Back to the Font: A Sermon on Mark 10:35-45

Fall leaves in Silver Creek, which weaves its way around the campus of Silver Creek Presbyterian Church in Northwest, Georgia.  Date:  October 21, 2012.

         It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel.  They just don’t get it.  Time and time again in Mark’s narrative, the disciples misunderstand Jesus and his teachings.  They just can’t seem to grasp who Jesus is or what he is doing or what he is telling him he is going to do.  It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel because it is not the disciples, but a demon who actually first sees who the Christ is. 

I like to think that each year, when the disciples from the various gospels gathered for their annual reunion, that the disciples from Mark’s gospel always looked across the tables with envy at Luke’s and Matthew’s disciples.  In Matthew was apparently just as alarmed as we are at the disciples’ request because he instead read Mark’s account and decided to give the request to the mother of James and John.  Luke was probably even more alarmed at the disciples’ opportunistic self-serving quest for advancement for he leaves out this exchange all together.

But not Mark.  Here the sons of Zebedee don’t get off the hook like Matthew and Luke so graciously do.  Mark has them up front with the spotlight on their misunderstanding.  But of course, we wouldn’t know what that’s like, would we?

In today’s lectionary passage, Mark gives us a somewhat comical image of the two disciples, James and John, approaching Jesus, each perhaps anxiously nudging the other to come out and say it.  Relunctantly, but obviously loudly enough for other ten disciples to hear it, they say “we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” 

Now the parents in the room today have probably heard this request from their children and know that one must proceed with caution when responding to this wide-open petition.  Accordingly, Jesus covers his bases and, rather than responding in the affirmative, tells the disciples to elaborate upon their request.  Perhaps gaining a little confidence at not being completely shut down by Jesus, the sons of Zebedee continue:  “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

I wonder if the disciples were aware of their body position as they asked Jesus this ironic question with their arms outstretched.  It is ironic because today’s reading comes after not the first or even the second but the third time that Jesus predicts his death to his followers.  Consequently this is not the first or even the second but the third time that they fail to understand the specificity to which Jesus was speaking.

After the first prediction/misunderstanding, Jesus attempts to clarify by naming the very means by which he is to be executed: “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.”  But to no avail.  After the second prediction/misunderstanding, Jesus decides to employ an object lesson and, while embracing a child, say “whoever wants to be first must be least of all and the servant of all.”  But it didn’t catch on; not with Mark’s disciples.

Clearly, though, neither of these attempts rid the disciples of their misunderstanding so after this request to sit at Jesus’ left and right hand in his glory, Jesus decides to change his tactics and instead steers the disciples towards water. 

In the middle of this passage, within two verses, Jesus uses some variation of the word “baptism” six times!  In addition, in the same two verses, he uses some variation of the term cup/drink six times as well.  Listen again for the repetition in Jesus’ reply to the disciples:  “You do not know what you are asking.  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?”  They replied, “We are able.”  Then Jesus said to them, “the cup that I will drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized…”

Baptism (and water for that matter) is a risky and unpredictable thing in Mark’s gospel.  Through Jesus’ repetition of this term, Mark directs us back to the first chapter of his narrative when Jesus is baptized by John in the River Jordan and the heavens open up and God declares, “this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness.”  Immediately afterwards, Jesus is driven from his baptismal waters into the dessert to be tempted by the devil. 

It is on water that the disciples are called to follow Jesus.  It is by the water that Jesus gets on a boat so that the crowds do not crush him and the unclean spirits challenge him.  It is on the water that the disciples fear for their lives on a tiny boat as the waves beat upon it.  It is by the water that Jesus drives the demon into the two thousand pigs who run deranged into the lake.

Clearly, Mark saw water as a place of drama, uncertainty, and improvisation.  Mark knew that baptismal waters sometimes force us to get more than a few drops of water upon our heads.  Mark’s disciples, I think, were scared of getting wet and perhaps we are too.

