Jesus and step out. We are called to raise up the downtrodden, to serve others, to engage in acts of healing, to cast out darkness, to place ourselves before God and be renewed, and then to go—to go out and beyond.

God is hardly the champion of the status quo. Have you not known? Have you not heard? Our God is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth, who numbers the stars and knows them all by name. God does not faint or grow weary and God’s understanding is unsearchable.  Youths will faint and be weary, the young will fall exhausted, but those who wait for the Lord, those who place themselves in the hands of the living God, they shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Place yourselves in the loving hands of Jesus. Raise up those who are downtrodden. Engage in acts of healing. Cast out darkness. Place yourself before God and be renewed. And then go. Go out and beyond. Go forth and proclaim the Gospel. And expect God to be at work in your life—to strengthen you when you faint, to raise you up when you fall, to call you into spiritual growth beyond where you last lay your head and into a lifelong relationship of transformation and love.    

Christmas Day

This is the irrational season
when love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
there’d have been no room for the child.  

Madeleine L’Engle, “After annunciation” in The Irrational Season.









Image Copyright: / 123RF Stock Photo

Christmas Eve

God is our refuge and strength,
   a very present help in trouble.  Psalm 46:1

I finally leave the office store after a complex series of unbelievable but absolutely predictable setbacks. Because of course I am not the only one who waited until today to mail a Christmas package. But rather than feeling overwhelmed, I am buoyed by a sense of ease.

Because somehow or other, we all kept our cool. The man who stepped aside as I was reaching for something on the shelf behind him and apologized if he was in my way. The young woman who patiently explained to me that I had packed my gift into the wrong kind of mailing box. The store manager who waved me into a shorter check-out line, but then missed putting one of the items into my bag and had to perform the transaction all over again. And me. Somehow I did not let anxiety win out.

I feel we are all being gentle with one another. It is as if we all see and acknowledge the stress we are under, and in the face of it each of us has decided to try a little bit harder to be gracious. 

And as I move on into the evening, the grace continues to be manifest. In the man in the parking lot, who smiles and waits until I get into my car before getting out of his. In the driver who slows and nods at me, allowing me merge. In the cashier at the fast food drive-through who gifts me with an unsought compliment. 

It is as if for this evening we each realize how fragile we can all be, and that we need to treat each other tenderly. As if a blanket of grace has fallen over the city like fresh snow, quieting it. As if we have all agreed to be kind to one another. As if we realize our actions actually can make the world a better place.

I am grateful for the gentleness as I prepare to meet the One who is gentleness. Who invites us to bring our heavy burdens, and replace them with refreshment. Who is humble in heart and promises rest for our souls. Who is waiting to be born anew into the world and into our hearts. Who is already present.



Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation,
that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a
mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Amen.     (The Book of Common Prayer, p. 212)

“I can hardly make a little corner in my heart ready for Jesus, much less a mansion,” I comment as my daughter lights the fourth candle on our Advent wreath and leads us in the final Advent collect.

“I’m with you on that,” my husband responds.

A mansion? How have I not heard or heeded those words before? I have lived with the Advent collects for most of my life and we pray them at our dinner table during this season. But now I am caught up short. I have certainly thought about (and even written and preached about) making room in our hearts for Jesus. But clearly my imagination was too small. I hardly envisioned a great expanse of space, beautiful and elegant, clean and carefully tended, exquisitely appointed.

I carry the image with me into the evening somewhat dazed by the revelation. A mansion?  But then, what was I thinking? That Jesus would be content dwelling in a nice cozy corner of my heart?

The Savior of the World will need a much bigger space. 

And there it is. I hear anew the Word who has been speaking love into my core from the beginning. My heart breaks open, exposing a widening landscape allowing for the possibility of more of God than I had ever imagined.




Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Monday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Feast of St. Thomas, transferred

The Lord shall watch over your going out and your coming in,

   from this time forth for evermore.  Psalm 121:8

“Mom’s going to help me bake for German class,” I hear my daughter announce as we enter the house.

We have just returned from a performance of the Messiah, in which she played trumpet in the chamber orchestra. It is 9:45pm. I have no memory of this baking agreement.

“You are the best, mom,” she says as she starts to pull ingredients and utensils out of the cupboards for her recipe that involves, among other steps, making pastry from scratch. And she’s decided on a triple batch.

There is nothing for it but to dive in. Oh, for the enthusiasm and audacity of a teenager who thinks nothing of starting to bake when the rest of us are ready for bed.

I take an advisory role, and then watch with burgeoning awe as she takes it all on. Checking on the recipe, which she has as a photo on her iPhone, she adjusts without a hitch when something needed is not at hand. It is not my kind of preparation. Not at all. I would have set aside a different kind of time, and measured out the steps in a distinctly different fashion. But as she dances from mixing to sautéing to rolling out dough, it all comes together. And in the end, I am along for a glorious ride.

Advent is ending, the hour is late, and there is nothing for it now but to dive in. Others will have prepared the way, made paths straight, where I have been unable or uninspired. And God watches over all, bemused perhaps when I forget our agreed upon plans, or think there is only one way ahead, one path to the manger. And I realize that my unpreparedness is its own kind of readiness. 



Image credit: / 123RF Stock Photo 
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

Praise the Lord with the harp;
  play to him upon the psaltery and lyre.

Sing for him a new song;
   sound a fanfare with all your skill upon the trumpet.  Psalm 33:2-3

As I drive home after a flurry of errands, I decide it is time for some Christmas music. I reach for the radio knowing that one of the local stations plays nothing but holiday tunes this time of year. I hope for a good classic carol as I hit the dial and suddenly I am awash in the Kyrie from Bach’s Mass in B Minor. Glorious.

It takes me a moment, then I understand. The sound system is bluetoothed into my phone which is in my pocket. A miracle of technology has accessed the next album on a playlist I had listened to a few days before. I can’t decide which is more stunning—that my phone is playing Bach or the music itself.

I realize that I have turned a corner and am now being carried by the choral momentum headlong into celebration. It is time to sound the fanfare. It is time to announce that someone really important is about to appear and something really fantastic is about to happen. It is time for pomp and flair and flourish. It is time for this miracle. Come Holy Spirit. Come Jesu. Come.



Image: An Angel Playing a Flageolet, Sir Edward Burne Jones
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Friday of the Third Week of Advent

I waited patiently upon the Lord;
   he stooped to me and heard my cry.  Psalm 40:1

I don’t feel very patient, I think, as I look at the three candles lighted on the Advent wreath. Three candles in. Where is the peaceful waiting? Where is the lingering around the Christmas tree with carols playing in the background? Where is the contemplation of the empty manger? I am waiting impatiently. Patiently. Impatiently. Patiently. Impatiently. The chant goes on in my head. Regardless is the waiting. It would be ironic, I think, to say that I am suffering from impatience, as the word patience means to suffer. To tolerate the uncomfortable without becoming anxious. To bear with.

What is it that I have to bear with this season, that is keeping me unsettled even as we enter more deeply into sacred time?

And there is Mary, bearing the discomfort, bearing the waiting, bearing the Christ child.

What do I have to bear? What new life do I have yet to bear?




Image credit and copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014