A Few Thoughts from Bren
Steve is a novice in our community. He often reminds me of that familiar line:, “He is wiser than his years.” In Steve’s case it is absolutely no cliché. I especially love his chapel talks. Recently, he gave one on the Parable of the Sower and once again I benefited from his wisdom.
These days at Koinonia, Steve oversees the vegetable gardens so he certainly knows something about sowing seeds. Perhaps because of this, the sower in this parable caught my imagination. Steve is a good preparer of the soil. He is not so silly as to scatter seed on the paths where we walk or on rocky ground or among the thorns. He nurtures the soil by feeding it with compost tea. He works with that hard, sticky, red Georgia clay and turns it into a more receptive and hospitable environment for the seeds soon to be sown. He takes away rocks and he pulls weeds. He waters the ground.
As I was reflecting about Steve as sower and listening to what he was sharing with us, I was struck by the thought, “He is a good preparer of the soil of our souls.” We all have our failings, our thorns and our stones. We can be full of weeds. Each of us has the responsibility to work the soil within our own souls. Steve reminded us of the need for discipline to do the necessary work. We are to make time for prayer and spiritual reading in the privacy of our homes.
But he also gave me the insight that in community, as sisters and brothers, we are to help work the soul soil of the other. Steve has many a time supported me in removing a rock or grabbing a handful of weeds within my own soul and pitching them. Koinonia is a place where the Word is sown throughout each and every day communally — at chapel in the morning, at meals, at Gathered Worship. Koinonia is a place where we work the physical land and we work the soul land. By working the soil of both, the yield just may be what we hope for or beyond.
Steve is a sower who prepares the soil well and because he does, God’s Word has a chance to take root.
And that is a very good thing.
A Few Thoughts from Bren
I Love Baseball
If you’re from Houston, Texas like I am, this has been a great year to love baseball. What a Christmas gift the Houston Astros gave to the city and to fans far and wide. Here at Koinonia I’m known for using baseball metaphors. The Astros have inspired me to do so even more in 2017. Bear with me.
Baseball is spiritual. It’s all about coming home. It’s a great metaphor about life and about dying. Baseball is full of sounds. I love them all — the crack of the bat as it makes contact with the ball, the crunch of cleats as the runner sprints for first, the thud of the shoe as the player rounds the base and oh, the roar of the crowd as he races for home. Getting home … that’s what it’s about, but how often does it happen? Someone who bats around .300 is considered a good hitter. That means two thirds of the time the hitter is out, she has failed. She may hit the ball, but someone catches it or someone throws it to a base she’s trying to reach. Maybe it’s a force out or maybe he’s tagged, but he’s out. But there is going to be another turn at bat. There is the thrill of another chance. Those who hit at the top to the middle of the order often get four at bats in a game. Four chances to hit. Baseball is such a hopeful game.
Jesus is even more hopeful than baseball. There is an icon that’s a favorite among Christians belonging to the Eastern Orthodox and Byzantine Churches. It depicts Christ descending into the world of the dead, setting captives free even to the point of finding Adam and Eve and pulling them out of their graves. The truth the artist conveys is Christ reaching all the way back to our human beginnings. Reaching even through death for everyone — all of us.
Jesus is clear — “Love one another.” Loving one another is about dying to self. In baseball there’s something called a sacrifice. A runner is on first base. To get him to second, the batter bunts the ball. She lays down a sacrifice. The hope is the runner gets to second and into scoring position even though the batter is likely thrown out at first. Or a runner is on third. The batter lifts a long, high fly ball, but the outfielder catches it. That’s all right. The batter is out, but the runner tags third base and makes it home ahead of the throw to the plate.
Loving one another is about making sacrifices for one another. Many seem to be in touch with this in a special way during Christmas time. It seems we are more trusting, more cooperative and more forgiving. The light is just a bit brighter this time of year. Read the Scripture readings of these days — Mary, Joseph, Elizabeth, poor shepherds, angels, well-to- do wise men and even John in the womb point to this baby named Jesus.