My preaching professor at Columbia Seminary tells a story of how at the first church in which she served as a solo pastor, she quickly got the reputation for being rather liberal with the amount of water she used during baptism.  In fact, as a gift, one of the congregants gave her a picture frame with three consecutive photographs of a baptism at which she presided.  The pictures show her holding the child, splashing the water from the font on the child (and the surrounding area!).  The progression of the three photographs shows the elder who presented the child for baptism moving consistently further and further away from the abundant torrent baptismal waters.

Baptism, or, more accurately, what it calls us to do, can be a scary, messy thing.  I think Mark knew that and I think Jesus knew it too because, if you listen closely enough, you can hear a hint of fear in Jesus’ remark when he says, “you don’t know what you are asking.”  Jesus was scared, make no mistake about it.  But rather than move away from the waters of his baptism he does quite the opposite and heads back to the font. 

            Jesus knew that he came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.  He knew that the time would come when he would stretch out his arms and embrace all of humanity.  He knew tough times were ahead.  I think it is exactly because of that that Jesus brings himself back to the waters in that moment when God looked upon him and said this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness.  Jesus, in his uncertainty, and fear, and humanness, leans on that promise that was made to him in the waters of his baptism.

Silver Creek Presbyterian Church near Rome, Georgia.  The church was founded in 1875 and is a member of Cherokee Presbytery.  Silver Creek Presbyterian Church Website

            It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel.  It’s tough being a disciple, period.  We just don’t always get it.  So let us, you and I, lead by Christ’s example and head back to the font.  As we forge ahead into uncharted territory, we will head back to the font.  As we journey with Christ, we will head back to the font.  As we journey together surrounded by the waters of Silver Creek, we will head back to the font.  As you and I both move forward from our respective faith communities splitting apart, we will head back to the font.  We will head back to the font to remember the promise that God makes to each and every one of us to sustain us as we drink the cup that Christ drank and walk with him to wherever he is calling his church to go.  And wherever Christ is calling us to go, and however chaotic the waters may seem to be, we will come to the font to remember that when God looked down and said “this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness,” he wasn’t just talking about Jesus.  

A Frat Party, the KKK, and the Empty Tomb - A sermon on the first chapter of Esther

          The year was 1946 and the Ku Klux Klan, that oppressive and shadowy organization of terror, hatred, and ignorance, was as deadly as it ever was.  Its influence spanned from coast to coast and brought millions into its ranks to infect the nation with fear and mistrust and violence.  African Americans, homosexuals, Catholics, anyone who did not fit the image of the “ideal American” walked the streets and lived in their very homes in fear.  An alarming number of politicians and law enforcement officials, who otherwise would have stood up to the Klan, instead remained silent due to fear of waking up with a burning cross in their front yard.  A man by the name of Stetson Kennedy, however, did not remain silent.

            Instead of running away from them in fear, he decided to learn more about this mysterious, hate-filled organization and, therefore, donned that dreaded white hood and became one of them.  He learned their secrets.  He memorized their passwords and shadowy rituals.  He immersed himself in their culture in hopes to one day expose their secrets and rid them of the oppressive power that kept this nation in fear.  After months of observation and research, he took the insider information he had and presented it to the local law enforcement agents.  However, they were too scared of the KKK influence to do anything with it.  So Stetson Kennedy had to look elsewhere. 

            It just so happened that another influential power was sweeping the nation at this time in the 1940’s, a hero by the name of Superman.  Every week, countless numbers of children laid in front of their families’ radios to hear of this week’s adventure with that wonderful hero who was faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive.  There was, however, a problem:  the war was over, Superman had already defeated the Nazis, and was in need of a new villain to bring to justice.  Stetson Kennedy approached the writers of the sensational radio broadcast with the perfect offer.

            For the next several months, Superman had a new villain to bring to justice:  the Ku Klux Klan.  Each week, millions of children around the country listened with wonder and fascination as Superman defeated the Klan as the program exposed the secrets and rituals that Stetson Kennedy had risked his life to obtain.

            Soon after, people began showing up at Klan rallies for the sole purpose of mocking them.  Klan members came home from their meetings to find their children laughing at them, having just heard of Superman’s victory.  The membership of the Klan, not surprisingly, plummeted as the nation began to laugh at the absurdity of their rituals, their culture, their ignorance.

