Do You Live in Hope? Reflections on Advent 1

 

RCL Advent 1C

1 December 2024

 

The Anglican Parish of the Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

       Before he became the professor of Hebrew Bible at my seminary, Fr Joseph Hunt had been a Benedictine monk of Mount Angel Abbey in Oregon.  In those days, the 1950’s and 1960’s, monks almost always wore their habits even when travelling out in the world.  

 

Trains were the most common trans-continental means of travel, and Brother Ignatius, as Fr Hunt was as in those days, once found himself on a late-night train in a car with only one other passenger – an Orthodox Jewish rabbi.  The two men, destined to be together for many hours through the night, began to talk about the subject they most had in common – their love and knowledge of the Hebrew scriptures.

 

       But after an hour or so, they reached an impasse – the topic had turned towards the coming of the Messiah, a topic that quickly brought their differences into their conversation.  Fr Hunt told us that the rabbi and he sat across from one another in silence for a long time.  Now, when a Benedictine monk tells you it was a long silence, you can be sure that it was very long indeed, possible even hours long.  

 

But at some point the rabbi looked at Fr Hunt and asked him, ‘Do you live in hope?’  ‘Yes,’ Fr Hunt replied, ‘I live in hope.’  For the rest of their journey Fr Hunt and the rabbi talked about their shared hope in the coming the Promised One, ‘the branch of David’ as Christians have interpreted Jeremiah’s words to mean over the centuries.

 

‘Do you live in hope?’  Fr Hunt told my classmates and me this story more than forty-five years ago.  And for all those years, it is the question that I keep returning to again and again.  When Paula and I lost our first child to a miscarriage in the summer of 1985, this was the question.  When our son David was born with a cleft lip and palate and we, as a family, faced years of reconstructive surgeries, orthodonture, counselling, speech therapy and school-yard bullies, this was the question.  And, all through these challenges and many others, I think that our answer has been and continues to be, ‘Yes, we live in hope.’

 

Today in our psalm we shared in the prayer of an unknown poet who may have written these words in the years following the return of the people of Israel from their exile in Babylon.  Their community was under the control of a foreign power, their neighbours were unfriendly and the people were struggling to restore their identity and their relationship with God.  

 

We recited the words as translated in A Liturgical Psalter, a resource of the Anglican Church of Canada, but I’d like to share with  the beginning of the Psalm as translated in the Common English Bible:  “I offer my life to you, Lord.  My God, I trust you.  Please don’t let me be put to shame!  Don’t let my enemies rejoice over me!  For that matter, don’t let anyone who hopes in you be put to shame” (Psalm 25.1-3a).  What allows the poet to make this commitment to God? 

 

I believe that what empowers the poet is found in the last line:  “ . . . don’t let anyone who hopes in you be put to shame’.  Only someone who lives in hope can offer their life to God.  Only someone who lives in hope can trust in God.  Only someone who lives in hope can look for God’s paths in a world that can be tricky, confusing and cruel.

 

Hope is fuelled by imagination.  Imagination is the ability to look at the world as it is yet to see the world as it can be.  Let me say this again:  Imagination is the ability to the world as it is as the world as it can be.  Remember when you and I were children.  A stick found on the ground could become a magic wand we could use to weave spells.  A large rock could become our very own car or truck taking us on adventures in the wide world.  When we put on costumes, we became what we were wearing.

 

One of the sorrows of growing older is that we tend to lose our imagination.  We begin to look at the world as it is and that’s the end of it.  Because we may have experienced disappointments when we’ve dared to see the world as it can be, we cut to the chase in order to avoid the pain.  How many of us have been told or have told someone else, ‘Get real!  Get your head out of the clouds!’?  And when we lose our imaginations, hope becomes more and more difficult.

 

Some years ago I read an essay on healing by a Roman Catholic theologian named Jennifer Glen (Alternative Futures for Worship:  Anointing of the Sick1987).  One of the consequences of a serious illness, she wrote, is that we lose hope.  The future we imagined before we became ill becomes a casualty of our illness.  Healing requires us to be able to imagine a new future, different to be sure from our pre-illness vision, but a future nevertheless.  When our imagination allows us to re-envision the future, then we have hope and hope brings healing.

