faith

Our Bonhoeffer Moment: A Christian Reflection on Resistance to Fascism

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Facing the Challenge of Our Time

Recent national headlines have raised troubling questions for Christians and communities of faith. The President’s designation of anti-fascists as terrorists brings to the fore deep concerns about justice, resistance, and our moral calling as followers of Jesus. For us at Saint Francis Parish and Outreach in Augusta, Georgia, this issue is not simply political, it is profoundly spiritual. How do we respond faithfully when resistance to oppressive power is labeled dangerous? What can we learn from our tradition, from Scripture, and from the legacy of Rev. Dietrich Bonhoeffer?

Historical Perspective: Churches and the Shadow of Fascism

History offers sobering lessons. In the 20th century, many Christian churches, especially in Germany, failed to resist the rise of fascism. Some even lent their support, whether out of fear, complicity, or a mistaken sense of loyalty to the state. Rev. Dietrich Bonhoeffer stands out as a prophetic voice who chose costly resistance over comfortable silence. He recognized that following Christ meant opposing systems that dehumanize, oppress, and foster violence.

Bonhoeffer’s actions were not just political; they were deeply theological. He believed that the church must stand with the vulnerable, even when doing so puts us at odds with prevailing powers. His resistance cost him his life, but his witness continues to challenge us: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil.”

Biblical Reflections: Amos, Timothy, and Luke

Our lectionary readings this week illuminate the spiritual urgency of this moment.

  • Amos 6:1a, 4–7 warns against complacency and self-indulgence. “Woe to those who are at ease in Zion… who lie on beds of ivory… but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!” The prophet condemns a society that ignores suffering and injustice, calling us to awaken from comfort and act with compassion.
  • 1 Timothy 6:11–16 exhorts believers to “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness.” The Christian life is marked by a struggle for what is good and true, even when it involves “fighting the good fight of faith.” We are called to bear witness to Christ’s kingdom, a kingdom that stands against all forms of oppression.
  • Luke 16:19–31 tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man’s indifference to Lazarus’s suffering leads to judgment. Jesus challenges us: will we see the pain of those at our gates, or will we turn away? The parable is a stark reminder that faith without compassion is hollow.

Christian Response: Ethics, Theology, and the Call to Resist

These scriptures, alongside Bonhoeffer’s legacy, invite us to reflect on our own position. When anti-fascists are labeled as terrorists, we must ask: What is our Christian responsibility? The gospel calls us to resist systems that harm the vulnerable, to speak truth even when it is costly, and to love our neighbors, especially those who are marginalized.

Our response must be rooted in love, justice, and humility. It is not about partisanship or political slogans, but about embodying Christ’s compassion in a world that often prefers comfort over courage. We must resist the temptation to be silent or complicit. Instead, let us pursue the difficult path of solidarity, advocacy, and faithful witness.

Our Bonhoeffer Moment: What It Means for Today’s Church

Many theologians speak of “our Bonhoeffer moment”, a time when the church must decide whether to stand with the powerless or align with power. For Saint Francis Parish and Outreach, this means asking hard questions: Are we willing to risk misunderstanding, discomfort, or even opposition in order to defend those who face injustice? Will we be a community that comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable?

We are called to be “repairers of the breach,” voices for justice, and hands of mercy. This is not easy work, and it may come with misunderstanding or resistance. Yet, as Bonhoeffer reminds us, “Christianity stands or falls with its revolutionary protest against violence, arbitrariness, and pride of power.”

Encouragement for Faithful Resistance

As we reflect on these challenging times, let us remember that faithful resistance is part of our Christian heritage. Our hope is not in worldly power but in the transformative love of Christ. May we, as a parish and as individuals, be courageous, compassionate, and vigilant. May we listen to the prophets, learn from history, and follow the example of Bonhoeffer, standing alongside those who are oppressed, even when it is unpopular or risky.

Let us pray for wisdom, strength, and love, trusting that God is with us as we “fight the good fight” for justice, peace, and the dignity of all people.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Standing Up for the Marginalized

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In the hush of Sunday morning, the familiar cadence of scripture calls us into a deeper awareness of society’s vulnerable: the marginalized, the overlooked, and those whose voices are too often drowned by the clamor of power and privilege. This week’s lectionary readings (Amos 8:4–7, 1 Timothy 2:1–8, and Luke 16:1–13) invite us to ponder what it truly means to stand up for the marginalized, not only in word but in persistent, transformative action.

Amos 8:4–7: A Prophet’s Indictment

Amos, the shepherd-prophet, thunders against the injustices suffered by the poor of Israel. “Hear this, you who trample on the needy and bring to ruin the poor of the land…” The prophet’s words are unflinching, exposing a society where the wealthy manipulate scales and systems to enrich themselves at the expense of the powerless. The rot Amos describes is not just economic; it is spiritual. God’s anger is kindled not by ritual omission, but by the trampling of human dignity.

Standing up for the marginalized, according to Amos, means refusing to profit from injustice, refusing to ignore the suffering around us, and refusing to accept systems designed to perpetuate inequality. It is a call to see the poor not as abstractions, but as neighbors deserving of respect and solidarity.

Amos’s vision is uncompromising. The Lord will not forget any of these deeds. Divine justice is inseparable from human ethics. To stand up for the marginalized, we must first confront our complicity in systems of exploitation and then actively resist them, even when doing so disrupts our comfort or challenges the status quo.

1 Timothy 2:1–8: Prayer and Peaceful Advocacy

Paul’s instruction to Timothy encourages the early church to pray “for everyone—for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.” At first glance, this seems to pivot away from Amos’s firebrand activism toward a quieter program of piety and prayer. But a closer reading reveals that prayer itself is a form of advocacy, especially when it is directed toward the wellbeing of all people.

The marginalized are often denied access to power, excluded from decisions that shape their lives. Paul’s call to prayer is a spiritual discipline that refuses to accept that division. Instead, by praying for all, believers are compelled to see the humanity in every person, including those who are in authority and especially those who are powerless.

Standing up for the marginalized includes praying for justice, for peace, and for leaders whose choices affect the vulnerable. But it is not a passive resignation; it is an active intercession, a refusal to let the world be satisfied with “business as usual.”

