Renewal Works

Psalm 32

1 Happy are they whose transgressions are forgiven, and whose sin is put away!

2 Happy are they to whom the Lord imputes no guilt, and in whose spirit there is no guile!

3 While I held my tongue, my bones withered away, because of my groaning all day long.

4 For your hand was heavy upon me day and night; my moisture was dried up as in the heat of summer.

5 Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not conceal my guilt.

6 I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the Lord." Then you forgave me the guilt of my sin.

7 Therefore all the faithful will make their prayers to you in time of trouble; when the great waters overflow, they shall not reach them.

8 You are my hiding-place; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with shouts of deliverance.

9 "I will instruct you and teach you in the way that you should go; I will guide you with my eye.

10 Do not be like horse or mule, which have no understanding; who must be fitted with bit and bridle, or else they will not stay near you."

11 Great are the tribulations of the wicked; but mercy embraces those who trust in the Lord.

12 Be glad, you righteous, and rejoice in the Lord; shout for joy, all who are true of heart.

This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen.

This year, Lent and Ramadan began on the same day. The unusual coincidence got me thinking about common themes in the world’s great spiritual traditions. In the Jewish tradition, the seasons of self-examination begun this month by Christians and Muslims find a counterpart later in the year, with the observance of Yom Kippur, a day of repentance. While Buddhists don’t seem to have tie to particular calendar dates, their practice is an ongoing process of self-examination and course correction. The genius of the tradition of the 12 steps can be seen in the first step, an admission of powerlessness over lives that had become unmanageable. 

A common thread in these movements indicates something deep and true and significant about the spiritual journey. If we wish to move forward, to grow, to be free, we need to acknowledge a need to change, to acknowledge the ways we've gotten off track.

We find that thread revealed in the gospels. Jesus began his ministry with a message that echoed John the Baptist. Jesus led with a call to repent, to change direction (Mark 1:15). If one wants to respond to that call, it begins by acknowledging that the direction in which one is headed might need to change. Repentance really means turning around. As our gospels state it, such repentance opens a door to the kingdom of God. It's a matter of acknowledging the truth about ourselves, and as Jesus noted, the truth will set us free.

In the psalm heard in church yesterday on the first Sunday in Lent, the psalmist admits that he was stuck. He was basically a mess until he acknowledged his sin to God and stopped concealing his guilt. It was a turning point. A dead end became a threshold as the psalmist began to enjoy the happiness of someone who is forgiven, someone whose sin was put away, someone who could then enjoy guidance from the Holy One. The message from the psalmist to us this Monday morning? A good place to begin is acknowledgement, an admission that what we’re presently doing may not be working.

Let me share a Lenten practice that has been meaningful to me, helpful in that process of acknowledgement. In the Ash Wednesday liturgy, we read a Litany of Penitence (page 267 in the Book of Common Prayer). It goes into greater detail than the General Confession, acknowledging a variety of ways we have fallen short, or may be headed in unhelpful directions. I commend it to you for regular reflection this Lent. Think of it as spiritual full-length mirror. 

The litany is simply too powerful to read just once a year. Different phrases have spoken to me at different times. Right now, I’m cogitating on the specific confession that acknowledges that we have not been true to the mind of Christ. As I admit that is true of my own inner life in oh so many ways, it opens the door for me to grow in being true to the mind of Christ.

I want to give a shout out to a local priest, the Rev. Addie Budnick, who gave a fine Ash Wednesday sermon that helped me think about acknowledgment. She made the point (an echo of Psalm 32) that admitting the truth about who we are, warts and all, is good news which opens the pathway to freedom and joy, revealed on Easter morning. 

As the psalmist said: Happy are those whose sins are forgiven. Or as one person has paraphrased the first beatitude which speaks of being poor in spirit: Blessed are those who know their need of God.

 -Jay Sidebotham

As we continue our discussion around defining discipleship in the Episcopal Church, RenewalWorks invites you to join us for a special offering this Lent.

Forward Movement's new Center for Discipleship and Renewal (CEDAR), of which RenewalWorks is a part, has organized four Lenten Lunch and Learn sessions focusing on exploring what we mean when we talk about discipleship in today's world.