 

Recovering our imagination and rebuilding hope requires a change in perspective.  I remember one of my teachers who spoke about keeping a ‘journal of thanksgiving’.  Every day he would write down what he as thankful for, what unexpected blessing had come his way.  Some days, to be sure, were sparse, but others were full of reasons to be grateful.  Those gifts of grace renewed his imagination and empowered his hope.

 

As we begin this Advent season in a year which has seen the retirement of a loved pastor and the re-consideration of property development and all the other changes and chances of our lives, whether personal or communally, I have a question for all us:  Can we imagine a new future for ourselves as persons and a new future for ourselves as a community of faith?  Are we keeping alert for the signs that God is at work in us, through us, around us and, perhaps most importantly for us?  If our imagination is renewed, if we’re keeping alert to the signs of God at work, then I believe living in hope is not only possible, it is unavoidable.

 

I will end with words from the apostle Paul.  He certainly knew what it was like to have his world turned upside down and then have to imagine a new future.  Yet he was able to write to the Christians in Rome, even as he was on the road that would lead to his martyrdom, these words:   “May the God of hope fill [us] with all joy and peace in faith so that [we] overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15.13 CEB)

What Is Truth? Reflections on John 18.33-38

 

RCL Proper 34B

24 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?”  Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I?  Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me.  What have you done?”  Jesus answered, “My kingdom does not belong to this world.  If my kingdom belonged to this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the [Jewish authorities].  But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”  Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?”  Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king.  For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.   Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”  Pilate asked him, “What is truth?” (John 18.33-38a)

 

            My late VST colleague, Sallie McFague, was and remains an admired theologian and a beloved teacher.  One of the assignments she gave to her first-year students in theology was the writing of a ‘credo’, the Latin word for ‘I believe’.  She thought that it was important that every Christian should answer the question, ‘What do I believe?’, so anyone who wanted to be a leader in the community should be asked this question as part of their formation.  So, on this final Sunday of the Christian year when we celebrate the reign of Christ, I thought that you should know what I believe.

 

            Some of you may know that I have been involved in creating and editing liturgical texts and services for the Anglican Church of Canada since 1989 – thirty-five years!  One of the principles that guide liturgical creators and editors is this:  Do not end a reading on a question!  When you end a reading on a question, the congregation may be led on a ‘magical mystery tour’ and become distracted from participating more fully in the rest of the service.  But there is another principle:  Any rule without an exception is a bad rule!  So, when I read the Gospel reading for today, I purposely added a verse that the lectionary officially omits.  Why?  Because Pilate’s question is, I think, the most important question in the world today:  What is truth?

 