            There is a power to be found when absurdity is revealed for what it is.

            But I don’t believe that Stetson Kennedy was the first person to figure this out, for the Jews living in exile, the very community from which the Book of Esther comes to us, knew this well for they paint King Ahasuerus as very absurd.

            King Ahasuerus was the king of 127 provinces from India to Ethiopia.  One would think that he would have a lot to do with all that land and people to govern.  However, apparently he believes that the best use of his time is not managing his enormous provinces but rather by throwing a party.  And this is no sophisticated wine tasting event.  This is a drunken party that lasts, according to the text, 187 days.  Drinking was by the flagons, without restraint for the king gave orders for everyone to do as they desired.  The Book of Esther paints this King, Ahasuerus, as larger-than-life, absurd, over-the-top, and irresponsible.  A man interested, not in the upkeep of his kingdom and the people therein, but only in the arrogant display of his wealth and majesty so that others might be reminded that it is not theirs.

            And after 187 days of drinking and debauchery, there is only one thing left that he has not displayed for others to covet; his beautiful wife, Queen Vashti.  Therefore, in his drunken state, he orders his wife to parade herself before the hungry eyes of his fraternity party while wearing the royal crown and, as others including myself believe the text suggests, wearing (quite literally) nothing but the royal crown. 

            But then something goes terribly wrong (or right, depending on who you ask):  this woman, Queen Vashti, says no.  And she doesn’t say no to just anyone; she says no to the King.  And she doesn’t say no just anywhere; she says no to the king in front of everyone.  And as we learned from Stetson Kennedy and the Klan, when someone brings to light the absurdity, things tend to fall apart.  And fall apart, they did.

            King Ahaseurus doesn’t know exactly what to do:  “No one’s ever said no to me before.”  I’m sure the 187 days of drinking was not helping his judgment so he brings in his advisors and sages to instruct him.  They give him a stark warning.  They tell him that if he doesn’t nip this in the bud, then Queen Vashti’s action will inspire other women to stand up to their husbands and refuse to be submissive before them.  To use the words of the text, “there will be no end to the contempt and wrath.”  For Vashti did not just say no to an inappropriate command.  She did not simply refuse to become a sexual object for all to behold as one does a piece of meat.  No, Vashti’s actions bring to light the absurdity of this King Ahasuerus.  Her simple and daring “no” caused such a stir because the king’s officials knew that, if word of this got out, if people heard this on the weekly news on the radio before the Adventures of Superman, that people might show up and begin mocking them for the absurdity that, until recently, had been so cleverly disguised.

            So Vashti is banished.  We never hear from her again.  Most people ignore this story and dismiss it as a simple “prelude” to the rest of the story of Esther.  In fact, many people don’t know what to do with the book of Esther because it is an absurd book with absurd parties with an absurd king and an absurd political structure.  What makes the book of Esther even more absurd is that it is the only book in the bible that does not overtly mention God even once.  Perhaps that’s why Martin Luther himself dismissed the book as having “too many heathen unnaturalities.”  And as much as I appreciate Martin Luther and his undeniable influence in the creation of Protestantism, I cannot help but feel as though his uneasiness with the absurdity of the Book of Esther is, in effect, attempting to silence Vashti just as King Ahasuerus had hoped.  But Vashti will not be silenced.  As the next verse after today’s passage states:  “When the anger of King Ahasuerus had abated, he remembered Vashti and what she had done and what had been decreed against her.” 

For this story reminds us that there is a power to be found when absurdity is revealed for what it is. 

            And such, as we are reminded on this second Sunday of Easter, is the power of the resurrection.  For just as Vashti brought to light the absurdity of the unjust King Ahasuerus, so too does the Risen Christ bring to light the absurdity of Rome.  But unlike Queen Vashti with her refusal or Stetson Kennedy with Superman, the cross laughs at the absurdity of Rome by using an absurdity of its own.  The resurrection itself is an absurd idea, as Benjamin Franklin reminds us, there are two things in the world of absolute inevitability:  death and taxes, as we remember on this 15^th day of April.  What dies is supposed to remain dead.  This much has always been true.  Such is the reason, I suppose, that Doubting Thomas (as he is fondly remembered) refused to believe that Christ was risen. 