We invite you to register for any or all of these one-hour on-line presentations which will begin next week and continue through Lent.

Details are below and we hope you will join us. Please sign up here:

This series is hosted by the Center for Discipleship and Renewal (CEDAR) at Forward Movement, a new initiative made possible through a generous grant from the J.C. Flowers Foundation. CEDAR’s work is focused on creating transformational discipleship resources for the Episcopal Church; sparking conversation on discipleship and church renewal; and becoming a hub of connection for clergy and lay leaders. CEDAR’s work is fully integrated with RenewalWorks as well as Forward Movement’s other ministries and resources, and its mission to inspire disciples and empower evangelists. 

Join us on-line for some powerful discussions this Lenten season. More information and registration is available on the Forward Movement events page.

Psalm 99

1 The Lord is King; let the people tremble; he is enthroned upon the cherubim; let the earth shake.

2 The Lord is great in Zion; he is high above all peoples.

3 Let them confess his Name, which is great and awesome; he is the Holy One.

4 "O mighty King, lover of justice, you have established equity; you have executed justice and righteousness in Jacob."

5 Proclaim the greatness of the Lord our God and fall down before his footstool; he is the Holy One.

6 Moses and Aaron among his priests, and Samuel among those who call upon his Name, they called upon the Lord, and he answered them.

7 He spoke to them out of the pillar of cloud; they kept his testimonies and the decree that he gave them.

8 O Lord our God, you answered them indeed; you were a God who forgave them, yet punished them for their evil deeds.

9 Proclaim the greatness of the Lord our God and worship him upon his holy hill; for the Lord our God is the Holy One.

This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen.

There’s a lot to be said for living in the present. Be here now, and all that. There is also a lot to commend an orientation towards the future. As theologian Jurgen Moltmann asked: Where would we stand if we did not take our stand on hope? But this Monday morning, I want to highlight the importance of looking in the spiritual rear-view mirror and remembering where we have been.

That focus is prompted by a psalm you may have heard in church yesterday (reprinted in this email). In that psalm, the greatness of God is celebrated by remembering how God acted in the lives of Moses and Aaron and Samuel, among many others who were guided by the Holy One. Throughout scripture, readers are invited to recall the ways that God led people to a place called home, how God provided liberation from oppression, how God provided nourishment when hunger hit. That retrospective view was not simply nostalgia. It was intended to help people navigate the challenges of the moment and to move into the future with courage.

On the night before he died, in final words to his disciples, Jesus instituted the eucharist with this bit of instruction: Do this in remembrance of me. He knew that the going would get rough for these disciples. The remembrance of Christ’s presence, the real presence in the bread and wine, would strengthen them for the journey. As the liturgy for that sacrament has come to us over the centuries, the prayer over the bread and wine always includes some expression of thanksgiving for what God has already done. Listen for it next time you attend a service of Holy Communion. That thanksgiving is referred to as anamnesis. Literally not amnesia. Not forgetting.

The fact is, we are a forgetful lot. And I don't just mean my senior moments. So a helpful spiritual practice is to take time to look in that spiritual rear-view mirror and see how God has acted in our lives. It is often the case that in the present moment, it’s tough to see God at work. We might feel that way about our broken political culture. We might feel that way about the brokenness in our personal lives. But if we can remember the ways that God has acted in our lives in the past, the blessings we have received, the disasters that have been averted, the relationships that have fed us perhaps through what seemed like chance encounters, we can find resources to move forward. If we can repeat the story of our faith, recounted again and again in scripture, we will find “strength and courage to love and serve God with gladness and singleness of heart.”

When we say that the Anglicanism is based on that three legged stool of scripture, tradition and reason, we can see the importance of scripture, as it again and again reminds us of God’s faithfulness. We can see that our honoring of tradition is not simply chauvinism. It is about remembering the story of our faith, as it has been lived out over the centuries. With gratitude, we look to the witness of saints who let us see what faith looks like in action. It’s all very reasonable, actually. And to that stool, we might add a fourth leg: experience, which among other things, may call us to look back and offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving.

