The Rev’d Kathy Major at St. David’s Church, Barneveld
February 20th, 2022 - The Seventh Sunday after Epiphany
Good morning! I knew I’d be back to worship with you at some point – clergy always go on vacation or sabbatical – but I did not expect to return so soon. I’m sorry that Pastor Naomi and you all have run into this obstacle and I hope it gets cleared up soon! In the meantime, I’m happy to be here a few Sundays over the next few months.
It seems to be how our world just is right now – we make plans, we organize our lives, and then stuff happens we didn’t expect and we have to figure out the right next thing to do. We’re dealing with the pandemic, although I’m so happy that our numbers appear to be headed in the right direction again. We’re dealing with shortages in odd places relating to odd things. Wegman’s is having trouble stocking my favorite toasted sesame oil and I’m trying to explain to my cat why I can’t find the food she likes the best… Prices have gone up faster than our cost of living increases. And then there’s the worry that we’re on the brink of war in the Ukraine. My husband, Philip, is planning his sabbatical for this summer and is hoping that all will be well to travel in Europe. Thank goodness for travel insurance!
Joseph had his life planned out. He had dreams. He was the favorite son of his father and he had no reason to doubt that would mean a long and pleasant life. Except for his brothers’ jealousy and their plan to get rid of him.
Joseph had to figure out the right thing to do when his brothers showed up in Egypt. He had the perfect excuse to get even with them. He couldhave denied he knew them. He could have denied them food and shelter. He could have told them who he was and THEN denied them food and shelter.
Instead, Joseph revealed his kinship and offered them more than they’d hoped to receive. Joseph had already forgiven them, already made his peace with their treachery. He welcomed his brothers AS his brothers, with love and forgiveness. He even has compassion for them in their distress, as they realize that Joseph is alive, that he’s very powerful in Pharaoh’s household, and that they might get what they deserve from him.
If we were to read on in Joseph’s story, we would learn that he sends his brothers back to their father. And they tell him that Joseph is alive – wonderful news. But they will also have to explain what happened, their part in Joseph’s story, they will have to live through the truth becoming known.
Joseph is our example in what Jesus is talking about in our passage from Luke today. “Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you… Do to others as you would have them do to you… Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”
Joseph responded to his brothers with compassion and mercy. He also gave them the opportunity to return to their father and explain their actions – holding them accountable.
Joseph’s story reminds us that loving each other includes hard choices, compassion, and accountability. At each moment, in each situation, we have to consider how to love. It’s easy to say but much more difficult in these parlous times.
We ought to be kind where others are rude. We ought to be generous where others are mean. We ought to forgive when others harm. We ought to kindly hold accountable those others who would pretend innocence and try to slip away. We ought to love, even when we are not loved back.
How can we possibly live as Jesus expects? How can we possibly live up to Joseph’s example? How can we, in this uncertain time, find the internal resources to love, to be kind, to exercise compassion for everyone we meet?
We need to know that we are loved, unconditionally beloved of God. We need to know we are forgiven, that we are held safely in God’s hand, that we are secure and our future in God’s presence is sure. If we know these things, then the love of God which fills us up can spill over onto the folks around us. God loves you. God loves me. We are forgiven. We are beloved. Whatever else happens in the world, we are secure in God’s hand.
O Lord, you have taught us that without love whatever we do is worth nothing: Send your Holy Spirit and pour into our hearts your greatest gift, which is love. May we know it. May we live it. Amen.
The Rev’d Naomi Sorrwar-Randall at St. David’s Church, Barneveld
November 28, 2021 - The First Sunday of Advent, Year C
We’re beginning a new year in the church. It’s a time of beginning. It’s a time of preparation. Both in here and out in the world, folks are preparing. What’s different about our preparation is that we’re being encouraged in this lesson to be alert for the reign of God to enter into our world of preparing food, gifts and vacations. Jesus states that although this will be a difficult time it’ll also be a time when we can stand boldly and receive the promise of salvation. This time is a holy time.