I don’t suppose we should be too hard on Thomas for it was well known by all that death, whether obvious death or death disguised as a Klansman or a drunken, incompetent King, has always seemed to have the final word.

But the absurdity of the resurrection assures us that the final word will never be uttered by an incompetent king, or an hate-filled Klansman, or a political regime of any kind.  Even death itself, that enemy that even Rome could never defeat, will not have the final word.  For the Risen Christ says “no” to death and “yes” to life eternal.  The Risen Christ allows Queen Vashti to say “no” to those who would strip her of her humanity, her beauty and “yes” to her own identification as a woman of conviction and strength.  The Risen Christ empowers Stetson Kennedy to say “no” to the absurdity of the Ku Klux Klan and “yes” to truth, justice, and equality.  The Risen Christ gives John Donne the confidence to proclaim these beautiful words: 

“Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so.

For, those, who thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

            So, friends, we have before us a tale of two kings.  A tale of two absurd kings.  One who rules through the absurdity of oppression, dominance, injustice, and coercion and another who rules through invitation, inclusiveness, grace, and abundance.  We have one king who exists in secrecy and thrives on the control of information and power.  We have another king who exists for all and thrives on the community of those he died and rose for.  On the one hand we have a king whose victory is seen as a palace full of material wealth, drunken houseguests, and sexual domination.

On the other hand, we have a king whose victory is evidenced only by an empty tomb.

            So, Sisters and Brothers in the Risen Christ, perhaps on this second Sunday in Easter, if we listen closely enough, we can still hear the resounding “no!” of Queen Vashti.  And perhaps we just might join her in saying “no!” to the absurdity of sin.  “No!” to the absurdity of injustice, racism, to sexual discrimination.  “No!” to the absurdity of drunken kings and hooded Klansmen.

            You and I will follow Vashti’s courage and say “no!” to these lies and “yes!” to the resurrected Christ, that absurd king who defeated death itself, that we might live and learn and love.  So be it!  Amen!

The Defiance of Prayer

              http://www.cpcatlanta.org/worship_music/article204981.htm

      Ever since I began worshiping at Central Presbyterian Church here in Atlanta, Georgia, I have been enchanted by their three-dimensional prayers of the people.  For an extended period every year since 2008, the people who are Central Presbyterian Church elevate an estimated 2000 multicolored paper cranes which dangle from the sanctuary ceiling.  These origami creations are made by the congregants themselves and many of them contain the prayers that were on the hearts of their creators.  On the International Day of Peace, the congregation erects “A Wing and a Prayer,” and for a period of several weeks, the brilliant prayers of the people hover amidst the worshiping body as they literally lift their prayer to God.

        As simultaneously prayer and offering, the creation rises above the pews and grasps the imagination of all those who gaze upon it.  Often throughout worship, I find myself pondering the mysterious beauty of this congregation’s physical embodiment of prayer.

        Like any great piece of art, its presence evokes a diverse range of interpretations.  On some Sundays, I am intrigued by the fact that this congregation has embodied prayer in a very physical, tangible way.  The prayer was created by hours and hours of folding by the people of this community with their hands, the very hands God has given them to be the body of Christ in the world.

       Other Sundays, I am left in curiosity, pondering what each prayer says and I am forced to remind myself that God alone knows our every prayer.

      Yet another Sunday I might be fascinated by the fact that this “prayers of the people” is at once individual and communal; each person (quite literally) lifts up a prayer which becomes a corporate offering to God on behalf of the community that at once both speaks to God and speaks to us on God’s behalf.

        This Sunday, for some reason, I found a beautiful defiance in this prayer as I worshiped directly beneath its mysterious presence.  It is quite remarkable, I thought to myself, how this piece of art inspires a sense of awe while reminding us that we come together as the worshiping body to pray to God who alone is the source of all goodness and grace.  What is perhaps even more remarkable is the fact that we dare raise such a beautiful creation in the midst of what too often seems to be a dark and dismal world.  Despite it all, or perhaps because of it all, we lift our prayers to God.