Jesus shows us how to live. We keep going up to the plate even when we fail two thirds of the time. We don’t stop trying. The bat meets the ball, we see the ball going, going, gone; we touch all the bases. If we strike out, well … if Jesus came and pitched his tent with us and if Jesus reached, as depicted by that artist in the icon, for Adam and Eve in the grave, isn’t he reaching for us? Always. His longing for us never ceases — strike out or homerun.
I love baseball. Houston waited a long time. I love Christmas. We wait all year. Jesus is always reaching no matter the season. Merry Christmas.
Live My Life
In a play I wrote, Irish Mist, the central character, Jamie O’Hanlon, refuses to use the word “friend.” She also never speaks the word “love.” To her, both words are empty — spoken frequently, but rarely meaning anything beyond the superficial and shallow. Of course, if you know anything about dramatic writing, the play has to be about friendship and the deep, abiding love that can come with it. And it is.
In a social science study I read a few years ago, data showed that the average close relationship lasts seven years. What does “close” mean in the context of this study? How does the data and the vision of friendship it offers square with “There is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15:13)?” To me, there is something longer than seven years in that verse.
Numbers are on our mind at Koinonia these days — in particular, the number 75. What does it mean to live in a religious community that turned 75 years old this year? Data doesn’t support the likelihood of a community like ours making it this long. Perhaps the world would tell us that Koinonia, therefore, is a success and has a bright future ahead. I see that word “success” and recall what Clarence Jordan, one of our co-founders, shared in an interview not too long before he died: “We are called not to be successful but to be faithful. I hope the future will find us faithful.”
In an article published a few months after his death, Clarence was quoted, “…Love is never ‘strategic.’ The minute you love your wife so that she will cook you a steak, it isn’t love any more but a polluted form of selfishness. You believe deep down that love does good, but that’s not the reason you love. You love for love’s own sake. Ours [Koinonia] has been a struggle for integrity. What will come of it? I hope we can say, ‘We’ve been obedient.’”
But to what are we faithful and obedient? Are we to be faithful and obedient to social and political causes? As good and worthwhile as causes are, I do not believe this is it. Isn’t there something before? Shouldn’t there be something deeper, something out of which the work for causes is born? Are we to be faithful and obedient to Jesus? What in the world does that mean and how are we to know if we are? What would the core be?
Simplified, Jesus said, “Live my life.” Simplified, Jesus said, “Be friends.” At Koinonia, we struggle to be faithful and obedient to this way of friendship, to this way of love. We love our neighbor and our enemies. We welcome. We serve.
And we long for others to come live this way of life with us. We pray for more friends willing to lay down their lives, pick up Jesus’ life, and live out their days with us. There is no greater love.
Sunday Evening Gathered Worship, August 27, 2017
By Elizabeth Dede
Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And he might ask us the same question if he were to gather with us here today.
So who do we say Jesus is? We have lots of names for Jesus, but what do they mean?
Well, for one, we call him Jesus. The angel visits Joseph, as told in Matthew 1:21, and says, “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Jesus is our Savior.
In the Gospel lesson today, Peter calls Jesus, Christ. Martha also calls him Christ just before Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. Christ means anointed one, and by the time of Paul, everyone knew that Christ was equated with Jesus, and then the followers of Christ became Christians.
Jesus is also called Lord, a title of deep respect. It shows the relationship that Jesus had with his disciples, and then connotes Jesus’ lordship over all the earth. Again, by the time of Paul, confessing Jesus as Lord led to salvation. In Romans 10:9, we read, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”
Matthew also uses the name Emmanuel for Jesus. Emmanuel means God is with us. Matthew is the only Gospel writer who uses that name, and the idea surfaces again at the end of Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus says, “I am with you always to the end of the age.”
John calls Jesus the Word, and tells us that the Word was in the beginning, eternal. The Word was with God, distinct from God. And the Word was God, in unity with God, and therefore divine.
In the Gospel reading this evening, Peter calls Jesus the Son of the Living God. Jesus is in relationship with God. God is his Father. Jesus is fully divine. God calls Jesus his Son.