This time that Jesus is speaking of in this text is in stark contrast to the time that we associate with Thanksgiving through New Year’s. It seems that time is something we have very little of in this season of being bombarded with advertising, online shopping and braving the department stores and shopping malls. This time of year holds more stress than joy for some. Many folks don’t have enough time or resources to give as much as is needed. It’s an anxious time. It’s a time of year when many may decide to leave this world that seems so dark. It’s at this darkest time of year when we begin to look forward to the one for whom this season is made. These words of Jesus bring us hope.
There are two words in Greek that describe time. The first is chronos, which refers to linear time- days, hours, seconds. The second is kairos, which refers to God’s time. As we live our lives as disciples, we experience both kinds of time. We go about our daily tasks looking at the clock every once in awhile seeing linear time pass. When we come together to share God’s presence in Word and Sacrament and in our devotional lives of prayer and Biblical study, we get a glimpse of God’s time. It’s God’s time that Jesus refers to in this passage.
We live in the tension of the already and the not yet. The prophecy that we heard in our first lesson from Jeremiah was fulfilled in Jesus. He embodied true righteousness and imparted it to those who believe in his death and resurrection. In this passage, Jesus describes the signs that will accompany his return and assures us that these signs will signify that our redemption is drawing near. Jesus is describing the holy time that will be brought into our linear time. He tells us that although heaven and earth will pass away his words won’t pass away. He was right. We’re still reading and trusting these words after almost two millennia. We have the blessed assurance of Jesus’ words of grace and we experience his presence when we least expect it. We’re being formed into God’s righteousness as we speak, but we’re not there yet.
Paul describes our redemption as a process in our second lesson. This process was initiated at Christ’s first coming. It’ll be completed at the second coming. God’s design often involves a process that results in greater beauty. Mountains and canyons are carved from glaciers and erosion. Volcanoes have formed tropical islands and from fertilized eggs come childbirth. Jesus himself experienced what it is to be born, grow into adulthood and face death. He experienced the process of human life. Out of that human life, brutal death and glorious resurrection, we receive grace upon grace.
This morning’s text can be read with fear or with anticipation. We may feel that we’re experiencing the end times right now. Jesus talks about distress between the nations. We’ve been experiencing this distress for quite some time. We wonder when the distress among our nation and others will finally come to an end. The roar of the sea came upon the shores in the form of tsunamis and a devastating hurricane a few years ago and many are still trying to recover. Some may feel that we’re nearing the end of time and are fainting in fear. However, those of us who trust in our Savior are standing with our heads raised, waiting for his return while carrying out his mission on earth. We live in the chronos while waiting for the kairos. That’s part of the joy of Advent. We spend our linear time working, going to school, volunteering, cooking, cleaning, etc. and we also light the candles on the Advent wreath, sing and pray to mark this holy time. Past, present and future come together in this season. We’re not simply waiting for Jesus to be born. We’re waiting for God to become flesh and dwell among us. Advent marks the inbreaking of past and future into our presence in the here and now. These days are prayerfully active. These days reflect that Christ reigns and God is with us. We’re redeemed, we can worship without fear and we can shout aloud that the one who was, who is and who is to come is in our midst. In this busy linear time we’re challenged to envision God’s future and live it as a present reality. May our linear time be holy time as we begin a new season, a new church year and a new chapter in this place. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.
The Rev’d Meredith Kadet Sanderson, Deacon
St. David’s, Barneveld
Christ the King Proper 29B
Nov 21, 2021
This is the New Year’s Eve of the church year: the last Sunday after Pentecost, the last Sunday before Advent 1, which is our New Year.
So like the secular New Year, this is a good time for looking back and looking ahead, as we stand in the doorway between the year that is past and the year ahead.
And because this is Christ the King Sunday, I have one question to guide that reflection: Where is Christ the King?
Where is God ruling? Where in my life is God in charge? Where in the life of this church, this Diocese, is God in charge?
And where is someone or something else running the show?
And I’d encourage us to take this question not as a judgment but as an opportunity to take inventory. To sit with God and turn the light of loving attention on the different parts of my life, my work, my relationships, my communities.
To do this reflection it might help to start with asking well, what does it look like where Christ is King? What does it look like where God is in charge? Or put another way, like our Presiding Bishop has asked us from time, imagine this world where Love is the Way?