            I don’t think that it is too difficult to understand why I think that this question is the most important question in the world today.  When millions of people throughout the world vote to elect leaders who are shown to be liars, then truth becomes even more important.  When millions of people read stories on social media that are proven to be false, then truth becomes even more important.  When millions of people confuse religious nationalism with the kingdom of God, then truth becomes even more important.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  That when you meet Jesus of Nazareth, you meet God.  Perhaps we meet Jesus in the members of the community of faith to which we belong.  Perhaps we meet Jesus in the words of the Gospels and in the other writings of the New Testament.  Perhaps we meet Jesus in some stranger who speaks to us or acts for us in a way that makes us realize that we have just met God. However we may have met Jesus, that meeting has brought us here and has placed us on a path towards a life of meaning.  And when we have met Jesus, we have a new standard by which we measure our words and actions as well as the words and actions of every other human being in the world.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  Goodness is stronger than evil.  I know that there are many of us here today who have experienced the reality of evil.  That experience can lead us to doubt whether goodness is actually more powerful than evil.  There are many leaders and opinion-makers who want us to become ensnared in that doubt and to feel that we are powerless to resist evil, but it is in those moments that we must hold tightly to the truth:  goodness is stronger than evil.  This is what I learned when I met Jesus.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  Love is stronger than hate.  Hate is the product of fear.  There are far too many voices in the world today, even here in Canada, who play upon our fears and try to lead us to hate.  The Jesus we meet in the Scriptures teaches us this:  “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. . . . Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate a brother or sister are liars, for those who do not love a brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.” (1 John 4.18-20) So anyone who tries to make me afraid, anyone who tries to make me hate, is not of the truth.  This is what I learned when I met Jesus.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  Light is stronger than darkness.  When I say ‘darkness’, I do not mean the darkness of the night.  I mean the darkness that is caused by purposeful ignorance, by intentionally refusing to listen to and for the truth.  Light is the heart and mind and soul of a human being set free to learn from the wonderful diversity of God’s creation.  Light is a human being set free from the snares of evil and the bonds of hate.  Jesus says to us, “You are the light of the world. . . . (Let) your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5.14, 16) This is what I learned when I met Jesus.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  Life is stronger than death.  For two thousand years the allies of evil, hate and darkness have tried to bury the truth made known to us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.  Sometimes those allies have tried to bury the truth through persecution and violence.  Sometimes they have tried to bury the truth by co-opting us into participating in the structures that oppress and deny the dignity of human beings.  But even in a clear-cut forest, new life will spring up from the stumps of the fallen trees.  An ancient Christian theologian once wrote that ‘the glory of God is a human being fully alive’ and anyone who has seen Jesus has seen such a fully alive human being.  This is what I learned when I met Jesus.

 

            What is truth?  This is the truth:  Jesus is Lord.  I acknowledge the pain and anguish and despair that millions of my sisters and brothers endure every day caused by the evil, hate, darkness and death that run riot throughout our world.  But I have also seen the victory of goodness, love, light and life – sometimes when walls that divide peoples tumble down, but most often in the choices that everyday people make in their neighbourhoods and homes to do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with God.  This is what I learned when I met Jesus.  This is the truth that has set me free.

Lending God Our Treasure: Reflections on 1 Samuel 1.4-20

RCL Proper 33B

17 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         If you were to ask my wife or our children how they know I am feeling stressed and stretched, they would tell you that I disappear into an intense period of reading novels.  I am in just such a time when I am aware of the responsibilities that my role as Priest in charge of this Parish and my roles as the Chair of two Diocesan committees are pushing the limits of my capacity.  Now, there’s nothing for anyone to worry about and I don’t want anyone to think that I am too busy to respond to the needs and concerns of folks here at Epiphany.  I’m just saying that I am aware that I’m approaching but not yet in danger of going too far over my limit.  But I am, when I’m not working, truly engrossed in re-reading a series of novels that I read many years ago.

 

         It’s a series about the end of the Roman Republic and the rise of what we can call the Roman Empire led by an Emperor rather than by the Roman Senate.  In the Mediterranean world of which Rome was a part, there were three qualities that defined how important a person was in the vast scheme of things:  authority, power and dignity.  Authority was bestowed upon a person by some official role that they played in the political life of the community.  Authority could be temporary or life-long, but authority was exercised within the boundaries of law, tradition and custom.  Most of the time, authority was exercised by persuasion.

 

         Power, on the other hand, allowed a person to coerce others to do what the one with power wanted.  A person with authority did have power, but they often found themselves limited in what they could do.  But if you had enough money or a lot of soldiers or both, a powerful person could almost always trump the person with authority.

 

         But beyond authority and power, the most important quality that defined a person was dignity.  Dignity might or might not be connected with power.  Dignity was always connected in some way with authority, whether past of present.  Dignity came from personal integrity – how a person’s words, actions and principles combined to be a worthy example for other people to respect and to imitate.  

 

Being a billionaire certainly gives one power; being elected to high office bestows constitutional authority; but wealth and political office do not necessarily ensure respect, a quality essential to dignity.  One cannot respect one whose character is unworthy of imitation.  Dignity is a treasure to be guarded and used carefully to achieve worthy purposes.