Our prayers, then, become the soil for action. When we pray for the marginalized, we open ourselves to God’s transforming work, both in the world and in our own hearts. We become more attentive to the needs around us, more willing to step into the breach, more courageous in challenging injustice.

Luke 16:1–13: The Parable of the Shrewd Manager

The parable Jesus tells in Luke is one of his strangest. A manager, caught in the act of squandering his master’s possessions, seeks to secure his future by cutting deals with his master’s debtors. When discovered, he is commended, not for his dishonesty, but for his shrewdness.

What does this have to do with standing up for the marginalized? The parable’s logic turns on the idea of resourcefulness in the face of crisis. The manager, confronted with his own impending poverty, leverages his position to build relationships and extend mercy, albeit out of self-interest.

Jesus’s point is not to endorse dishonesty, but to encourage his followers to be shrewd and creative in the pursuit of justice, especially for those excluded from the centers of wealth and power. The marginalized, like the manager, are often forced to make do with limited resources. Those with privilege are called to use their resources and influence not to perpetuate inequality, but to build a more just and compassionate society.

In the parable, Jesus also warns that “no one can serve two masters… You cannot serve both God and money.” Standing up for the marginalized requires us to choose whom we serve. It is an invitation to examine our loyalties and align them with God’s justice, not the world’s economy.

Bringing the Texts Together: A Theology of Solidarity

Taken together, Amos, Paul, and Jesus offer a robust theology of solidarity with the marginalized. Amos demands justice, Paul advocates prayerful engagement, and Jesus calls for creative action. These are not competing visions, but complementary ones.

  • Justice (Amos): We must expose and dismantle systems that oppress the poor and vulnerable.
  • Prayer (1 Timothy): Our advocacy must be rooted in prayer, shaping us into people who desire peace and justice for all.
  • Creativity (Luke): We are called to use our gifts, resources, and influence shrewdly, in service of compassion and mercy.

This triad forms a pattern for the Christian life: to see the suffering around us, to lift it before God, and to respond with bold, imaginative action.

Practical Steps: Standing Up for the Marginalized Today

It is easy to feel overwhelmed by the scale of injustice in our world. Poverty, discrimination, exclusion—these forces seem entrenched and immovable. Yet the scriptures urge us not to retreat into resignation but to act, starting where we are.

  • Listen: Begin by listening to the stories of those who are marginalized. Their experiences are invaluable; their voices must be heard.
  • Advocate: Use your voice and influence to advocate for policies and practices that promote justice and inclusion.
  • Give: Share your resources—time, money, expertise—with organizations and individuals working to uplift the vulnerable.
  • Pray: Cultivate a habit of intercession, praying daily for those who are suffering and for leaders who shape public life.
  • Challenge: Be willing to challenge unjust structures, even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular.
  • Build Relationships: Seek genuine relationships across divisions of class, race, and status. True advocacy begins with friendship and understanding.

Conclusion: A Call to Courage

Standing up for the marginalized is always a risk. It often means swimming against the current, stepping outside our comfort zones, and exposing ourselves to criticism or misunderstanding. Yet this is the heart of the gospel—a God who stands with the poor, welcomes the outsider, and calls us to do the same.

The challenge of Amos, the invitation of Paul, and the parable of Jesus converge to remind us: We are never called to complacency, but always to courage. Whether in the quiet labor of prayer or the noisy work of justice, we are invited to stand up, speak out, and live in solidarity with the marginalized.

May these scriptures embolden us to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly, trusting that God remembers, God hears, and God acts through us, and for all.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

The Exaltation of the Holy Cross: A Call to Healing, Justice, and Love

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Sunday, as we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, we will gather at the intersection of suffering and salvation, of brokenness and redemption. The Cross, a symbol once synonymous with shame and brutality, has become, through Christ, the supreme sign of healing, hope, and reconciliation. In the context of our current world, marked by political violence, social divisions, and the tragic deaths that punctuate our headlines, the Cross speaks with renewed urgency.

The Serpent Lifted Up: Healing in the Wilderness

Numbers 21:4b-9 recounts the Israelites’ anguish in the desert, beset by poisonous serpents as a result of their impatience and complaints against God. When Moses, at God’s instruction, lifts up a bronze serpent upon a pole, those who gaze upon it are healed. The symbol of death is transformed into a source of life, prefiguring the Cross, where suffering is not the end but the door to healing.

Today, our world is wounded: by hatred, by violence, by the venom of prejudice and the sting of division. We see it in acts of political violence, in the pain that follows the death of public figures. Each life lost is a reminder of our shared fragility. As we pray for all who have died, including Charlie Kirk, whatever our differences, we recognize that each person is precious in the sight of God. The Cross invites us to look up, not in despair, but in hope for healing.

The Humility of Christ: Emptying for Others

Philippians 2:6-11 offers a hymn of Christ’s humility. “He did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…” Christ chose the path of solidarity, descending into the depths of human suffering so that all might be raised. His humility is not weakness, but the power to transform hearts and systems.

In our fractured society, where homophobia, transphobia, bigotry, racism, and misogyny persist, we are called to the same kenosis, the self-emptying love that moves us beyond ourselves. To “have the mind of Christ” is to reject every ideology of hatred or violence and to make space for the dignity of every person, especially those who are marginalized or oppressed.

The Cross: God’s Embrace of a Wounded Humanity

In John 3:13-17, Jesus proclaims, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” On the Cross, God enters our suffering and redeems it. “For God so loved the world,” not just a nation, a people, or a tribe, but the whole world in all its diversity and complexity.

This radical love compels us to action. If we truly exalt the Holy Cross, we must work and pray for the end of all forms of violence: political violence that tears communities apart, the silent cruelties of homophobia and transphobia, the corrosive effects of racism and misogyny, and every ideology that denies the image of God in another. The Cross is not a banner for division or exclusion, but a bridge to reconciliation and justice.

Carrying the Cross Together: Our Response

To exalt the Cross is not merely to venerate a symbol, but to embrace a way of life, a vocation to healing, justice, and love. We are called to be healers in the wilderness, to lift one another up, to speak and act against hatred in all its forms. We must lament with those who mourn, work for the safety of those who are threatened, and stand in solidarity with those who suffer violence or exclusion.