Jesus tells Pilate: My kingdom is not from here. My kingdom is not from this world—if it was, my followers would be fighting. So that gives us a clue. We probably haven’t seen much, not much, of a world where love is the way, of a world where God is in charge, of a world ruled by the love of Christ.
But we’ve got to have glimpsed it, because that’s why we’re here. This same Gospel, the Gospel of John, tells us, no one has ever seen God. But we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of Grace & Truth. God’s kingdom doesn’t come from this world, but God’s reign has come into this world, and we have glimpsed that kingdom, and we live in expectation of it’s fulfillment. We have witnessed incarnation, here in this world, glimpses of a world where love is the way, where God’s love rules, where God is in charge. Love came in Jesus and the fire of love still burns in us.
So rare though it may have been: where have you glimpsed God’s kingdom? What does it look like where God is in charge?
Now you may have a story or an image in your mind and heart right now. And chances are, you might be dismissing it. That’s what I did. When I asked myself: where have I seen the kingdom? I only could remember two things. Two things. One: standing in a circle in a church, in the evening with candles and the lights mostly off, saying prayers. I know what church it was, but not who was there. Not their names. I remember one other person’s head, bowed in prayer, and I’ll tell you, I actually couldn’t stand that guy. But even now, when I think of that moment, I can tell you, I can tell you that God was there. And there was no sign, no trumpet, nothing visible.
And the second example is like unto it. Another church I served, almost a decade ago now I think. I was leading a bible study and meditation group that met Wednesday evenings, and I really didn’t know what I was doing, and it was mostly poorly attended. And there was a young man named Andrew, a college student. And one evening as the meditation ended he told us, I was always taught that when you pray you have to bow your head. But just now, I couldn’t turn my face away from God. I couldn’t stop myself from lifting my head, and God was shining on me.
There in his face, I’ll never forget, love was shining. It was shining.
These are little, little things. Little stories. Nothing much to impress.
And that is the thing. The kingdom of God is so often little, humble, gentle. It’s not what the world was looking for: a grand procession and gold crowns, a great big voice from heaven, a glorious revolution. It’s not what I was looking for: prosperity, a visible mark of God’s favor, a satisfying feeling. It’s a mustard seed. It’s a single pearl. It’s that one lost sheep. It’s a baby born poor and homeless, in a manger.
It’s usually a surprise. It sneaks up. And it’s usually not something we did or said or produced on our own. In fact, the kingdom of God never comes to one—it always comes in between, in relationship—between us and God and God’s creation.
Where God is in charge, there is surprising love, there is gentleness, there is peace, there is vulnerability, there is connection, there is grace.
You, too, have seen it.
We do need God, and God’s kingdom. We need our King who is the King of Love. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” you probably pray at least 52 times a year, maybe 365.
If it’s not God’s kingdom, the Kingdom of Love, then it’s fear’s kingdom, it’s greed’s kingdom. It’s the kingdom of never good enough, the kingdom of never having enough, the kingdom of anxiety, the kingdom of proving myself, the kingdom of overwork, kingdom of casual cruelty, the kingdom of racist violence, the kingdom of injustice, the kingdom of alcohol or numbness, the kingdom of worry.
But into those kingdoms comes God: is a group of Christians praying in a dark church, one boy with his face full and shining. A mustard seed, a simple grace. That, hard as it is to believe, is really all we need in this world, and why we’re here.
Soin this “New Year’s Eve” time, carrying that glimpse of God’s kingdom—even just one—I invite you to look ahead. This week, to pray. With someone else, if God gives you the courage. Where in your life do you most need the humble grace and peace of God’s kingdom? Where do I need God’s rule of love?
God, show us your way of love.
Sermon by the Rev’d Kathy Corley Major
All Saints Sunday, November 7, 2021
St. David’s, Barneveld
Today we remember all the saints who have preceded us into the kingdom of heaven. This feast is ancient – growing out of festivals to honor martyrs – and somewhere in the 4th Century, both in the Eastern and the Western Christian traditions, the festival grew to include all the saints who’ve died, not just martyrs. Today’s feast is a time to consider what it means to be a saint and what it means to live as a people who know that death is not the end.