 

         Hannah is a woman with authority.  She is the older wife of a prosperous man.  But her childlessness renders her powerless to exercise that authority within her family.  That powerlessness leaves her open to the ridicule of Peninnah, the younger wife.  Hannah’s childlessness wounds her dignity in a society where childlessness was also attributed to the wife not to the husband.  It does not matter how much attention Elkanah showers upon Hannah; she cannot walk among her peers and expect that her status as the first wife will give her any influence.

 

         With the birth of Samuel Hannah gains more than power over her younger rival; she grows in dignity.  No longer childless, Hannah is the mother of a son, a son whose birth in some ways is miraculous in that it is the result of prayer.  This is no ordinary child; this is a child who is a gift of God.

 

         We might have expected Hannah to have guarded this treasure, this guarantor of her dignity, by keeping him close by her for the rest of her life.  Yet this is not what she does.  Even when she asks God for a child, she promises to dedicate the child to God’s service.  ‘Bestow upon the treasure of a child,’ Hannah prays, ‘and I will lend this child back to you for you to do as you will.’  For Hannah it is a two-fold expression of dignity:  she is no longer a childless woman, and she is a woman who demonstrates profound commitment to the God of Israel.  Her treasure becomes the treasure of the people of Israel who receive a prophet and judge who will lead them into a new chapter of their history.

 

         It is by giving away her treasure that Hannah gains even more dignity, becomes more worthy of respect.  We learn that, after Samuel dedication to the sanctuary at Shiloh, Hannah then bears three more sons and two daughters, treasure upon treasure.  When the time came for Luke the Evangelist to tell the story of Elizabeth and Mary, he will look back on Hannah as the model for these two women.  They will also lend their treasured sons to God, one son paving the way for his cousin.  Both mothers will be become respected examples of faithfulness to God’s purposes.

 

         How we use our time matters to God.  How we use our talents matters to God.  How we use our treasure matters to God.  In our time we tend to define treasure in terms of our financial resources and so we should.  But time and talent are also treasures.  They are treasures we lend to God with the intent that they will enrich the dignity of God’s promises to us and to all creation.  Through our time, our talents and our treasure we join with God in the work of renewal and reconciliation.  We strengthen the ability of this Parish to be a place of help, hope and home in a neighbourhood that needs us and our witness to a living, loving and compassionate God.  We pave the way for our future.

 

         Friends, power is not a treasure we seek.  As the Apostle Paul writes, “For it is the God who said, ‘Light will shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4.6-7 NRSVue)  Our authority lies in God’s call for us to  be agents of reconciliation and hope and to be worthy of Christ who has called us his friends.  Our dignity lies in how we use our time, our talents and our treasures to embody that reconciliation, hope and friendship God in Christ offers every human being.

Talents: Lost and Found -- Thoughts on Remembrance Sunday

 

All Souls Propers

10 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         On my first day as a curate at Christ Episcopal Church in Denver, CO, I was handed a stack of files with weddings that I was now responsible for as a priest in the parish.  In the course of preparing for one of these weddings, I became acquainted with family friends of the bride and the groom.

 

         After some time had passed after the wedding, I received a call from this family.  Their youngest child had just been diagnosed with cancer at the age of sixteen and was being treated at a nearby hospital.  They asked if I would visit Danny and so off I went.

 

         Danny and I became friends over the months of his illness.  He shared with me his works of art.  He was a gifted cartoonist and had a gift for story-telling.

 

         When Danny died, I was deeply affected.  For weeks, perhaps months after his death, I found myself mourning the loss of his talents as well as his death.  Even now, forty years later, I try to imagine what Danny might have accomplished had his life not been cut short by cancer.  If he had lived, Danny would now be in his late fifties.  Would he have become a well-known author of graphic novels?  Might he have become a newspaper cartoonist?  My ‘what if’ questions can multiply five-fold, ten-fold, even as I speak to you this morning.