  • Advocate for peace and nonviolence in our communities
  • Challenge and speak out against homophobia, transphobia, racism, misogyny, and bigotry wherever we encounter them
  • Support those who are marginalized and create spaces where everyone feels safe and respected
  • Listen to people’s stories, fostering empathy and understanding
  • Promote education about justice, equality, and human dignity
  • Engage in civic life, voting and encouraging policies that protect the vulnerable
  • Practice forgiveness and reconciliation in our personal relationships
  • Serve our neighbors through acts of kindness and generosity
  • Pray for healing, transformation, and the strength to persevere in the work of justice
  • Model humility and love, following Christ’s example of self-giving

Let us pray for the grace to be transformed by the Cross, so that our words and actions may bless and heal. May we build communities where no one fears for their life or dignity, where love casts out fear and justice blooms.

Conclusion: Hope Born of the Cross

As we contemplate the mystery of the Holy Cross, let us remember: God’s love is wider than our divisions, deeper than our wounds, and stronger than death. May the power of the Cross inspire us to seek peace, justice, and the beloved community where all are welcome, cherished, and free.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Carrying Our Cross: Bearing Burdens Together

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Every so often, the readings presented in the Lectionary converge in a way that invites us to consider the weight and beauty of discipleship anew. This week, the wisdom of Scripture calls us to reflect on what it truly means to carry our cross and to share in the burdens of those most in need. Drawing upon Wisdom 9:13–18b, Philemon 9–10, 12–17, and Luke 14:25–33, we are invited to see that the call to follow Christ is inseparable from the call to compassion and solidarity.

The Mystery and Gift of Divine Wisdom

The passage from Wisdom sets the stage: “For who can learn the counsel of God? Or who can discern what the Lord wills?” (Wisdom 9:13). We are reminded that, on our own, our understanding is limited. The weight of life, the perplexity of suffering, and the complexity of human relationships can seem overwhelming. Yet, the reading continues, “But when the soul is given light, when the knowledge of God comes, our paths become straight.” Human wisdom is fragile, but God’s Spirit grants clarity.

This is a profound spiritual starting point. To carry our cross is not merely to endure hardships stoically, nor is it a solitary journey of grit; it is an act of receiving divine wisdom, recognizing our dependence on God, and allowing God’s Spirit to illuminate our path, especially when the way forward seems uncertain or steep.

Philemon: A Lesson in Christian Love and Advocacy

Turning to Paul’s brief, heartfelt letter to Philemon, we encounter one of the most personal and challenging moments in the New Testament. Paul writes “out of love,” appealing on behalf of Onesimus, a runaway slave who has become “like a son” to Paul during his imprisonment. Paul now sends Onesimus back, not as a slave but “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother” (Philemon 16).

Paul’s approach embodies what it means to help another carry their burden. Though Paul himself is in chains, his heart is open to the freedom of Onesimus. Rather than command Philemon, Paul appeals to his love, inviting him to see Onesimus with new eyes, not as property or problem but as kin. In this, Paul models what Wisdom urges: a heart attuned to God’s Spirit, willing to act from love even when it defies convention or convenience.

Here we see the cross not as a solitary suffering but as a shared burden. Paul intercedes for Onesimus, risking his own relationship and reputation, so that Onesimus might have a new beginning. The church, Paul insists, is built not on power or hierarchy but on the radical reordering of relationships, the restoration of dignity, the healing of divisions, the creation of true family in Christ.

Luke: The Cost and Freedom of Discipleship

In Luke 14:25–33, Jesus speaks with a clarity that startles: If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, they cannot be my disciple. “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

These are not words of casual invitation. Jesus asks us to count the cost, to consider whether we are willing to follow Him not only in joy but in sacrifice, not only in comfort but in love that rearranges our priorities. To “carry the cross” is to be willing to let go of anything that hinders us from following Christ wholeheartedly.

But Jesus is not advocating for reckless abandonment or the breaking of human bonds for their own sake. Rather, He warns us that true discipleship will sometimes put us at odds with the values and expectations of our world, even with those closest to us. It means putting God, and the call to love, above all else.

Carrying Our Cross: Beyond Ourselves

These readings, taken together, invite us to move beyond an individualistic understanding of “carrying our cross.” In popular imagination, this phrase can become a kind of stoic mantra: “Everyone has their cross to bear.” While there is truth in recognizing the personal struggles we each endure, the Gospel vision is far more communal and dynamic.

To carry our cross means to live in solidarity. When Paul advocates for Onesimus, he carries a cross on behalf of another. When the Spirit grants us wisdom, we see more clearly the burdens our neighbors carry, poverty, loneliness, injustice, grief, and we are moved to act. Our discipleship is tested not simply in how we endure suffering, but in how we help those most in need to bear theirs.

Consider the world around us: who are the Onesimuses in our midst? Who lives under the weight of invisible chains, longing for freedom, dignity, and family? Whose burdens go unseen? In our communities, in our churches, in our neighborhoods, we are surrounded by opportunities to lift burdens, to offer advocacy, to give presence, to risk our own reputations for the sake of another’s new life.

The Spirit’s Invitation

Of course, to live this way is not easy. It requires the wisdom the author of Wisdom prays for, the humility to admit we do not know everything, the openness to be guided, the courage to act in love rather than simply in obligation or fear.

It requires what Jesus asks: the willingness to let go of our own security, our own privilege, even our own comfort, to follow Him into unexpected places and relationships.

It requires what Paul models: the vulnerability to stand beside those most in need, to see them not as objects of charity but as partners in Christ, as brothers and sisters for whom we bear responsibility.

Practicing Cross-Carrying Today

How do we begin? First, by prayer, asking God for wisdom to see what we cannot see, to discern the burdens around us and the courage to respond. Second, by community, opening our eyes and hearts to those who are marginalized, listening to their stories, and standing in solidarity. Third, by action, whether that means advocacy, generosity, friendship, or simply presence.

We can ask ourselves:

  • Who in my life is carrying a heavy burden right now?
  • How might I help lighten their load?
  • Where do I need God’s wisdom to see more clearly and love more deeply?
  • Are there relationships or comforts I must let go of so I can follow Christ more fully?