Our lessons for today, from the Book of Wisdom, the Book of Revelation, and from the Gospel of John, all emphasize that death is not the end of our story.
The Wisdom of Solomon, the source of our first reading, is an Apocryphal Text – which means that it’s not part of the Old Testament or the New Testament, but one of those books that not all the churches believed ought to be a part of the canon of the Bible. The Anglican and the Episcopal Church, along with others, does include The Wisdom of Solomon in our Bible. If the name of the book doesn’t sound familiar, that’s why – it’s an apocryphal text, full of wise sayings, but it doesn’t come up often in our cycle of readings.
Solomon’s words are beautiful and comforting. ‘The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be a disaster, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace.’ Isn’t that what we want for all the people we have loved and lost? Isn’t that what we want for ourselves? Rest in the hands of God, free of torment, at peace. Death breaks our hearts, but death is not the end of the story.
John’s words in Revelation are comforting as well, ‘God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ What a wonderful vision of our future.
In our reading from John’s gospel, Jesus does not say anything when Mary confronts him with ‘If you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ Before Jesus met Mary, he had a conversation with her sister Martha, recorded in the verses before the section we read today. To Martha, Jesus says, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’
As Jesus moves closer to the tomb of Lazarus, meets Mary and the other mourners, he weeps at the loss of his friend. When confronted with death, even Jesus weeps and mourns. We have permission to mourn, just as Jesus mourned. Death breaks our hearts, but death is not the end of the story.
We need the words of Solomon, the vision of John, the reassurance of Jesus when we lose people that we love. We need to know that they are okay, that whatever pain they suffered, whatever struggle they experienced, they’re now at peace. Our texts remind us that death is not the end of the story.
Today is All Saints, the day we celebrate those we have lost. One definition of the word ‘saint’ comes from the Catholic tradition of one who was responsible for miracles, during their life or after their death. That’s a much stricter understanding of the word than what we know from the New Testament. The Apostle Paul tells us that all Christians are called to be saints and he often addressed his letters ‘to the saints at … ‘ Rome or Corinth or Philippi. To Paul’s way of thinking, each Christian is a saint; each Christian leads others to faith by the example of their life.
We human beings are relational creatures. We are born into families, we learn who we are through our interactions with our families and our relationships with other people. Other people help form us, help make us who we are, for better or for worse. We wouldn’t know love without other people. We wouldn’t know God’s love without other people.
We have direct a relationship with God, but we wouldn’t know God without other people. The people who have loved us, who have shown us God’s love, introduced us to faith, challenged and taught and led us into deeper faith – these folks are our saints. Because of them, we learned faith. Because of them, we believe.
You and I are also saints. In the web of human relationship, others know love because we love them. Others know God’s love through us. Others’ faith is deepened, challenged, made stronger through the faith that we exhibit. Our faith matters. Our example matters. What we do, what we say, how we live – it matters. Someone else is depending on us to show them the way. We are called to be saints.
How we live matters. We have the opportunity and the Spirit expects us to be part of the long line of saints, to be part of the community of God that loves the world. Especially in this time, when it seems that there is far too little kindness or patience or generosity, the folks that are looking to us for guidance need to see God’s love in us.
And when we don’t know how we should live or what we should do, we can think of the communion of saints that showed us love and encouragement and follow their example. My dad is one of my saints and my question is often, “what would Dad do?” Who are your saints? How might they be examples for you in your daily life?
Thank God for the saints who’ve loved and guided us into the Kingdom. Thank God that death is not the end of their stories or the end of ours. May we live boldly, as vibrant examples of faith for those to whom we are saints and may we end our lives at rest in the hands of God. Amen.
Sermon by the Rev’d Naomi Sorrwar-Randall, October 24, 2021
PENTECOST 23 YEAR B
What would we do if we couldn't fail? What would we endeavor, dare or try? What mission would we attempt, what venture would we risk, what great deed would we undertake?
I love these kinds of questions, because they stimulate our thinking, stretch our vision and stir our imagination. But as much as I love these questions, I think they're the wrong ones to ask. Because there will be failure. There just will, and if we only dream of doing things we can accomplish without failure, we’ll either be sorely disappointed or, realizing the naïveté of the question, never try.