Jesus is also the Son of Man. This name for Jesus teaches us that Jesus became human in the incarnation. He really walked the earth as one of us.
We call Jesus the Son of David. Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus tells us that Jesus was descended from King David, and is a member of the Davidic line of Kings. Son of David is used many times in the Gospel of Matthew. We heard it last week in the cry of the Canaanite woman, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me.”
These are just a few of the names and titles we have for Jesus. In each instance, we learn something new and different about who Jesus is. Who do you say Jesus is?
Sunday Gathered Worship–Matthew 13:24-43
July 23, 2017
By Elizabeth Dede
A few years ago, two little girls named Ida and Kellan lived here at Koinonia Farm with their parents. I spent a lot of time with them in childcare and school. There was never a dull moment.
I read an article in “National Geographic” which reported that redheads feel pain more acutely than other people. This was definitely the case for Ida and Kellan. There was a lot of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
When we started school together, I had a rule: No Weeping and Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth. If they were playing too wildly, I’d warn them, “Somebody’s going to get hurt and then there’ll be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, and you know how much I don’t like that.” Or if they were teasing each other, I’d say, “OK, time to stop before there’s weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.” I’m sure they got tired of hearing me say it, and maybe that’s why it was an effective way to get them to settle down.
I don’t know about you, but at the end of the age, I don’t want to be collected out of the kingdom and thrown into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. I value my teeth too much. And you already know how much I don’t like weeping and wailing.
So how is it that we will be counted among the righteous who shine like the sun. Jesus tells us that we need to listen carefully.
What does the Gospel tell us? In the Gospel of Matthew Jesus speaks plainly about the righteous and the unrighteous. At the end of the age, all the nations will be gathered together, and they will be separated as sheep and goats.
The goats are the ones who did not feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, give clothes to the needy, and visit the sick and the prisoner. They will go away to eternal punishment, presumably the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
The righteous ones are the sheep. Without knowing that they were serving the Lord, they fed the hungry, gave a drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, gave clothes to the needy, and visited the sick and the prisoner. The righteous will go to eternal life.
I often wonder how I’m measuring up. I feel like I have a long way to go, not for lack of opportunity. It’s that I’m shy and scared of the stranger. Before I lived and worked at the Open Door Community, I used to go out of my way to avoid homeless people. In Boston, I would cross to the other side of the street just so I wouldn’t have to look a homeless person in the eye. My friend Mary would force me to stay on the sidewalk and make eye contact, give a dollar, or say hello. She was just a natural at the Gospel life.
I still have to work at it. Even here at Koinonia, where we welcome the stranger every day, I find myself sticking to the familiar, sitting at the table with Craig, and avoiding new people.
It’s not necessarily easy to shine like the sun. But the light is infinitely preferable to the darkness. And the cool of eternal life is infinitely preferable to the fiery furnace.
So let’s wake up every morning, ready for a new day. Look for an opportunity to give food to the hungry. Share water with a thirsty person. Give clothes to the needy. Visit someone who is sick or in prison. Let me tell you, those things are infinitely preferable to weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Sunday Gathered Worship, July 16, 2017
By Elizabeth Dede
The parable of the Sower and the Seed might very well be the most well-known of Jesus’ stories. I remember learning the parable in Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. It’s not a parable that makes us wonder about its meaning like the one about the overseer who has been cooking the books. What did Jesus mean when he praised that man and said, “Make for yourselves friends with unrighteous Mammon?” In the parable of the Sower and the Seed, Jesus even gives an explanation to his disciples so that there cannot be any confusion.
Sometimes Jesus’ parables are just downright confusing, and we might say that the disciples’ question, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” is a good one. Why did Jesus use parables?
Well, there are some easy answers: the parables use images that are familiar. Here at Koinonia in rural Southwest Georgia, we understand about seeds falling on hard clay that are there for the birds to gobble up. We know about the scorching sun that burns up little seedlings. We see kudzu grow even while we’re standing there watching. We know about weeds.