A Community of Cross-Bearers

Let us remember: the cross is not only a symbol of suffering but of radical love. It is the place where Jesus meets us, bears our burdens, and invites us into a new family defined not by blood or status, but by grace.

May we be people who do not shy away from the cost of discipleship, but embrace it in hope. May we, like Paul, advocate for the Onesimuses in our world. May we, like the author of Wisdom, seek God’s counsel. May we, like Jesus, find our lives not by clinging to them, but by giving them away for the sake of others.

As we carry our crosses, may we help others with theirs so that together, we may all come to know the freedom, dignity, and love that is the heart of the Gospel.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Banquet of Grace: Welcoming All at the Table

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What does it mean to be truly inclusive as a church? The question is as old as the concept of community itself, and as urgent now as ever in an age defined by migration, diversity, and the ongoing struggle for justice and dignity for all. When we turn to scripture—Sirach 3:17–18, 20, 28–29; Hebrews 12:18–19, 22–24a; and Luke 14:1, 7–14—we find not just ancient wisdom, but a living challenge: to be a community where the homeless, immigrants, and LGBTQIA+ people are not only welcomed, but cherished.

The Wisdom of Humility: Sirach’s Invitation

Sirach is a book steeped in practical wisdom, and in chapter 3, it speaks directly to the heart of the matter: “My child, perform your tasks with humility; then you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.” Humility is not self-abasement but the recognition that we stand before God and neighbor with empty hands. The passage urges us to “humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God.” In church life, humility means refusing to put ourselves above others, regardless of status, background, or identity.

How often do we, consciously or unconsciously, build invisible fences around our churches? Sometimes these are doctrinal, sometimes social, and sometimes simply habitual. The wisdom of Sirach dismantles such barriers by reminding us that true honor is found not in titles or positions, but in lowering oneself to serve. For the church, humility means the conscious choice to open doors wide, not just in theory, but in tangible practice.

Drawing Near to God’s Presence: Hebrews’ Vision

The Letter to the Hebrews contrasts two mountains: Sinai, shrouded in fire and fear, and Zion, radiant with welcome and joy. “You have not come to something that can be touched, a blazing fire, and darkness… But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God.” The author paints a vision of a community gathered not in terror, but in celebration, a festival of angels and saints, with Jesus as the mediator.

This image is a clarion call to inclusivity. At Zion’s festival, there are no velvet ropes, no lists of who is “in” or “out.” The invitation extends to “the assembly of the firstborn,” and that assembly is marked by grace, not pedigree. For those who have known rejection, homeless neighbors struggling for security, immigrants searching for belonging, and LGBTQIA+ siblings yearning for affirmation, this is more than good news. It is a gentle revolution. The church, in its truest form, is meant to mirror this heavenly feast: a place of radical welcome.

The Banquet Parable: Luke’s Table Turned Upside Down

Luke’s gospel is relentless in its depiction of Jesus as a host who delights in upsetting social expectations. In chapter 14, Jesus watches guests scramble for seats of honor and offers a counter-story: “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor… but go and sit down at the lowest place.” He continues: “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. You will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.”

This passage is not simply a lesson in etiquette; it is a blueprint for inclusion. The kingdom of God is not reserved for the elite or those who arrive with credentials. It is wide open to anyone whose life has left them on the margins. For churches wrestling with how to love those whom society often overlooks or excludes—the homeless, immigrants, LGBTQIA+ persons—Luke’s parable is both comfort and discomfort. Comfort, because it assures us that God’s priority is always those who are pushed to the margins; discomfort, because it calls us to upend our habits and assumptions.

Building an Inclusive Church: Practical Steps and Spiritual Foundations

How can these scriptural calls to humility, radical welcome, and reversal of social order translate into practical action within our faith communities? It begins with listening, a posture of humility that seeks to understand before being understood.

  • Hospitality Without Conditions: True hospitality means every person is welcomed as Christ Himself. This is not theoretical, but deeply practical: offering food and shelter to the homeless, legal and emotional support to immigrants, and a safe, affirming space to LGBTQIA+ individuals. It also means revising policies and practices that inadvertently exclude.
  • Representation and Leadership: Inclusion must be reflected in who leads, teaches, and serves. Churches are challenged to seek out and empower leaders from marginalized communities to share the pulpit and the table in ways that honor diverse experiences.
  • Stories and Testimonies: Sharing stories of struggle, hope, and transformation is a way to build empathy. Testimonies from those who have experienced exclusion and now find belonging in the church can reshape how communities understand their call.
  • Advocacy and Justice: The inclusive church is not content with charity alone. It advocates for systemic change, housing justice, immigration reform, and protection of LGBTQIA+ rights. This advocacy grows out of spiritual conviction, not mere politics.
  • Worship that Reflects Diversity: Songs, prayers, and liturgies should reflect the languages, cultures, and identities of the whole congregation. Diversity in worship is not a token gesture; it is a deep acknowledgment of God’s image in everyone.

Obstacles to Inclusion: Naming and Facing the Barriers

The path to an inclusive church is not without its challenges. Historic prejudices, fear of change, theological disagreements, and simple inertia can all conspire to keep the church from living out its call. Sometimes, resistance arises from a desire to “protect tradition,” but Scripture itself testifies to a God who makes all things new.

When barriers arise, it is crucial to return to the spiritual center: humility, as Sirach teaches; a vision of celebration, as Hebrews proclaims; a banquet for the outcast, as Luke insists. Inclusion does not mean abandoning faith but embodying it more fully.

Personal Reflections: Stories from the Margins

Consider the story of an immigrant family finding sanctuary in a welcoming church, their journey marked not by suspicion, but by celebration. Or the LGBTQIA+ youth who, after years of silence and shame, finds affirmation in a congregation that sees their gifts and beauty. Or the homeless elder who, for the first time, is called by name and invited to share a meal not as a guest, but as kin.

Each story testifies to the transformative power of radical hospitality. The inclusive church is not a utopia; it is a community that knows its own need for grace and extends that grace freely. Every time someone on the margins discovers a place at the table, the church itself becomes more whole.

