Friday - December 5, 2025

SCRIPTURE  Acts 8:36-39 As they traveled along the road, they came to some water and the eunuch said, “Look, here is water. What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” And he gave orders to stop the chariot. Then both Philip and the eunuch went down into the water and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away, and the eunuch did not see him again, but went on his way rejoicing. WORDS OF HOPE The Spirit meets people on desert roads. Waters of grace and acceptance are always close at hand. In Acts 8, Philip encounters the Ethiopian eunuch on a lonely stretch of desert road. The eunuch is powerful in the court of the queen of the Ethiopians and faithful enough to journey all the way to Jerusalem to worship. And yet their body marks them as different. According to religious tradition, they do not fully belong. Their devotion is real, but their access is restricted. Still, there they are—on the margins, reading scripture aloud, hungry for understanding, thirsty for grace. Author and theologian Christina Cleveland, in her book God is a Black Woman invites us to imagine God as a trans Black woman: a God who knows what it is to be surveilled, dismissed, excluded, and yet to remain fierce in love. A God whose body has been declared “out of place,” whose wisdom has been ignored, whose presence has been policed—and who nonetheless shows up precisely where life is hardest and hope feels most fragile. On that desert road, it is this God who draws near: not enthroned in the temple but walking alongside a seeker whose body has been deemed a problem. When the Spirit sends Philip to the eunuch, Philip does not interrogate their worthiness. He does not demand conformity or correction. He does not ask them to leave parts of themselves behind. He listens. He shares the good news of Jesus. And then, without hesitation or condition, Philip baptizes them. The chariot stops. Water appears in the wilderness. Joy erupts. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke often of the “beloved community”—a vision of God’s future breaking into the present, where dignity is not rationed and justice is not delayed. Acts 8 is a beloved-community moment. On that road, the arc of the moral universe bends—not because institutions finally caught up, but because the Spirit refused to wait. The eunuch asks the question that echoes through every liberation struggle: “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” God’s answer is immediate and holy: Nothing. For trans and gender-diverse people, Acts 8 proclaims a tender and revolutionary truth. Your body does not disqualify you. Your identity is not a barrier to grace; it is an invitation to it. Baptism was never about fixing bodies or erasing difference. It was never meant to restrain joy or delay belonging. Baptism names what has always been true: you are already claimed. Already beloved. Already held by a God who knows marginalization from the inside. Roadblocks were never the Spirit’s idea. Neither were borders around joy. The Spirit who hovered over creation, who led people out of bondage, who met a eunuch on a desert road, still moves today—calling us toward freedom, dignity, and love that refuses to be fenced in. The Spirit meets people on desert roads. Waters of grace and acceptance are always close at hand. DEVOTION AUTHOR Thomas Riggs

READINGS “This is the air I breathe, This is the air I breathe, Your Holy presence living in me.” ( From the song, Breathe, by Michael W. Smith. Lyrics by Marie Barnett - 2012) “The whole problem is to establish communication with one’s self.” E.B. White WORDS OF HOPE Breathe. Love. Hope. Act. Pause where you are for a moment, and as best you can take a deep breath in. If you are congested or otherwise compromised, breathing may not be as easy for you. Still, you are breathing or you’d be dead! Take a deep breath in now—and briefly hold it. Then slowly release the air back into the world. You are connected to the world through your breath. Feel the connection. We are connected now, whether you are listening to a narrator giving voice to my words aloud or are reading these words with your own vision. A connection has been made. Human beings are designed for connection. It is in our DNA. It is the reason that solitary confinement is a far worse form of punishment than any other for those imprisoned. It is why orphaned babies fail to thrive if they are not given touch, attention and affection. If you are feeling overwhelmed by life, pause and focus on your breath. If you are troubled by social injustice, political discord, or government that seems unresponsive to genuine human need, take a breath. You are not alone and you are not powerless, though it may seem that way. The Spirit of God is at work for good, despite human suffering, conflict and turmoil. That truth doesn’t imply that everything gets resolved exactly as we would like or as timely as we would hope. Creation has been set in motion by the God of Grace who values Free Will and Liberty greater than control. Therefore evil, too, must exist. Dr Martin Luther King calls our attention to Theodore Parker’s now famous observation, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Breathe. Do lovingkindness. Work for justice. Stay connected with yourself, your Higher Power, and the Spirit that moves, empowers and births Hope from despair. Breathe. Love. Hope. Act. PRAYER Come Holy Spirit and stir up a fresh wind to blow over our nation and all the world. Refresh us, empower us, redeem us, that we might rise, empowered by Love, to seek Justice in the name of the Prince of Peace. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR Rev. Dr. Gary Kindley Pastoral Psychotherapist DrGK.org