Sometimes, though the parables are confusing. No matter how straightforward the parable of the mustard seed seems to be, I’m still not sure about it. Mustard seeds are just not the smallest of seeds, and mustard plants are not the tallest of trees. So that imagery just doesn’t work for me.
Is it possible that Jesus meant for his words to have some meaning that would be known only to those who were given the gift of understanding? I think so.
You can just listen to the parable of the Sower and the Seed as a nice agrarian tale. But you have to have ears to hear if you want to know what Jesus is talking about. And that’s the message of the parable.
If you’re hard of hearing, then the Word will just fall on the hard path where it gets snatched away by other things that make more noise. If you’re looking for the smooth and easy way, then the Word won’t be able to establish roots because there is no easy way to follow Jesus. If you get all tangled up in the worries of life, then the Word will be choked off by concerns other than life with Jesus. But if you have an open and well-nourished heart, then the Word will spring up, take root, and flourish in your life.
We are blessed to live with this Word so open to us. We can hear these stories with the gift and understanding of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection told to us by the Gospel writers, by the Apostles, by the early Christians, and by all the faithful down through the ages.
Like Simeon, many longed to see the face of Jesus before they died. Simeon saw the salvation of the Lord, but many didn’t. They longed to see and hear, but they didn’t.
So let us be thankful for the words of the Gospel. Let us listen to them attentively each day. Let us see them at work in the lives of people all around us. And let us work hard to put them into practice.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
Gathered Worship Lesson, Matthew 10:37-42
By Elizabeth Dede
Just in case you haven’t noticed, it is really hot in Georgia right now. So what does that have to do with today’s Gospel lesson?
When I lived at the Open Door Community, we constantly faced the suffering of homeless people and the city of Atlanta’s indifference to it. In those days, there was one public water fountain in the whole city, and there were no public toilets. Most shops and businesses had taken the handles off their outdoor water spigots, and no homeless person was welcome to come inside to use the restroom. It was a hard life for people without homes in that city.
In protest of those conditions, and even though it made our neighbors angry, we had two water fountains (one inside, and one outside), lots of public toilets (both inside and outside), and a water spigot outside. There was plenty of water available to the poorest of the poor at our house.
Elsewhere in the Gospel of Matthew, we’re told that to give a drink to the thirsty is to give a drink to Jesus. Here at Koinonia, we, too, give a drink to the thirsty.
We serve each other by putting food and drink on the table every day. And often we serve a stranger that way. Matthew also wrote that to welcome a stranger into your home is to welcome Jesus. Providing for the physical needs of people is clearly a Gospel call, and it brings us into relationship with Jesus.
From this Gospel reading, we learn that this relationship with Jesus is more important than any other relationship we can have. We have to love Jesus more than our mothers and fathers, more than our daughters and sons.
I think Matthew tells us pretty clearly how to love Jesus. But it isn’t easy to lose your life.
I’ve just got back to Koinonia from a trip to visit my mom and dad. For a long time, while I lived at the Open Door, I neglected my relationship with my mom and dad. I felt strongly called to serve the physically poor, and I truly believed that meant that I, in the strong words of Jesus, had to hate my mother and father. I didn’t actually hate them, but I didn’t pay much attention to them either. I felt that giving up my old life and ideas of how I should live it was finding my life in Jesus. And I suppose that for that time in my life it was true.
On this visit to Florida, though, I found myself regretting that neglect. Those years while I was at the Open Door were probably my mom and dad’s best years. They were still relatively young and full of energy, and they were mostly free of the weight of caring for children. Now I wish that I had not been so focused on a literal understanding of Matthew 25. I wish that I had enjoyed my Mom and Dad more.
But I don’t want to wallow in regret. Now that they are old, I can care for them, and lose my life in that. It is in those relationships with my mom and dad that I find my life in Jesus.
So give a drink of cold water to a child of Jesus. You will find your life.
Geraldine (Jeri) Abbott speaks briefly at devotions about Florence Jordan and Koinonia, March 2006
“We arrived in ’76 and spent eight years here. We had two daughters; they took care of the goats. My youngest daughter misses Koinonia. My son had a house in Koinonia village, and my grandson still lives there. From 2001 onwards, I took on the Koinonia archives, and I work there when I’m in town. I enjoy that work.