The Table Is Set: Continuing the Banquet

In the end, the church is called to be a banquet, open, abundant, and unfinished. The wisdom of Sirach, the vision of Hebrews, and the parable of Luke converge to challenge us: Who is missing from our table? How might we rearrange our seating so that honor is given where it is least expected? How do we build a church where all are not just tolerated but celebrated?

This is the work of every age. It is the work of humility, hospitality, and hope. The table is set. Let us fling open the doors, rearrange the seats, and serve the feast that God has prepared for all.

Conclusion: A Prayer for the Inclusive Church

God of the margins and the center, of every language and color, gather us as one people, humble in heart, joyful in spirit, bold in welcome. Teach us to honor those whom the world has ignored. Remind us daily that your banquet is for all, and your love knows no boundaries. May our churches become homes for the homeless, sanctuaries for immigrants, havens for LGBTQIA+ siblings, and tables where humility is the seat of honor. Amen.

Choosing the Narrow Door: Standing Up for the Marginalized

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Let’s be honest—standing up for the marginalized isn’t a glamorous calling. It’s rarely comfortable. Sometimes it’s awkward, even painful, like trying to squeeze through a narrow door while carrying a suitcase full of privilege and bias you didn’t realize you packed. But the lectionary readings—Isaiah 66:18–21, Hebrews 12:5–7, 11–13, and Luke 13:22–30—won’t let us off the hook. They combine to form a steady drumbeat, calling us to look beyond ourselves, push through resistance, and show up for those most easily ignored.

Isaiah paints this wild, inclusive vision: “I am coming to gather all nations and tongues.” Not just the people who look, act, or believe like us. Everyone. Even those we’ve written off, those whose stories we’ve never heard. God’s heart beats for the outsider; God gathers people from the fringes and sends them out as witnesses of hope. The marginalized aren’t just included—they’re sent as ambassadors.

Then Hebrews comes in and reminds us, “Don’t shrug off God’s discipline.” (If you’ve ever tried standing up for the overlooked, you know: it’s not easy. People might misunderstand you, or outright oppose you.) It’s tempting to give up, to slide back into comfort. But Hebrews says the hard stuff—the resistance, the discomfort—is a sign we’re growing. “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.” And yet, it “produces a harvest of righteousness and peace.” Walking alongside the marginalized isn’t about being a savior. It’s about letting ourselves be changed and becoming more like Jesus—who, let’s not forget, was constantly hanging out with those on the edges.

And then there’s Luke’s “narrow door.” Jesus says, “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to.” I’ve always pictured this as a challenge, not just to squeeze ourselves in, but to try to make room for others—especially those society would rather leave outside. The narrow door isn’t just about me and my faith journey. It’s about who I’m willing to stand beside, even when it costs me something.

Maybe standing up for the marginalized means listening—really listening—to stories I don’t understand. Maybe it means using my voice and privilege to amplify someone else’s. Maybe it means calling out injustice, even when it’s unpopular. Maybe it requires discipline: the discipline to keep showing up, to let my heart be broken open, to choose the narrow door every day.

God’s vision is so much bigger than my comfort zone. If Isaiah’s right, the people I least expect might become the very ones teaching me about God’s love. If Hebrews is right, pushing through what’s hard grows us up into peace. And if Luke is right, the narrow door is open—but it takes humility and courage to walk through it, especially if we’re determined not to go alone.

So today, let’s try to walk that way. Let’s stand up, reach out, and make space at the table, believing that God’s invitation is for everyone—especially those who’ve spent too long on the outside looking in.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Faith Under Fire: Endurance, Division, and Mission—Reflections

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In the tapestry of Christian life, moments of challenge and division are woven side by side with threads of perseverance and hope. For the community of Saint Francis Parish and Outreach in Augusta, Georgia, these scriptural themes offer both a mirror and a compass—reflecting our reality and guiding our mission.

Facing the Fire: Jeremiah’s Trial and Our Own

Jeremiah 38:4–6, 8–10 presents a scene of stark peril and steadfast faith. The prophet Jeremiah, speaking truth to power, is accused of weakening the resolve of Jerusalem’s defenders and is cast into a muddy cistern. He sinks—literally and figuratively—into the depths of despair. Yet, through the intervention of Ebed-Melek, Jeremiah is rescued, a vivid reminder that even when God’s messengers are marginalized and threatened, Divine Providence does not abandon them.

The story of Jeremiah resonates deeply with anyone who has ever felt isolated for standing firm in their convictions. In the context of Saint Francis Parish, where outreach often means entering the “cisterns” of poverty, loneliness, and social injustice, Jeremiah’s courage is both an inspiration and a challenge. We are called to speak truth, even when it is unpopular, and to act in compassion when others are cast aside.

Like Ebed-Melek, our mission is to recognize when the vulnerable are at risk and to intervene with decisive kindness. The Parish’s outreach programs—feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and accompanying the marginalized—are echoes of Jeremiah’s story, reminding us that the work of God sometimes happens in muddy places, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Running the Race: Perseverance from Hebrews

The letter to the Hebrews (12:1–4) continues this theme of endurance. We are exhorted to “run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” The imagery is athletic and communal: we are surrounded by a “cloud of witnesses,” those who have gone before us, cheering us on as we strive to lay aside every weight and sin that clings so closely.

At Saint Francis Parish, our race is not run in isolation. The collective witness of our members, past and present, inspires fresh commitment to serve our neighbors with love and humility. Whether it is the tireless volunteers who prepare meals for the homeless, the catechists who nurture faith in our youth, or the prayer teams who intercede for those in need, each member participates in a relay of grace.

Endurance is not just about surviving hardship; it is about transforming it. Hebrews reminds us that, in the struggle against sin and injustice, we have not yet “resisted to the point of shedding blood.” Our race requires that we remain steadfast, even when the path is steep or the finish line seems distant. In moments of fatigue or discouragement, we look to Christ—who endured hostility and shame for the sake of love—and find strength to continue.

Division for the Sake of Truth: Luke’s Fiery Words

Luke 12:49–53 introduces a more unsettling theme: “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” Jesus’ words about division—“from now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three”—remind us that the Gospel is not always a comfortable message. The peace Christ brings is not the peace of complacency, but the peace that comes from wrestling honestly with the demands of discipleship.

