I remember years ago, staying in a Roman Catholic retreat center in Geneva, Switzerland. On the wall of my room was a crucifix. And as I lay in bed at night, I found myself staring at the tortured body of Christ, hanging limp on the cross. (Not exactly conducive to pleasant dreams!)

As Protestants, we display only the empty cross, with the emphasis squarely on Easter, the resurrection. But it raises the question: Are we missing something? It is interesting, all of the gospels, particularly the Gospel of John, focus an extraordinary amount of attention on the last few days of Jesus’ life – pushing us to contemplate his death.

We don’t like to think about death though, do we? However, it is an inevitable part of life itself. And I am ever reminded that our faith tradition does in fact help us cope and add meaning to these large moments.

I think about the early Christians worshiping in the Catacombs. One of the most ancient hymns is Phos Hilaron – Hail Gladding Light – which could potentially be translated as “Hilarious Light”. It was originally sung on Easter in the graveyards, celebrating the Light, and laughing in the face of death.

I think about the hope we have, that there is more beyond this life. The hope I have that I would one day see my again my grandparents, my uncles, Robbie’s dad. I think about visiting with one of my members just before her death, holding hands to pray, I could feel her inner strength. She was confident that death would not have the last word. She was looking forward to seeing her mother and father. Her faith had given her courage.

I think about the rituals we put around the end of life. Over the last few years, I have had two friends, non-church-going friends, who have both lost spouses. One of them asked me to lead a memorial service on the beach for his wife, and I was glad to do that. My other friend, his wife was pretty much an atheist, and there is to be no service, no remembrance. And that to me, feels like a huge loss.

As my friend Hunter reflected recently, “Perhaps John’s Gospel makes us ponder Jesus’ death a long time so we might more fully ponder the magnificence of his life. It’s in the reality of the cross that we see the brilliance, uniqueness, and holiness of his life.”

Likewise, it is in Jesus’ death that we see the gravity and seriousness of God’s love. In Jesus’ death, we see how important our lives really are. We see how important each and every life is. We see a little more clearly our responsibility to protect it and appreciate it and hold it sacred. And we glean again the truth that nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate us from God’s love, not even death.

Let us pray: We thank you, Loving God, that in life and in death we belong to you. Help us ever remember how precious and valuable life truly is; through Jesus our Lord. Amen.

A country newspaper once ran an article on the importance of Sunday worship. Shortly thereafter, they received a letter to the editor which read, “I dare you to print this. I tried an experiment. I have a field of corn which I plowed on Sunday. I planted it on Sunday. I did all the cultivating on Sunday. I gathered the harvest on Sunday and hauled it to my barn on Sunday. Not to my surprise, I found that my harvest this October was just as large – if not larger than that of any of my neighbors who went to church on Sunday. So where was God all this time?” The editor printed the letter but added his reply at the bottom. “Your mistake was in thinking that God always settles his accounts in October.”

No doubt the editor held a view of a god who is vindictive. However, setting that aside, he is right in that we often think God should act on our timetable. Sometimes we do think God should act when and how we’d like. Sometimes we want God to love those we love and punish those we don’t.

In the prophet Isaiah God says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways…”

By and large, I take this to be good news. If it were all up to me, I’d make a mess of it. I need to rely on a higher power. I love Psalm 61. With great humility, the writer of this psalm prays, “Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.”

Let us pray: Loving and gracious God, so much of life is a mystery. And yet, you created us with great curiosity and thirst for knowledge. It is humbling to be confronted with questions that have no answers – and answers that only raise further questions. Help us to trust that all that you have created – including us – rests securely in your loving hands. While we don’t know what the future holds, we do know that you hold the future. And for that, we are grateful! Amen.

Over the last several days, I’ve reflected on the gift of music. When I think about music as a spiritual practice, I do think about singing in worship. Outside of worship, I also use music to shift my mood, and even to shift my heart and mind into more of a prayerful mode of being.