“When we came to Koinonia, it was very open. There was only one commitment that you made at the time: that you believed in Jesus as Lord. Once Koinonia got to having a handbook and all, it was too structured for my husband, so when that happened we left. But regardless, there is a spirit here: the spirit of Clarence and Florence, or of others. We worshipped together as a church, and there’s a great spirit in that.
“Florence [Jordan] was a very fine woman. She didn’t ever say “I’ve got to leave,” like so many others; she stayed on at Koinonia until she died. She had all of the history within her. So in a meeting, somebody would suggest something and she’d say, “We tried that and it didn’t work.”
“She was a wonderful hostess. She’d sit in the corner of the dining hall and invite all the guests over for coffee. She liked to talk with the parents of the younger people because, as she said, she was “just a regular lady,” and would calm their fears.
Recorded/transcribed by Ann Karp
Joe Jones visited Koinonia as a pre-teen and youth, often with his cousin, Collins McGee. Collins McGee was an African-American friend of Koinonia. You may recognize his name as the man who, along with Clarence Jordan and five others, accepted an open invitation to attend a mass meeting at the white Baptist church of Americus in 1965. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, their integrated group was unceremoniously tossed out of that church, but not before Clarence “put in a parting shot: ‘Well, everything in Americus is integrated now except the churches and the jails. And I have hope for the jails.’ (Dallas Lee, The Cotton Patch Evidence, p. 202).
As an African-American, Joe had to take the back roads to ensure that he would not be persecuted by hostile whites for his trips to Koinonia. “I had to get back before sundown or I’d be in trouble. I was about 15 years old at the time.” He also became involved in the civil rights movement in Americus. He spoke of various places the Americus movement attempted to integrate. “There was a redneck restaurant called B & B, and we tried to integrate it. A lot of people got beaten doing that.
“We prayed before those marches that nobody would have a penknife in their pocket, because if the police found anybody with any kind of knife, you were finished. They beat you some in the street, but that was nothing compared to what would happen once they got you back to the jail where nobody was watching.
“They [segregationists and law enforcement] wanted you to retaliate. Retaliation would feed the fire. There were no laws to protect or help you. People would not openly help you. There was a lawyer, Frank J. Meyers, who ran Americus. He sat and talked with Clarence Jordan—he wanted them to move. In later years, he saw things differently. He repented; several other powerful ones did. But the damage was done.
“The ones in power were the most prejudiced, and the others followed them. The White Citizens Council and the KKK were organized and dangerous, they created a lot of fear. Once the KKK had a cavalcade on Highway 30, over 70 cars long. They rode all the way to Koinonia in plain sight, but no law enforcement stopped them. Anything to drive these people away, they figured. A lady [Margaret Wittkamper] at Koinonia was watching them drive up and she asked, “Whose funeral is this?” They made some remark like, “It may be yours.”
“Now it’s no big thing to eat together, walk together. But then, it was unheard of. You could really get in trouble for it.”
What Did Jesus Really Mean?
Sunday, June 18, 2017, Gathered Worship
by Elizabeth Dede
Today is Father’s Day. So happy Father’s Day to every father. I include in this every father: my biological father; my nephews’ adoptive father; my grandfather; my godfather; my priest. I call them all father. Happy Father’s Day.
So what in the world did Jesus mean when he said, “Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven?” (Matt 23:9) He must have meant something other than a literal interpretation of his words. No one would prohibit me from calling my dad father, even though he is a man on earth. Also, there are verses all over the Bible, which use the word father to describe a man on earth: Joseph speaks of a fatherly relationship God gave to him with the king of Egypt (Gen 45:8). Job says, “I was a father to the poor” (Job 29:16). Elisha calls out to Elijah, “My father, my father!” as Elijah is being taken up into heaven.