Saint Francis Parish is no stranger to the tensions that can arise when we take the Gospel seriously. Our outreach work sometimes draws criticism, our stands on justice may provoke disagreement, and our efforts at inclusion challenge the boundaries of comfort. Yet, it is precisely through such division—born not of malice but of fidelity to truth—that genuine community can emerge.

Jesus’ fire is the fire of transformation. It burns away indifference, ignites passion for justice, and compels us to confront the areas of our lives and society where reconciliation is needed. The divisions Jesus describes are not ends in themselves, but catalysts for deeper engagement with faith and with one another.

Saint Francis Parish and Outreach: Embodying the Scriptural Call

How does Saint Francis Parish embody these scriptural truths? By refusing to shy away from the muddy cisterns of our city, by running the long race of service and faith, and by stirring the fire of justice, the Parish seeks to be a living testament to God’s presence in Augusta.

  • Compassion in Action: Our outreach programs offer food, shelter, and companionship to those most at risk. Volunteers serve not only with their hands but with their hearts, recognizing Christ in the faces of the poor.
  • Faith Formation: Through adult education, youth ministry, and sacramental preparation, we equip our community to run the race with perseverance, grounded in the wisdom of the saints and strengthened by prayer.
  • Advocacy and Justice: The Parish participates in local initiatives for affordable housing, racial reconciliation, and support for refugees. We speak truth to power, even when it leads to uncomfortable conversations or division.
  • Hospitality and Healing: Saint Francis Parish opens its doors to all, fostering an environment where wounds are cared for and differences can be discussed openly, in the spirit of Christ’s reconciling love.

Conclusion: Hope in the Midst of Challenge

The stories of Jeremiah, the exhortations of Hebrews, and the fiery words of Jesus in Luke converge in a powerful call to the people of Saint Francis Parish and all who seek to follow Christ. We are invited to persevere through trials, to confront division for the sake of truth, and to intervene with compassion for those in the “cisterns” of suffering.

In Augusta, Georgia, the mission of Saint Francis Parish is not just to provide services, but to embody the living Gospel—a Gospel that comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable, that stretches us toward deeper faith and broader love. As we continue our journey, may we run our race with endurance, speak truth with courage, and kindle the fire of hope, confident that God walks with us every step of the way.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Faith, Vigilance, and Community: Drawing Inspiration for Parish Life from Sacred Scripture

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In the tapestry of Christian faith, the threads of hope, perseverance, and vigilance are woven through every era and community, from the earliest followers of Christ to present-day parishes like Saint Francis Parish and Outreach in Augusta, Georgia. The readings from Wisdom 18:6–9, Hebrews 11:1–2, 8–12, and Luke 12:32–48 invite us to meditate on faith’s endurance, the anticipation of God’s promises, and the call to active, loving service. These themes are not only ancient; they remain alive and vital in the mission of modern parishes seeking to share the Gospel, serve those in need, and nurture vibrant communities of faith.

The Promise Remembered

“That night was made known beforehand to our ancestors, so that, rejoicing in sure knowledge of the oaths in which they put their faith, they might have courage.”

The book of Wisdom recalls the night of deliverance, the Passover, when God acted on behalf of the chosen people. The passage speaks of anticipation and trust—a community gathered, not yet seeing their victory, but assured by the faithfulness of God’s promises. The Israelites’ faith was a communal act. Their worship, their expectations, and their deliverance were experienced together.

In parish life, such as at Saint Francis Parish, this communal aspect of faith finds its echo. Parishioners come together, united in prayer and mission, trusting that God, who has been faithful in the past, will guide them through present challenges. The memory of God’s deliverance is not just history; it is inspiration for today’s journey.

The Assurance of Things Hoped For

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

The letter to the Hebrews offers a profound meditation on faith’s nature. It is not mere wishful thinking, but a confident trust in God’s promises, even when fulfillment seems distant or impossible. Abraham is highlighted as the exemplar of this faith—called to go out, not knowing where he was heading, trusting in a future only God could see. Through Abraham and Sarah, the passage demonstrates how faith transcends human limitations and doubts: “from one person…descendants as many as the stars of heaven.”

For a parish like Saint Francis in Augusta, this is a call to persist in hope, even when the way forward is uncertain. Ministries of outreach, acts of hospitality, and dreams for growth all require stepping into the unknown with confidence that God will bring fruit in due season. Faith is not passive; it is active, moving the community to boldness and generosity.

Vigilant and Ready

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

Jesus’ words in Luke are both tender and challenging. He addresses his followers as a “little flock,” reminding them of God’s delight in giving. Yet, he immediately calls them to vigilance: to be ready, like servants awaiting their master’s return, with lamps burning and hearts attentive. He warns that to whom much is given, much is expected.

In the context of Saint Francis Parish and Outreach, this passage resonates deeply. The parish is called not only to receive the gifts of God—faith, grace, resources—but to be vigilant stewards, ready to serve at a moment’s notice. This means being attentive to the needs of the local community, especially the poor, the isolated, and the marginalized. It is about preparing the “household” of faith so that whenever Christ comes—in the person of a neighbor, a stranger, or a person in need—the parish is ready to respond with love and action.

Saint Francis Parish and Outreach: Embodying the Scriptures

Saint Francis Parish and Outreach in Augusta, Georgia stands as a living example of these scriptural truths. Like the Israelites on the eve of deliverance, the parish draws strength from God’s past faithfulness, gathering regularly in worship and prayer, remembering the stories that have shaped Christian identity.

The parish’s outreach ministries mirror Abraham’s willingness to journey into the unknown. Whether through food pantries, clothing drives, educational programs, or pastoral care, Saint Francis extends itself beyond the walls of its sanctuary, stepping out in faith to serve the broader Augusta community. Each act is an expression of trust: that in sowing seeds of compassion, God will bring forth a harvest of hope.

The call to vigilance in Luke is lived out through ongoing formation and readiness. Parishioners are encouraged to reflect on their own gifts, to discern where God is calling them to serve, and to remain open to new opportunities for ministry. In a world often marked by uncertainty and rapid change, Saint Francis Parish responds by staying rooted in faith, alert to the signs of the times, and eager to share the joy of the Gospel.