So, considering today's readings, I want to ask another question—similar in nature but perhaps both more realistic and more faithful: What would we do if we knew we might fail and it just didn't matter? I don't mean "didn't matter" in the sense that there would be no cost, or that it would be difficult or disappointing. No, what I mean is, what would we try if the attempt itself was worth it whether it succeeded or not or, even more, what would we risk if the ultimate outcome was guaranteed even if our immediate venture failed?
Would we, like Bartimaeus in today'sGospel reading, shout out for healing even though the people around us try to shush us into silence? I wonder, could it be that Bartimaeus was so used to failure and disappointment that he saw no reason not to try one more time or perhaps faithfulness itself is defined by trusting God enough to dare impossible deeds?
Whatever the case, would that be our cry, for healing? Maybe our shout would be for justice, peace, equality or any of the other handful of things that the world calls idealistic. Maybe we’d volunteer at a food pantry, tutor a child who needs help at school, care for someone who’s severely disabled, befriend a kid who everyone says isn't cool, visit an elder who most have forgotten or reach out to someone who’s overwhelmed by grief even though we don't know what to say.
So often, these things—whether great or small—seem either so hopelessly impossible or so ridiculously insignificant that we just don't try; yet the promise of the Gospel is that we’re free…free to risk, to dare, to love, to live, to work, to dream and to struggle…whether what we attempt seems great or small, likely or nearly impossible; because we have God's promise that there’s no small gesture and there’s no impossible deed, and for this reason, we’re free...even to fail, trusting that the God who raised Jesus from the dead will also bring all things—even our failed efforts—to a good end.
One of my favorite movie scenes comes from Apollo 13 when NASA's Flight Director Gene Kranz, boldly declares, "Failure is not an option," but as inspiring as I find that line, I know the opposite is more often true: failure is regularly the option. More to the point, if you're going to risk anything that matters, "not failing is not an option." Risk entails failure. Change entails failure. Creativity, innovation and experimentation all entail failure, and if we forget that we’ll either never try anything that matters or end up sorely disappointed.
There’s a story about Martin Luther that seems appropriate for this Sunday. Luther died in Eisleben, the place of his birth, bringing his work and life, in a sense, full circle. He preached his last sermon there after successfully negotiating disputes between several local magistrates. Here’s the thing, though: Only five people showed up for the sermon and it upset him. He was REALLY angry about it! He wrote a friend about the event, despairing over what he feared was a "failed" reformation.
While I can understand his dismay and disappointment, I nevertheless think that at that moment Luther forgot that much of our energy and effort will be given over to failed endeavors. He'd forgotten Paul's reminder that we’ve all sinned and fallen short…and will keep sinning and falling short. Moreover, he'd forgotten that our ultimate hope rests not in our successes but in God's great failure on the cross, the failure that redeems all failures and successes, binding them together in the promise of resurrection. He'd forgotten his own words at the close of the hymn “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” "Were they to take our house, goods, honor, child, or spouse, though life be wrenched away, they cannot win the day. God's kingdom’s ours forever."
This is God's doing, and so we’re free—free to risk, to dare, to love, to live, to work, to dream, to struggle, and even to fail...all in hope, so this week and always, don’t fear and do not give up. If we wonder at times whether many of our efforts fail to reach the ends we'd hoped for them, know that they probably do! Yet God promises to use them anyway, so keep the faith, keep the word, keep on trying and failing, for God has promised to keep hold of us and to use us in ways we can’t imagine. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sermon by The Rev’d Naomi Sorrwar-Randall, September 26, 2021
PENTECOST 19 YEAR B
From whom would you accept a cup of cold water?I ask that question because I think this week’s reading contains some of the more heart-breaking lines in Scripture: “And we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”
Just pause and think about that for a moment. The disciples come across someone who, as they report to Jesus, was “casting out demons in your name.” That is, they came across someone who was relieving intense misery, following Jesus’ example and doing so in Jesus’ name.
Apparently, that isn’t enough. Why? “Because he was not following us.” Notice the shift in pronouns. This other exorcist is doing works of power in “your name,” but “not following us.” Apparently, it isn’t enough to be a follower of Jesus; you mustbe a certain kind of follower, one that tows the line, that shares their theological commitments, that conforms to the disciples’ expectations.