This kind of remembering doesn’t sugar coat or deny difficulties. Last week, a friend shared a quote from the Rev. John Claypool, a great Episcopal preacher (not an oxymoron, folks!). He said: “The only way down from the mountain of grief is on the path of gratitude.” Based on that wisdom, we see gratitude as a way of looking in that spiritual rear view mirror, and then moving forward with courage. That's an important guideline, because it's too easy to look at the past with regret or resentment.

This week, we begin the season of Lent. On Ash Wednesday, the liturgy will extend an invitation to a season of self-examination, among other things. Take time to prepare for this holy season by reviewing your own spiritual autobiography, as you recall with grateful heart the ways God has been at work in your life.

 -Jay Sidebotham

Psalm 112:1-10

1 Hallelujah! Happy are they who fear the Lord and have great delight in his commandments!

2 Their descendants will be mighty in the land; the generation of the upright will be blessed.

3 Wealth and riches will be in their house, and their righteousness will last for ever.

4 Light shines in the darkness for the upright; the righteous are merciful and full of compassion.

5 It is good for them to be generous in lending and to manage their affairs with justice.

6 For they will never be shaken; the righteous will be kept in everlasting remembrance.

7 They will not be afraid of any evil rumors; their heart is right; they put their trust in the Lord.

8 Their heart is established and will not shrink, until they see their desire upon their enemies.

9 They have given freely to the poor, and their righteousness stands fast for ever;

they will hold up their head with honor.

10 The wicked will see it and be angry; they will gnash their teeth and pine away; the desires of the wicked will perish.

(This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. Please note that these days in the church, there are two tracks of readings in the lectionary, offering a choice of psalms. Your church may or may not have read the psalm included in this email.)

For some time, surveys have indicated that many folks outside the church have less than positive associations with the word “Christian.” Words that come to mind when asked for their view of Christians: judgmental, hypocritical, exclusive, captive to a particular political agenda. In the spirit of holding the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in another, we may have gotten insight into how those impressions came to be, courtesy of the National Prayer Breakfast held last week.

Mr. Trump spoke at that gathering. He claimed that one could identify Christians by the political party they identified with. He said that a Christian could not possibly vote for Democrats. (In fairness, I’ve heard folks of progressive persuasion say that a Christian could not possibly vote for a conservative candidate.) 

It was strangely heartening, and not entirely surprising to hear in the same speech that one of his most ardent supporters, a pastor of a large evangelical church, had concluded that Mr. Trump had never actually read the Bible. That rings true. If any time had been spent in scripture, the president might not have been led to say: We will know Christians by my political party. Rather, he might say: We will know Christians by their compassion.

Continuing with the nexus of politics and religion, last week the Speaker of the House, a self proclaimed Bible believing Christian felt called to correct the Pope’s interpretation of scripture. Without specific biblical citation, and with a stunning dose of moxie, Mr. Johnson claimed that scripture would support immigration policies (including detaining and deporting children, using them for bait, arresting and shooting protesters) being carried out by the current administration, policies directly criticized by the Pope. 

The Pope’s references to Matthew 25, which says that Christ will be known in service to those in greatest need, including the stranger, seemed to trigger Mr. Johnson. Thanks be to God, I’m not betting that the Holy Father will change his point of view based on criticism from the Speaker or others, criticism which did not seem to embrace the idea that we will know Christians by their compassion. Thanks be to God, we need not rely on current political leaders to tell us what it means to be Christian (especially leaders depraved enough to post the kind of reprehensible racist memes we saw over the weekend, at the beginning of Black History Month, of all things.)

The psalm selected for yesterday’s liturgies includes this observation: The righteous are merciful and full of compassion (v.4). The righteous, those who live in right relationship with the God of creation, will be known for their compassion (literally “suffering with.”) They will be known by their love.