A Community of Hope and Service

The readings invite us to see faith not as a solitary endeavor, but as the heartbeat of a community. At Saint Francis Parish, faith is lived in common prayer, in the breaking of bread, in mutual support, and in outreach to the wider world. The parish’s mission is not only to remember what God has done, but to embody God’s promises in the present.

  • Faith as Remembrance: Regular liturgy, sacramental life, and parish gatherings keep alive the memory of God’s enduring love and deliverance.
  • Faith as Hopeful Journey: Just as Abraham set out in trust, the parish invests in new ministries and responds to emerging needs, confident that God travels with them.
  • Faith as Vigilant Service: Parishioners remain attentive and ready to respond, reflecting Christ’s call to be lamps shining in the darkness and servants awaiting the master’s return.

Conclusion: The Living Word in Parish Life

The ancient words of Wisdom, Hebrews, and Luke continue to speak powerfully into the life of the Church today. At Saint Francis Parish and Outreach in Augusta, Georgia, these scriptures become more than readings; they are a summons to live with courage, to hope beyond sight, and to serve with generous, expectant hearts.

May all who walk through the doors of Saint Francis find themselves welcomed into a community where faith is both memory and mission—where vigilance is matched by compassion, and where the promise of God’s kingdom inspires every act of love. And may the “little flock,” entrusted with much, joyfully and faithfully bear witness to the God who calls, who fulfills promises, and who delights in giving the kingdom to all.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Beyond Vanity: Finding Meaning in a World of Distractions

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If you walk through the doors of Saint Francis Parish on any given Sunday, you’ll find more than stained glass and sacred hymns. You’ll encounter a community anchored in hope, wrestling honestly with the questions life throws our way. This week, as we reflect on scriptures from Ecclesiastes, Colossians, and Luke, we discover an invitation—perhaps even a challenge—to look beyond our culture’s mirage of “more” and toward the richness of a life rooted in God and shared with others.

“Vanity of Vanities, All is Vanity”: The Restless Human Heart

The wisdom writer of Ecclesiastes minces no words: “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). The Preacher—a voice as ancient as human longing itself—names what so many of us sense but rarely say. Despite our striving, our labor, our pursuit of possessions and prestige, we find ourselves restless. Ecclesiastes 2:21–23 continues this lament: what do we gain from all our toil, if our days are filled with pain and our nights with worry? Even the fruit of our work may pass to another who did not labor for it.

It’s a sobering reminder—the futility of chasing after wind, of investing our souls in things that inevitably slip through our fingers. Yet, it’s not a call to despair. Instead, it’s a loving invitation to ask: Where does true meaning reside? What does it profit us to accumulate if our hearts remain empty?

At Saint Francis Parish, we see this yearning played out in the lives of those we serve through our outreach ministries. Whether it’s the neighbor struggling to pay rent, the parent seeking a better future for their child, or the volunteer searching for purpose, the question remains: Is there more to life than this endless cycle of working and wanting?

Setting Our Minds on Christ: A New Vision for Living

Colossians 3:1–5, 9–11 offers a brilliant, hopeful response to Ecclesiastes’ honest lament. Paul urges us, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” Our truest identity, he insists, is found not in what we possess, but in Christ—in compassion, kindness, humility, and love. The old self, driven by greed and anger, is to be set aside. In Christ, there is “no Greek or Jew… but Christ is all and in all!”

The outreach at Saint Francis is more than a program; it’s an embodiment of this new life. Volunteers and recipients alike are invited to look beyond the world’s definitions of worth. Here, people from every background gather as equals. The Blessing Bag Outreach and the community meals—they’re not just handouts, but opportunities to witness God’s radical inclusion. In giving and receiving, we taste the richness of the kingdom that Colossians describes—a kingdom where generosity replaces anxiety, and relationships are valued over riches.

The Parable of the Rich Fool: A Warning and a Way Forward

Jesus, in Luke 12:13–21, tells the story of a man who seemingly “had it all”—abundant crops, overflowing barns, a future secured. Yet, God calls him a fool, not for his success but for his shortsightedness. “This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” The parable warns us: life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.

How often do we, too, fall into the trap of the rich fool? We make plans, store up treasures, seek security in things—only to discover that what we truly crave is connection, peace, and the assurance that we matter. At Saint Francis Parish, we see the other side of the equation—those who lack, who worry, who wonder where tomorrow’s bread will come from. But we also see the beauty that arises when resources are shared, when burdens are lightened by communal care.

Saint Francis Parish and Outreach: Living the Gospel

It’s easy to read these scriptures and feel chastised, but Jesus and the writers of Ecclesiastes and Colossians aren’t interested in shaming us. Rather, they long to open our eyes and hearts to the abundance that comes from living for God and neighbor. At Saint Francis Parish, outreach is not a side project—it’s the beating heart of the Gospel in action.

Each time a volunteer offers a warm meal, a listening ear, or a word of encouragement, we are reminded that true wealth lies not in accumulation, but in self-giving love. The lessons of Ecclesiastes find their answer in the work of Saint Francis: when we invest in people, when we allow Christ to reshape our priorities, the vanity of earthly pursuits is replaced by the joy of serving something—and someone—far greater than ourselves.

We are called, then, to hold our possessions loosely and our relationships tightly. Whether we have much or little, we are members of one body, woven together by the Spirit. The food we share, the time we give, the hope we kindle—these are treasures that moth and rust cannot destroy.

Practical Steps: Cultivating a Life Oriented Toward True Riches

How can we move from mere words to lived transformation? Here are some invitations inspired by this week’s readings and the witness of Saint Francis Parish:

  • Reexamine Your Priorities: Take time this week to reflect on what fills your thoughts, fuels your ambitions, and shapes your schedule. Where are you investing your heart?
  • Seek Things Above: In moments of stress or uncertainty, turn to prayer, Scripture, or the quiet presence of God. Let your values be shaped by the things that last—faith, hope, and love.
  • Give Generously: Find ways to share your resources, talents, or time with those in need. Whether through parish outreach or a simple act of kindness, discover the joy of giving.
  • Build Christ-Centered Community: Engage with others at Saint Francis Parish, not just on Sundays but through service and companionship. In lifting one another up, we experience the new life promised in Colossians.
  • Live Honestly: Let go of pretense and comparison. In Christ, the divisions of the world fall away. Celebrate the unique story God is writing in you and those around you.