 

         Remembrance Sunday brings upon us a host of emotions.  We give thanks for our loved ones who have served and survived, even as we grieve our loved ones who served and did not survive.  We pray for peace in the hopes that we might see an end to wars and armed conflicts throughout the world, even as we realize that our hopes for peace seem unlikely to be fulfilled.

 

         But we also can imagine what might have been had so many lives, whether of soldiers or civilians, had not been lost.  I think of a series on CBC Radio some year ago that featured the music of what we might call ‘lost voices’, musicians who were killed on active duty or of diseases or injuries brought on by armed conflict or who died in concentration camps.  What music might they have composed to enrich our lives?  How many students might they have inspired?  But their talents, like Danny’s, were unfulfilled, brought short by the cruel realities of human life.

 

         But the memory of what might have been need not be only an experience of sorrow.  Remembering what might have been can also be empowering for us who gather on this and similar occasions to remember the past.  Our pondering of the loss of the talents of those whose lives were cut short by war or disease can lead us to re-commit ourselves to using our talents more intentionally in the here and now.

 

         Last week I spoke about how the saints lived and live in kairos, a sense of every moment of the present as a moment in which God is present and active in our lives.  This Sunday I invite all of us to think about the talents God has given us and how we might use those talents to further God’s mission and our ministry in this place and time.

 

         In the New Testament there is a special word for such talents – charismata.  A charism is a gift of a talent or an ability which enriches the whole community.  None of us has all the gifts needed to do God’s work, but all of us, working together, bringing our talents, our charismata, to the table, “ . . . can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine”.

 

         Just as talents are lost through death, so can the be lost when they are not used.  And there is no one here today, whether sitting in the pews on-site or sitting at home or elsewhere on Zoom, who does not have God-given talents that God intends to be used.

 

         Paul writes in his letter to the Christians in Rome about the importance of using all the gifts that God has given to the disciples of Jesus.

 

We have many parts in one body, but the parts don’t all have the same function. In the same way, though there are many of us, we are one body in Christ, and individually we belong to each other.  We have different gifts that are consistent with God’s grace that has been given to us.  If your gift is prophecy, you should prophesy in proportion to your faith.  If your gift is service, devote yourself to serving.  If your gift is teaching, devote yourself to teaching.  If your gift is encouragement, devote yourself to encouraging.  The one giving should do so with no strings attached.  The leader should lead with passion.  The one showing mercy should be cheerful.  (Romans 12.4-8 CEB)

 

If Paul had wanted to write more, then he could have gone even further:

 

·      If you’re good at welcoming newcomers, then welcome them.

·      If your good at working behind the scenes, then work behind the scenes.

·      Whatever you’re good at doing, then offer it freely to God’s use whenever and wherever you can.

 

         Danny’s artistic talents did not survive his death, but his talent for friendship changed my life.  He made me a better priest.  So all was not lost.  May it be said of us in the months and years ahead that our talents, our charismata, have not been lost.  May people see and know that we have been, are and will be co-workers with God to prepare the way of Christ in the here and now.  For nothing good is ever lost in God’s loving purpose; it just waits to be revealed and unleashed.

 

 

  

For Everything There Is a Season: Reflections on Time

 

RCL All Saints B

3 November 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         As I have grown older, I am becoming more and more aware of how precious the gift of time is for me.  Perhaps this awareness became more apparent to me after my mother’s death at the end of March this year and after the celebration of my seventy-first birthday at the end of April.  I realized that now, with both my parents dead, I was an orphan, an old self-sufficient orphan, but an orphan nevertheless.

 

         If I live as long as my mother, then I have at least twenty years ahead of me.  But, if I live only as long as my father, then I’m looking at fourteen years.  

 

         Let me say that I’m not trying to be morbid.  I’m simply being realistic about how much more time I may have in my life.  This means that I’m becoming more careful with how I use the time that I have now.  It was with such care that I considered whether I would accept the invitation of the Bishop and of the Wardens to become the priest in charge of Epiphany.  I’m here now because I came to the conclusion that this is a ‘good’ thing and worth giving a year or so of my life.