That call to compassion can be found throughout scripture. It’s vividly portrayed in the life and ministry of Jesus. One of my favorite verses in the gospels comes in the story of the feeding of five thousand. Jesus looks out on thousands of people who have followed him into the wilderness. The gospels say that Jesus looked on the crowd with compassion, because they were harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd. There’s a timeless quality to that verse. I imagine Jesus looking at all of us right now in that compassionate way, harassed and helpless as we may be, in dire need of compassion. On the night before he died, Jesus told his disciples this: By this will all people know that you are my disciples, if you have love one for another. In short order, the gospels take us to the cross where arms of love stretch out in that ultimate act of compassion. 

Later in the New Testament, as the exponential growth of the early church shook the Roman empire, we read that people outside the church looked at what was going on inside the church (care for widows and orphans, sharing possessions, feeding the hungry) and said: See how they love one another. I imagine those outsiders saying: "I want to be part of that."

I’m wondering if today, people outside the church look at what’s going on inside the church and say: See how they love one another. They might not have gotten that impression from the National Prayer Breakfast, a gathering that underscored divisions that mark the times in which we live. Karen Armstrong, great scholar of the world’s religions, has said that compassion is the common theme among the world’s great faith traditions. So this Monday morning, the call to compassion comes to each one of us. It can shape our political leanings for sure, the ways we vote, pray, donate, address our representatives. 

Closer to home, I’m wondering what small steps we might take to make compassion our way of life, in our homes, our workplaces, our communities, our churches. Our identity need not be determined by those captivated by the love of power. Rather, we can find freedom as we identify with those who know the power of love.

I once heard a sermon where the preacher asked the congregation: If you were arrested for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? (At that time it seemed hypothetical. Maybe not so hypothetical these icy days.) This week, may we be given grace so that with our lips and with our lives, we fill in the blank: They will know we are Christians by our love. By our compassion.

 -Jay Sidebotham

Robert Hendrickson joined Forward Movement in fall 2025 as Chief of Discipleship after 9 years as Rector of St. Philip’s in the Hills in Tucson, AZ. Enabled by a grant from the J.C. Flowers Foundation, Robert and team will focus on transformational discipleship resources to help Episcopalians grow as followers of Jesus. RenewalWorks will be a part of those resources.

In our work with churches, RenewalWorks finds that it can be hard to define what discipleship means and even harder to live it in our everyday lives and our changing world. We hope you enjoy Robert's reflection below.

In every generation of the Church, discipleship raises a question that is both ancient and urgent: What do we do with what we have received? 

The temptation of any age is to believe that faith begins with us — that our challenges are unprecedented, our questions entirely new, or our calling disconnected from those who came before. Yet discipleship in the Episcopal Church has never been about inventing a new flame by burning down the past. Instead, it is about receiving a light already kindled and carrying it faithfully into a changing world. We are called to pass the torch, not torch the past.

This vision of discipleship begins with inheritance. 

The Church is not merely an institution or a collection of opinions; it is a living hope shaped by prayer, scripture, sacrament, and community across centuries. 

When we gather for worship, we step into rhythms older than ourselves. The prayers we pray, the creeds we confess, and the stories we proclaim are echoes of generations who sought to follow Christ in their own turbulent times. Discipleship means recognizing that we stand within a stream that began long before us and will continue long after we are gone.

Inheritance, however, is not the same as nostalgia. To pass the torch is not to freeze the Church in a particular era or cultural moment. The Episcopal tradition has always held together continuity and change through scripture read in community, ancient liturgy spoken in our own language, enduring faith expressed through evolving mission. 

Discipleship calls us to carry forward the core work entrusted to us: proclaiming the Kingdom of God, forming followers of Jesus, and embodying Christ’s love in the world. The form may adapt, but the flame remains the same.

The metaphor of a torch reminds us that faith is both gift and responsibility. A torch does not belong to the one who holds it; it is entrusted for a time. Every generation receives the Gospel as something already alive, already burning with hope. Our task is not to reshape it according to our preferences, nor to hide it from the winds of change, but to bear it with courage. Discipleship in the Episcopal Church therefore asks not, “How do we start over?” but rather, “How do we continue faithfully?”

One of the great strengths of Anglican life is its commitment to holding together the past, present, and future in prayer. 