Conclusion: The Gift of Enough

The ancient Preacher was right—much of life’s striving is vanity. But he did not see the whole story. In Christ, we are offered a new way: to seek what is above, to put on compassion, and to be “rich toward God.” At Saint Francis Parish, in the bustle of outreach and the quiet moments of prayer, we catch a glimpse of the kingdom Jesus proclaimed. A kingdom where every gift is received with gratitude, every neighbor is seen as kin, and every moment is an opportunity to love.

As you leave this reflection, may you find courage to release what is fleeting and to embrace what endures. In the end, the riches that matter most are those we share.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

Living the Gospel: Intercession, Mercy, and the True Message of Sodom and Gomorrah

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What does it truly mean to live the gospel? When we read the passages of Genesis 18:20–32, Colossians 2:12–14, and Luke 11:1–13, we are invited into a deep reflection on mercy, intercession, and the boundless grace of God. In these scriptures, we encounter the heart of the gospel—a call not only to personal transformation but also to a life marked by compassion, humility, and a readiness to stand in the gap for others.

The Intercessor’s Heart: Abraham’s Plea for Sodom

Genesis 18:20–32 opens with a scene that is both profound and deeply human: Abraham stands before the Lord, learning of the grave sin of Sodom and Gomorrah. God’s justice is clear—there is a great outcry against these cities. Yet Abraham, rather than turning away or celebrating the expected judgment, steps forward as an intercessor.

He asks, with remarkable boldness and humility, whether God would spare the city if fifty righteous people could be found. And then, with each answer, Abraham presses further—forty-five, forty, thirty, twenty, even ten righteous people. At every turn, God’s answer is a gentle affirmation: “For the sake of ten, I will not destroy it.”

This exchange is not just a lesson in persistence; it is a revelation of God’s character and a call to intercessory prayer. Abraham’s dialogue with God reminds us that the first instinct of those who live the gospel is not condemnation, but mercy. The heart shaped by God’s love pleads for others, seeking their redemption, not their destruction.

The True Message of Sodom and Gomorrah: Beyond Judgment

The story of Sodom and Gomorrah is often reduced to a tale of judgment for egregious sin. Yet, beneath the ashes, there is a deeper message that is both cautionary and hopeful. The prophets, especially Ezekiel (see Ezekiel 16:49–50), remind us that the iniquity of Sodom was not only immorality, but a deeper rot: “pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.”

The sin of Sodom was the failure to love, the refusal to show hospitality, and the neglect of justice for the vulnerable. Their downfall was not simply personal wickedness, but the collective hardening of hearts against compassion and righteousness.

God is not eager to destroy; God listens as Abraham intercedes. God searches for the righteous, even a mere handful, and would withhold judgment for their sake. The true message, then, is not only that God judges evil, but that God longs to show mercy. God’s hope is always for repentance, restoration, and the flourishing of communities built on justice and love.

Dying and Rising with Christ: Colossians 2:12–14

Fast-forward to the New Testament, where Paul writes to the Colossians about the transforming power of Christ. In Colossians 2:12–14, we read of how, in baptism, we are buried with Christ and raised with Him through faith in the power of God. Paul reminds us that we, too, once lived in “trespasses” and the “uncircumcision of our flesh,” but God forgave us all our sins. The record of debt that stood against us, with its legal demands, has been canceled and nailed to the cross.

Here is grace in its fullness: We are not judged and condemned but offered new life. Jesus, the ultimate Intercessor, stands in the gap for us—pleading, not with words, but with His own life. He absorbs our failings and our debts and, in exchange, offers us forgiveness and freedom.

The gospel is not a story of earned righteousness, nor a tale of the deserving and undeserving. It is about radical grace—the kind that spares cities for the sake of a few, the kind that raises the dead, the kind that welcomes sinners home.

The Rhythm of Prayer: Luke 11:1–13

When the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray, He responds with words that have echoed through centuries: “Our Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come…” (Luke 11:2). He teaches them persistence in prayer through the parable of the friend at midnight—a story that assures us that God does not tire of our petitions.

“If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:13).

Prayer is not merely a religious duty; it is the heartbeat of a living relationship with God. It is where our hearts are shaped to reflect God’s love, where our desires are aligned with His mercy, and where we find the courage to intercede for others, as Abraham did.

Living the Gospel: A Call to Compassion and Action

To live the gospel, then, is to echo Abraham’s intercession, to embrace the grace of Christ, and to cultivate a persistent life of prayer. It is to recognize, as the prophets did, that the greatest sins are often the coldness of our hearts to the suffering around us—poverty, injustice, exclusion.

  • Intercede for others. Stand in the gap for your city, your community, your family. Refuse to give up on those who seem far from God. Plead for mercy, not because they deserve it, but because God delights in mercy.
  • Live out resurrection life. Remember that Christ has set you free, not to judge or condemn, but to invite others into the freedom He brings. Extend forgiveness, hospitality, and love—especially to the overlooked and forgotten.
  • Persist in prayer. Let your life be marked by the kind of bold, shameless prayer that Jesus commends. Ask, seek, and knock. Trust that your heavenly Father hears, delights, and responds.
  • Embody justice and mercy. Let your faith be practical. Share your bread with the hungry, care for the poor, and work for justice in your neighborhood. Refuse the ease and pride that marked Sodom; instead, cultivate a community of kindness and generosity.

A Gospel for Our Time

The ancient stories of Abraham, the letters of Paul, and the teachings of Jesus intersect in a powerful invitation: to live the gospel is to be a conduit of grace in the world. We are called beyond self-preservation, beyond tribalism and judgment, into the wide mercy of God.

The true message of Sodom and Gomorrah warns us against a life closed off from love, justice, and compassion. It beckons us to become intercessors—people who pray, who act, and who believe that God is always seeking to redeem, not destroy.

So today, may we live with open hands and open hearts. May our prayers be persistent, our actions generous, and our witness shaped by the One who, through death and resurrection, has canceled our debts and set us free. This is the heartbeat of the gospel—mercy triumphing over judgment, love conquering fear, and hope rising from the ashes.

Let us go and live it.

Pax et Bonum,

Bishop Greer

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