                As Atlanta continues to serve as a hub for human sex trafficking, we lift our prayers to God.

    As the homeless woman tries to stay warm in the cooler weather, we lift our prayers to God.

                As senseless killings happen around the world, we lift our prayers to God.

                As the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, we lift our prayers to God.

                As we ravage this earth we were called to preserve, we lift our prayers to God.

         What a beautiful image of quiet defiance that we dare raise such beauty to God when we are surrounded by such grief and brokenness?  Such defiance is the voice of Jacob who refuses to let God go until God blesses him.  Such defiance is the voice of the woman who will not let the judge ignore her.  Such defiance is the voice of Paul who is not ashamed of the gospel.  Such defiance is the voice of John who dares to tell us that there will be a day when tears will be no more and God will have the final word. 

         So the next time you are in downtown Atlanta, stop by Central Presbyterian Church.  Lift your eyes upward and gaze in wonder at the mystery of prayer.  Dare to lift your own prayers to a God who listens.  Lift your prayer to God who lifts us from the depths of an empty tomb and raises us to new life in Christ.  And as your eyes traverse the whispers of our prayers, remember that we have never worshiped a God who is happy with leaving us alone.

Prayer of Confession - Luke 24:13-49 (Responsive)

Rob Lively, member at First Presbyterian Church of Dalton, Georgia and former youth adviser of mine, has taken the prayer which I posted a few days ago and turned it into a responsive prayer.  Many thanks for his creativity!  Here it is:

            Holy and merciful God,

            We come before you as a broken people.

            Our sinful thoughts and deeds obscure our focus

            Upon your triumphant “yes!” of Easter.

            Though your grace surrounds us everywhere we go, We say NO

            Though you walk with us on our journey, We say NO

            Though you take, break, bless, and give, We say NO

            To your merciful invitation to live freely for you and one another, We say NO

            O Lord, forgive us our sins.

            God of Easter,

            Help us to recognize, You as the Risen Lord

            Guide us, that we might walk with you

            Cleanse us, that we might no longer be slaves to sin

            Come to us, in the breaking of the bread

            Come to us, as we are but leave us not as we were;

In your mercy, Lord, hear our prayer.

"Taste and See What?" - a sermon on Luke 24:13-49

          “The rising of the sun had made everything look so different-all colors and shadows were changed-that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing.  Then they did.  The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan. 

            “Oh, oh, oh!” cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table.

            “Oh, it’s too bad,” sobbed Lucy; “they might have left the body alone.”

            “Who’s done it?” cried Susan.  “What does it mean?  Is it more magic?”

           “Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs.  “It is more magic.”  They looked round.  There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

            Recognizing Christ is no simple task.  Perhaps C.S. Lewis knew this well for he spent a large part of his life an atheist.  Always the intellectual, Lewis used to describe this phase as a time when he was “very angry with God for not existing.”  I believe that he knew that recognizing the Risen Christ is tricky business even when you think you know what it is that you are looking for.

            In his beautiful allegory for Christ, the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Lewis describes the death of Aslan the Lion, that great Messianic savior of his book.  The young Susan and Lucy, who have followed him until this point, watch in horror as Aslan willingly gives himself as a ransom for them and all who we have met so far in the story, Lucy and Susan’s brothers Edmund and Peter, the faun Mr. Tumnus, Mr. and Ms. Beaver, the Giant Rumblebuffin, and perhaps even those in the army of the White Witch herself.

            Susan and Lucy watch as Aslan is bound and dragged to the stone table that has been prepared for his gruesome death.  Aslan is humiliated as his grand and proud mane is cruelly shaved from his flesh as the White Witch and her ghouls laugh.  Watching from a hidden place, the youngest sibling, Lucy, looks to Aslan’s face in this moment and notices that “the shorn face of Aslan looked to her braver, and more beautiful, and more patient than ever.”

            And then, with her silhouette cast against the moonlight, the Witch raises her arms with the strange and evil knife and plunges it into Aslan’s flesh and Aslan dies.

            Lucy and Susan stay with the body after the White Witch and her army march off to war now that the great Aslan has been defeated.