It’s interesting to me that John, the disciple making the report, seems to expect Jesus’ approval. He’s not asking a question, “should we have stopped him,” but rather offers an almost matter-of-fact account: “And we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”
Far from giving his stamp of approval, however, Jesus corrects John and the others: “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterwards to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.” It’s almost as if the disciples don’t realize how significant or challenging their mission is, and Jesus admonishes them to find and accept help wherever they can.
Then he goes further, saying: “For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.” Notice what a small, even paltry example Jesus uses. In a mere sentence or two, Jesus has gone from talking about “deeds of power” to “giving someone a cup of water.” Strikingly, that small gesture alone, according to Jesus, is enough to secure one’s reward.
Scholars tend to agree that Mark is re-telling this scene from Jesus’ ministry to help deal with some of the internal conflicts with which his own community was struggling. We don’t know quite what the dividing lines were, just that there were significant divisions, and so Mark invites his diverse and conflicted parishioners into Jesus’ story in order to reframe how they think about their lives, their commitments, their identity and their vision of what constitutes authentic Christian community.
As I read this passage considering the stark polarization of our times, I’m not sure how much has changed, because it only takes the briefest of glances to notice that the church hasn’t escaped this polarization but rather has allowed itself to be defined almost entirely by the terms of the current political climate. Christian leaders on the left and right set the standards of what constitutes genuine faith: “You can’t be a Christian if you….” (here, fill in the blank):voted for Donald Trump, didn’t vote for Donald Trump,are pro-choice,
are pro-life,aren’t LGBTQ-friendly,advocate for LGBTQ rights.
It doesn’t take long to realize that both sides serve as mirror twins of the other, not by any means in their convictions, simply in allowing their convictions to serve as the criteria by which to determine if another person can bear the name of Christ. In other words, each side could easily say, “And we tried to stop him because he was not following us,” all the while singing a corrupted, but perhaps more honest, version of Marty Haugen’s beloved hymn: “All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome…unless you disagree with us.”
At this point, I want to be both careful and clear. I am NOT advocating for an a-political vision of Christianity. I believe God cares about our politics. Indeed, if we recall that the root of the word “politics” is the Greek polis—“people”—then it’s vitally important, I think, to affirm Martin Luther’s conviction that God is at work in our political and governmental structures to care for God’s people.
But if not a-political, perhaps at least non-partisan. That is, can we imagine that God is at work in and through someone who bears the name of Christ but disagrees with us profoundly on an issue that’s important to us? Can we make room in our worship and fellowship for those who disagree with us without labelling them? Can we try to stop, at least for a moment, trying to convince someone else of why they are wrong—or worse, condemning because they believe differently than we do—and try to understand what experiences have shaped those views? Can we imagine that given the enormity of the challenges in front of us, there may be good ideas coming from persons who hold different perspectives and commitments than we do? Can we accept a cup of cold water from someone who doesn’t follow us?
Even as I write these words, I hear my own objection that, while fine in theory, there are some really important issues on the table, and to back away from them risks the rights and even safety of others. Absolutely. I am NOT advocating surrendering one’s convictions, but rather encouraging us to exercise what I might call “empathetic imagination” to try to know, understand and even respect those with whom we disagree.
There are so few spaces in our world and culture right now that create space for genuine conversation where each party takes on the responsibility to be able to hear and describe the beliefs of the other, for heartfelt engagement that doesn’t devolve into partisan name-calling, and for respectful while also spirited disagreement that refuses to give up on the inherent worth and dignity of those in an opposing party. Can the church be that kind of place?
Perhaps what I’m inviting, considering Jesus’ admonition to his first-century disciples, is for his twenty-first century disciples to write a different ending to this scene. “We saw some people, Lord, who were (here, fill in the blank):casting out demons,working for justice,advocating for those who’ve lost their jobs and feel left behind,caring for veterans,protesting injusticeand more, all in your name. They don’t follow us. In fact, we really disagree with them, but we didn’t try to stop them, and they gave us a cup of cold water; and that was pretty cool.” Thanks be to God. Amen.