And it doesn’t work to say that all of that changed with the New Testament. References to earthly fathers are all over the place in the New Testament. Paul regularly talks about Timothy as his son. (1 Tim 1:18; 2 Tim 2:1; Phil 2:22). He called Onesimus his child, and says, “I have become his father.” (Philem 10)
Paul calls himself a father very clearly in his letter to the Corinthians: “For though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers. For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel.” (1 Cor 4:14-15).
So what did Jesus really mean? You have to look at the Bible in its context. Jesus says, “But you are not to be called ‘rabbi,’ for you have one teacher, and you are all brethren. And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven. Neither be called ‘masters,’ for you have one master, the Christ.” (Matt 23:8-10) Jesus also prohibits the use of the title teacher, but then he appoints teachers, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations. . .teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” (Matt 28:19-20) Paul calls himself a teacher: “For this I was appointed a . . . teacher of the Gentiles in faith and truth.” (1 Tim 2:7). He reminds us that God calls teachers, “God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers.” ( 1 Cor 12:28)
It simply doesn’t work to take Jesus’ words here literally. Jesus was criticizing Jewish leaders who love “the place of honor at feasts and the best seats in the synagogues, and salutations in the market places and being called ‘rabbi’ by men.” (Matt 23:6-7) Jesus was exaggerating (an oft-used figure of speech) to show the scribes and Pharisees that they needed to look to God in humility as the source of all authority, fatherhood, and teaching. They, in their pride, saw themselves as the ultimate authorities. Jesus is saying no to that way of thinking.
So Happy Father’s Day to fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, priests, and every other man you would call father on earth.
On Friday, I did a brief devotion on Matthew 5:27-30. “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.” I humorously said that I found it hard to reflect on these words so early in the morning. I’m a bit too squeamish to talk about plucking out eyeballs and cutting off body parts. If Jesus was being literal then we would all be missing eyes and hands. What did he really mean? He was once again using exaggeration to make a point. Lust is a sin. Adultery is a sin. They are serious sins. They have serious consequences. They destroy relationships here on earth. They ruin our relationship with God. The pain they cause are like plucking out an eye, or cutting off a hand. Jesus really means, “Don’t commit adultery. Don’t lust after each other.”
So what did Jesus really mean in today’s Gospel? “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.” When we take communion, are we really eating the body and drinking the blood of Jesus? Should the bread and the wine (or juice for us) be treated with the respect due the body and blood of Jesus?
I watched the movie, “Romero,” with our interns not too long ago. Romero was a priest and archbishop who served the poor in El Salvador during the 1980s at the time of the Death Squads. In one scene in the movie, Romero is in a church that has been taken over by the army. Romero tells the commanding officer that he has no right to be in the church. In response, the commander shoots up the altar, spraying the bread and wine with bullets, and splattering and scattering it all over the floor. Romero drops to his knees, carefully picking up the wafers, the Host. For Romero, that bread was the true body of Jesus. It cannot and should not be blown off the altar by a soldier with a gun. I grew up Lutheran, and my dad is a pastor. That scene has stuck with me each time I have seen the movie. Recently, I asked my dad what Luther would have said about this scene. Without even stopping to ponder his reply, my dad said, “Luther would have said that soldier is damned to hell.” Jesus body and blood are really present in the bread and wine. We dare not think of them just as some symbol.
So what did Jesus really mean? He really meant, “This is my body. This is my blood.” We can look to other places in the Bible. For example, Paul says, “Therefore whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the Body and Blood of the Lord. . . for anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself.” ( 1 Cor 11:27, 29) How is bread and wine (or juice) really Jesus’ body and blood? It’s a mystery that requires faith like the Resurrection, like the Incarnation.
It is a great thing to understand Jesus to really mean “This is my body; this is my blood.” The body and blood are food. They give us strength for our life with the presence of Jesus. They give us a personal relationship with Jesus: we are nourished by his body and blood.
So Happy Father’s Day! Confess your sins, try to live a good and decent life, and hold on to your eyeballs and hands. And take in the Body and Blood of Jesus to give you strength in your relationships with earthly people and with God. Amen.