            But then it happens.  The morning comes and Susan and Lucy notice that the “rising of the sun made everything look different – all the colors and shadows were changed…”  That sunrise of that Easter morning was so blinding that they don’t see what C.S. Lewis so eloquently calls “the important thing.”  Upon hearing his voice, they turn around and barely recognize Aslan for his mane has miraculously grown back but he seems different, larger than life, alive and yet mysteriously something that we hadn’t seen before.  After defeating the armies of the White Witch and crowning Lucy, Susan, Edmund, and Peter as Queens and Kings of Narnia, he quietly slips away only to reappear throughout the Lewis’ larger Chronicles of Narnia.

            The Resurrection often leaves us with more questions than it does answers.  Perhaps like Susan and Lucy, we are left blinking on that Easter morn, our eyes adjusting to the brilliant light, asking “who’s done it….what does it mean?”  Clearly the eyes of the followers on the road to Emmaus were still adjusting to the light for they do not recognize the Risen Christ.  They, for a moment, do not see the important thing.  Jesus, though, apparently seizes the moment and decides to have a little fun.

            “No, I don’t know what has happened.  We have a long walk; why don’t you tell me all about it?” 

            After the long walk, they urge him saying “stay with us!”  Jesus obliges and then does a curious thing:

                                    He takes bread.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it and blesses it.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it and blesses it and gives it          

            And then they see the important thing. 

            Their eyes were opened and they recognized him. 

And then he vanishes. 

The bread quite literally falls into our hands as the One whom we now recognize disappears.  Slips away.  Just when we think we have this resurrection thing down, just when our eyes adjust to the light, just when we see the important thing, that thing vanishes.  Why?  We know that we are to taste and see.  Taste and see what?

            I don’t know exactly what the Resurrected Christ looks like.  But I have seen him and I will see him because his vanishing only draws me in deeper.  Make no mistake, Christ is Risen, he is risen indeed.  But he is on the loose, no longer confined to a cold stone table or a lonely tomb.  No longer restrained to one image or one place, he is on the loose.  The Risen Christ is made known to us in the breaking of the bread not so much because we recognize him as we did before, but rather because we taste and see a glimpse of what Christ is now capable of.  Christ vanishes, slips away, to remind not that he has abandoned us (for that is certainly not the case!), but rather, quite the opposite.  He vanishes to show us that he is out and about.  Christ leaves us wanting more because the Resurrected Christ looks different.

            For C.S. Lewis, the Resurrected Christ looks like a lion who breathes humanity back into persons turned into cold, lifeless statues.

            For the followers of Jesus, the Resurrected Christ looks like one who takes, breaks, blesses, and gives.

For a local congregation, the Resurrected Christ looks like a thousand multicolored paper cranes floating amidst the people.

            For someone who has screwed up, the Resurrected Christ looks like a verse of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”

            For a congregation emerging from a split, the Resurrected Christ looks like a delicious loaf of broken bread on a broken plate.

For a little girl taking Communion, the Resurrected Christ looks like a morsel of bread that she just has to have.

            Friends, the brilliant light of this Risen Christ makes everything look so different!  As we taste and see, our hearts will burn within us as we look back on where the Risen Christ has taken us, perceive where it is that Risen Christ is with us now, and hope toward that final banquet when the Risen Christ will vanish no more.  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Amen.

A Prayer of Confession for Luke 24:13-35

            Holy and merciful God,

            We come before you as a broken people.

            Our sinful thoughts and deeds obscure our focus

            Upon your triumphant “yes!” of Easter.

            Though your grace surrounds us everywhere we go,

            Though you walk with us on our journey,

            Though you take, break, bless, and give,

            We too often say “no!” to your merciful invitation

            To live freely for you and one another.

            O Lord, forgive us our sins.

            God of Easter,

            Help us to recognize your risen-ness

            Guide us that we might walk with you

            Cleanse us that we might no longer be slaves to sin

            Come to us in the breaking of the bread

            Come to us as we are

but leave us not as we were;

In your mercy, Lord, hear our prayer.

Masai Nicene Creed

Masai Nicene Creed

Thoughts?