READING Every January, we perform this ritual together. We shake off the indulgence of the holidays and brace ourselves for improvement. We tell ourselves that this will be the year we get it together…that any mess was temporary…that with the right plan, the right habits, the right mindset, we can finally become the person we were always supposed to be. This is not a small thing. In the United States and Canada…, New Year’s resolutions have become a kind of secular sacrament—an annual recommitment to the belief that limits are a problem to be solved. But what if they aren’t? –Kate Bowler, “A Resolution for People Who Are Already Doing Their Best” WORDS OF HOPE Kate Bowler expresses a perspective that we would do well to examine. At the beginning of every year, we are barraged with advice about New Year’s resolutions from all our communications modes. Searches turn up the following: “New Year, New You,” a flurry of entries with varied numbers of “best” resolutions—from 18 to over 100, “achievable” resolutions, resolutions “that you’ll actually keep,” fun resolutions, resolutions that will inspire you, and so on. In addition, there are essays on why we make them, why we break them, and even neuroscientific analysis. And now we have apps that can help us measure our progress and mood daily. (The premium version of one starts at $39.95 and gets you access to professionals, daily tracking, analysis and more.)  Overwhelmed yet? Several years ago I stepped away from making resolutions in favor of New Year’s prayer, listening deeply throughout the year for the Spirit’s guidance and periodically taking stock. This year, though, Kate Bowler’s reflection struck a chord in me. A religion professor at Duke Divinity school, writer, and podcast host, Bowler also is a historian of American self-help. Her research suggests that over and over again the message we hear is “the only limit is you. If you could just overcome the mental block, the laziness, the lack of discipline, then the “real” version of your life could begin.” Particularly for those who struggle with perfectionism, this message can feel like massive bullying. In 2015 Bowler’s perspective changed radically mostly from being diagnosed with stage four colon cancer at the age of 35. “The fantasy of unlimited agency collapses quickly when your life includes chronic illness, caregiving, grief, uncertainty, or responsibilities you didn’t choose. Which is to say, we are all ushered into the “fellowship of the afflicted” (as Margaret Feinberg calls it) one way or another.” This year she suggests trying to practice “limited agency.” “I don’t mean the kind of resignation that says, “oh well.” I mean the kind of clarity that comes when you’ve hit the edge of what you can do and you stop pretending otherwise. Limited agency is the humility to admit, I don’t get to steer the whole story, paired with the courage to say, but I can still choose something. It’s a celebration of small, real choices made inside real constraints. Not a fantasy of transformation. Not a dramatic reinvention. Just the steady practice of asking: what is mine to do, and what is not? Sit for a moment with how those last paragraphs strike you. Does defensiveness rise up inside? No way; I can do a lot more than that! Does curiosity arise, wondering if there might be something helpful in her perspective? Do you find a truth about your own life—and the burden of constant striving? Something else? I invite you to take whatever comes up into prayer and listen for the voice of the Spirit. PRAYER Oh, You who know us better than we know ourselves, guide us lovingly into a life of wholeness and purpose. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR Dr. Pat Saxon

