The Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. Growing up on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland, the day was set aside for cooking out, boating and fireworks. Family and friends got together to pick crabs, swim, and enjoy the nice weather. I always went to bed exhausted, often after chasing fireflies into the night. It was a celebration full of life, which I think explains why it became one of my favorite holidays.

I am preaching this Sunday about a pair of healing stories. But one thing I don’t fully extrapolate in the sermon is the earthiness of the second healing. In Mark 5, after Jesus has raised a little girl, seemingly from death, he tells her parents and the disciples present to “give her something to eat.” It’s cursory, from the outset. But food is never cursory in our family.

My office is always messy — projects, donated bottle caps, piles of books, a case of hand sanitizer — the mixture of “stuff” often stymies my best attempts at organization. This time of year, the chaos seems to multiply! Now, in addition to everything else, there are piles of rocks, a box of compasses, a kaleidoscope kit, several attempts to make a God’s Eye, a case of Band-Aids^®, and a bag of birdseed.

On Sunday, June 20, I will welcome my third class of new members who have joined our congregation since the pandemic began. To be honest, I don't blame folks who prefer not to join in the middle of a global health crisis. Too many of us were worried about finding toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and antacids to have found much time for joining another organization.

Over the past year we have had a lot of conversations about the work of anti-racism. I know we have said this before, but the truth that this work does not look like a straight line bears repeating. Even for myself, I need to re-read books and articles to gain an accurate understanding of the author’s perspective. I can have the same conversation multiple times before a conversation partner and I have reached a shared understanding. The number of new articles, documentaries and commentary on these issues of equity, language, history and community can be hard to keep track of.

Many of you have met my dear sister Julie. She was born with a congenital heart problem, and as a toddler, was electrocuted in a terrible accident. As a result, Julie has lived her life under the care of my parents. She is sheer joy, always looking at life with the most positive of attitudes and a delicious sense of humor. She loves visiting us in Philadelphia and especially enjoys attending BMPC services during those visits!