There’s a short podcast that I like called “Pray as You Go.” It is a brief meditation on the daily lectionary scripture with reflective questions and silence. And it always begins with a short piece of music – anything from monastic chant to classical Bach to contemporary Christian. The music prepares the ground of the soul, it opens the heart to hear the message.

I’ll also sometimes go back and listen to one of the pieces that our Music Director recorded during Covid. I’ll close my eyes and allow that music, that song to form into a prayer within.

One evening not long ago, I went for a walk on the beach at night under the starlit sky, I heard the echoes of the Christmas cantata – I found myself silently singing in my heart and that song became a prayer.

Today, may you find a piece of music, or a genre that could be for you an instrument of prayer. And, as my prayer has been, may you find yourself singing in tune with the music of creation, the music of love, the music of hope, the music of God’s heart.

Let us pray: Sing a song of faith and hope in our hearts, O God, even as we sing to you. And may the music of your love resound through our lives, by the way that we live and love; in Christ’s name. Amen.

Yesterday I reflected on the gift of music. Today, I continue that theme.

My friend Amy Camp shared with me about visiting an elderly couple one afternoon. At the end of the visit, the wife wanted to sing the children’s song, “Jesus loves me.” Amy said she couldn’t believe it. The man who could not speak sang right along with them. And he was singing clear as a bell.

Music does have a way of triggering thoughts and memories buried deep within us. It has a way of speaking to the core of our being. It can make us feel delighted in being alive or console our spirits when we are feeling down. It touches on human emotions on a very deep level.

I can tell you, in my 22 years of ministry, more people have been touched by the music ministry of churches than any words that ever came out of my mouth.

A few weeks ago, my friend Juliet was talking about singing. She’s a beautiful singer.

She said: As you are getting ready to sing, you take in a deep breath. Then it is kind of like surfing – you ride that wave, that arc as the song flows out of you. There is something cathartic about it – stress relieving… as you’re dealing with breath.

When we’re angry we can sing to make us feel better… when we feel stuck, we can sing… I know when I taught high school Spanish, I had several songs that I taught the students to help with memorization. We might also sing during an unpleasant task. I don’t know about you, but in our family, we listen to music while cleaning.

As I mentioned yesterday, when I think about music as a spiritual practice, I think about singing in worship… But it can be more than that. Outside of worship, I also use music to shift my mood – and even to shift my heart and mind into more of a prayerful mode of being.

My prayer today is once again that you would come to see music as yet another means by which you might draw closer to the source of life, to the One who gives life. May music for you, be an instrument of prayer. And, may you find yourself singing in tune with the music of creation, the music of love, the music of hope, the music of God’s heart.

Let us pray: Sing a song of faith and hope in our hearts, O God, even as we sing to you. And may the music of your love resound through our lives, by the way that we live and love; in Christ’s name. Amen.

Today’s message was written by the founder of Dial Hope, the Rev. Roger Kunkel

One of my favorite subjects is gratitude. Henry David Thoreau wrote, “I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual.” Friends of Dial Hope, most of us specialize in periodic outbursts of gratitude. Rather than a continuous condition or a state of being, thanksgiving becomes an event, a time, a day, in particular, the fourth Thursday of every November. But gratitude needs to be an attitude, a perpetual one.

To keep myself in a thankful condition, I do the following: I launch my attitude of gratitude when I awaken. In the silence of my heart, I say, “Thank you, God, for a night of rest and for the gift of a new day. I am thankful, I am thankful. I am thankful, and I will live this day in gratitude, from start to finish, come what may. Lord, what are you up to today? I want to be a part of it. Now I ask that you bless me so I may be a blessing to others.”

The crucial thing is to get yourself prepared for yet another day of thankfulness. Crashes, victories, and boredom will come and go. Our attitude of gratitude endures. With perpetual thanksgiving, I remain.

Let us pray: Loving God, who broods over us at night like a mother bird over her nest and rises upon us in the morning like the sun that warms the earth, we lift our hearts to you in praise and thanksgiving. You have richly blessed each of us. Thank you for your love and extravagance. This day, may we be beautifully extravagant in our generosity, gratitude, and kindness toward others. In Jesus’ name. Amen.