SCRIPTURE Hebrews 11.1 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. WORDS OF HOPE As we enter another New Year, I can remember quite a few years with better beginnings. Even though we hear a lot of stories about hopes and dreams, I know it will take faith, assurance about what we do not see, to make them reality. I’m reminded of a story about the author John Kennedy Toole who wrote A Confederacy of Dunces. Toole had attempted to shop his book around to a few publishers but was continually rejected. Wikipedia reports: “Toole submitted Dunces to publisher Simon & Schuster , where it reached editor Robert Gottlieb . Gottlieb considered Toole talented but felt his comic novel was essentially pointless.” Despite several revisions, Gottlieb remained unsatisfied.” After the book was rejected by other publishers, Toole shelved the novel for good. He had run out of faith. He left home in 1969 on a cross-country journey. On a stop in Biloxi, Mississippi , he took his own life. He was 31 years old. This was not the end of his story, however. The rest of the story is about faith of another kind. It was tragic that Mr. Toole had given up so soon. The faith to make this happen came from Toole’s mother, Thelma Toole, who believed in her son’s work and knew it was destined to be shared. She was relentless in her search for a publisher for over 10 years. After many failed tries, Thelma finally brought the manuscript of A Confederacy of Dunces to the attention of novelist Walker Percy , who was astounded by its wit and originality and was instrumental in finally getting the book published. In 1981, John Kennedy Toole was posthumously awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. A mother’s faith had made it all possible. So, at a time in our troubled world when hope sometimes seems like a dream, remember Thelma Toole. What we achieve depends not only on the faith we have in ourselves, but also the faith and encouragement of the ones who love us. Mary, the mother of Jesus, had that kind of faith in her son too, from singing of his glory before his birth through believing in his compassion and gifts as an adult when he turned water into wine. Even after his Ascension, Mary was there in that upper room, leading women of faith in the establishment of her son’s early church. That’s true faith, a mother’s faith. Who, in your own life, could use that kind of encouragement? Do you have the strength to show them a mother’s faith? PRAYER Faithful God, it is a blessing from you to do anything that achieves a positive result. Sharing our gifts and talents are blessings that have the greatest return. May we continue to offer hope to others knowing the faith you have in us. DEVOTION AUTHOR  Charlie C. Rose Order of St. Francis and St. Clare

READING Mute Potato by Billy Collins Before introducing it to a pot of boiling water I caught a medium-size Idaho potato staring up at me with several of its many eyes. WORDS OF HOPE I bet you are wondering why we are talking about a potato. It’s not so much the potato that is important here; rather it is the eyes of that potato. The “eyes” of a potato are growing points. As long as they are dormant, they cause no harm when ingested. However, once these buds become green and and begin to grow, they produce the toxic compound solanine. Though toxic, preliminary research has found solanine also to be an anti-inflammatory, antibacterial, and anti-cancer agent. Darkness and light. The eyes of potatoes are so-called because of their resemblance to the structure of human eye. Have you ever looked up at the clouds and seen a face? Or seen a face in vegetables? On the moon? In paint swirls or textures on a wall? This phenomenon is called pareidolia, meaning that the brain is perceiving a recognizable shape, often a face, in abstract visual stimuli. Think about the toast on which people see the face of Jesus. This phenomenon of finding eyes and seeing faces on random objects is part of our human defense system. It helps us with social cues and in detecting the threat of predators, the theory being better to perceive eyes that prove to be safe rather than miss those that are dangerous to us. In his poem Mute Potato , Billy Collins simply acknowledges that he saw the eyes of the potato. It is up to the reader to decide what he saw in those eyes. Matthew 6:22-23 from The Message reads, “Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light. If you live squinty-eyed in greed and distrust, your body is a musty cellar. If you pull the blinds on your windows, what a dark life you will have!” During the holidays, I received Holy Communion several times from a relatively new Episcopal priest. After the first time, something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was wrong. The second time I received communion from this person, it felt like the communion wafers were being dealt like playing cards at a black jack table in Vegas, quickly and with a subtext of keep your hands moving. It was after my third encounter with this priest that I finally figured out what was causing my discomfort. They did not make eye contact with me or anyone else that they were communing. “If you open up your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light…”. I was surprised at how much such a seemingly small thing affected my spirit as I partook of the sacraments. Reflecting on my experience, I think at some level I felt like I was holding my hands up to the darkness rather than reaching toward the light. As I walked away from the altar rail, my initial feelings were that I had been gypped, that somehow this experience was less than what it could have or should or what I wanted it to be. Then, from that darkness, loudly came a message. If we are to be the hands and feet of Jesus on earth, we also need to have the eyes of Jesus, eyes wide open to truly see the people on earth as Jesus sees us. As Christ-followers, we don’t have the luxury of closing our eyes to avoid seeing those in front of us or the pain, the destruction, the injustice, the inequality, the corruption, the hatred…the muted potatoes…all around us. We must keep our eyes wide open to be an effective conduit for God’s love. We can’t serve others as did that close-eyed priest. “Keep my commands and you will live; guard my teachings as the apple of your eye.” Proverbs 7:2. Did Collin’s see open or closed eyes when looking at that Idaho potato? Maybe the better question is what did the potato see when looking up at Collins?” And what do we see when we look at the “pot of potatoes” in front of us each day? It’s better to see a pareidolia than overlook the face of a single child of God. PRAYER  God of light, open my eyes so that I will see and acknowledge all that you have created. Help me to be Your light in this dark world. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR Kris Baker Order of St. Francis and St. Clare