 

         There are many ways to talk about the saints, about sainthood and about what makes a saint a saint.  In recent days I’ve come to think that how a person lives in the mystery of time is one of the ways we can identify a saint, someone whose way of living points us in towards God.

 

         For example, time can be experienced as a quantity.  Just as I can compare my potential lifespan with that of my parents and grandparents and beyond, so can I limit my experience of time to checking off the days and the weeks on the calendar.  How many days before Christmas?  Fifty-two days from today until Christmas.  How many days before New Years?  Fifty-nine days from today until New Year’s Day.  How many days before Easter?  One hundred and sixty-eight days from today until Easter.  How many days before my tax return is due?  One hundred and seventy-eight days.

 

         Looking at time solely as a quantity is not a very enlivening way of living.  It’s like watching a large-screen timer counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks, the months until something happens.

 

         I think that this way of looking at time generates anxiety and fear.  We can become paralyzed and unable to accomplish what we think we need to do before the due date comes crashing upon us.  It’s the kind of anxiety and fear that makes Christmas, for example, not a happy time for many people.  The pressures to get things done by such and such a date, to make sure that our lengthy to-do lists are cleared off, and to have something to show for all that we’ve tried to do, overwhelm many a good and thoughtful person.

 

         But saints look at the quality of time.  In the New Testament this way of looking at time is called kairos.  It’s understanding that every moment of every day is filled with the possibility that it will be an experience of God’s presence.  It’s understanding that every encounter with another person is a moment when a window into God’s love for us and for creation will open, even if only for a brief moment.

 

         Saints know the difference between busyness and business.  Busyness is a substitute for doing what needs to be done for our good and the good of all.  Business is committing oneself to the good things that need to be done for the well-being of ourselves, our families and friends, and the people among whom we live and work.

 

         For saints, waiting is not wasted time but precious time.  Waiting for the celebration of the birth of Jesus through the weeks of Advent becomes an opportunity to experience the birth of Jesus in every moment of every day.  Waiting for the coming of a new Rector becomes an opportunity to explore how our life together as a community strengthens us for ministry in this place in these times.  Waiting for our hoped-for redevelopment becomes an opportunity for us as a Parish to dream of a future in which we serve our neighbours in new and exciting ways.

 

         When we live into kairos, into an appreciation of the quality of each moment of every day, we leave anxiety and fear behind.  Instead of being bound by our fears, we are freed so that we can become more fully alive.  Did you notice in our reading from the prophet Isaiah how ‘waiting’ and ‘salvation’ are linked to freedom from fear?

 

And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the covering that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  It will be said on that day, “See, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” (Isaiah 25.7-9 NRSVue)

 

This is a description of a people who are living in kairos, a people who are living in expectation of lives free from the fear of death, whether that death is physical, spiritual or emotional.

 

         When Jesus arrives at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, he is confronted with the reality of the death of his friend and the implicit disappointment of Mary that he did not come earlier.  But because Jesus is always alive in kairos, what we might call ‘God’s time’ or ‘kingdom time’, he acts to unbind not only Lazarus from the physical cloths that bind his hands and feet, but to unbind Mary and Martha and all who witness the raising of Lazarus from their bondage to time as a quantity.  They are now free to witness to the unexpected ways God reveals God’s purposes in our times and places.

 

         So, my friends, as we approach the end of this liturgical year and of the calendar year, it is right that we ask ourselves how we inhabit the mystery of time.  We are all encumbered by the many calendars of our lives and by the due dates that populate our lives.  There are days when I sit down at my desk at home or here at Epiphany and feel overwhelmed by the many tasks and expectations there are of me.  I do not doubt that we all have those moments.

 

         But, when I pause long enough to hear the voice of the Spirit of God whispering wisdom into my ears and into my soul, I can begin to experience kairos and I am free to do what truly needs to be done.  I am freed so that I can consider what is important and pressing and what is not.  I am freed so that I can use what days and weeks and months and years that are left to me to serve God’s purposes and to grow as a disciple of Jesus.  That’s what saints do – and I want to be one too – I think that we all want to be saints.