The liturgy itself teaches us this posture. We remember the saints who have gone before, we pray for the needs of the world today, and we anticipate the coming Kingdom that God will bring to completion. This rhythm shapes disciples who are grounded rather than reactive. Disciples live the truth that innovation without memory loses depth, and memory without mission loses purpose.

In times of cultural change, the Church often feels pressure to choose between preservation and transformation. Yet discipleship is not a battle between old and new. It is a faithful stewardship of what has been entrusted to us. The early Christians faced profound shifts such as persecution, expansion into new cultures, debates about identity and yet they did not abandon the apostolic witness. 

Instead, they interpreted the Gospel anew while remaining rooted in the teaching they had received. 

That same calling remains ours today.

Passing the torch also means honoring the stories and sacrifices of those who came before us. Many Episcopalians inherited faith through grandparents who prayed quietly, mentors who modeled compassion, or communities that gathered faithfully week after week. These witnesses remind us that discipleship is not an abstract idea but a lived practice. To torch the past would be to dismiss these voices, to forget the wisdom embedded in tradition. To pass the torch, however, is to recognize that their faithfulness makes ours possible.

At the same time, discipleship requires courage. Carrying a torch means moving forward, not standing still. The Episcopal Church has long sought to engage the world’s challenges. We've been advocating for justice, welcoming the marginalized, and responding to human suffering with practical compassion. The work we inherit is not only liturgical nor inwardly focused, it is deeply missional. 

Proclaiming the Kingdom means stepping into spaces where hope is needed most, trusting that the light we carry is meant to illuminate the path for others.

This balance between continuity and mission becomes especially important when facing uncertainty. Many congregations today wrestle with questions about identity, relevance, and the future. It can be tempting either to cling tightly to familiar forms or to discard them entirely in search of something new. 

Yet discipleship invites a different posture. It is one rooted in discernment rather than fear. We ask not what will preserve our comfort, nor what will win cultural approval, but what will faithfully carry forward the Gospel entrusted to us.

The image of passing the torch also speaks to intergenerational discipleship. Faith is not sustained by programs alone but by relationships. Older members of the Church pass on wisdom, stories, and practices that shape younger disciples. Younger members bring fresh energy, new perspectives, and questions that invite deeper reflection. When these generations walk together, the torch burns brighter. Discipleship becomes a shared journey rather than a competition between past and future.

Ultimately, the torch we carry is Christ himself. He is the light that no darkness can overcome.

The Episcopal Church’s sacramental life returns us to this truth. At the Altar, we receive not only Bread and Wine but a reminder that discipleship is a life lived telling a story far larger than our own. We are formed by grace to become bearers of that light in our homes, neighborhoods, and communities. The work we inherit is the work of love: proclaiming good news, healing brokenness, and inviting others into the life of God’s Kingdom.

To say that we pass the torch rather than torch the past is to embrace humility. We are not the first to wrestle with change, nor will we be the last. Our calling is to walk faithfully within the tradition we have received, allowing it to shape us even as we respond creatively to the needs of our time. This posture frees us from both fear and arrogance. 

We do not need to abandon the past to be relevant, nor do we need to resist the future to remain faithful.

As disciples in the Episcopal Church, we stand at a crossroads where memory and mission meet. The light we carry has been passed through countless hands — saints known and unknown, communities thriving and struggling, generations seeking to follow Christ with integrity. Our task is to hold that light with reverence, to nurture it through prayer and practice, and to offer it to those who will come after us.

In the end, discipleship is not about preserving an institution or winning a cultural argument. It is about faithfulness to the Kingdom of God that transcends every era. When we pass the torch, we affirm that the Gospel is alive — not trapped in the past, but rooted in it, guiding us forward. And as we walk together in that light, we discover that the work we have inherited is not a burden but a gift: the ongoing proclamation of hope in a world that still longs to see the flame.

Psalm 15

1 Lord, who may dwell in your tabernacle? who may abide upon your holy hill?

2 Whoever leads a blameless life and does what is right, who speaks the truth from his heart.

3 There is no guile upon his tongue; he does no evil to his friend; he does not heap contempt upon his neighbor.

4 In his sight the wicked is rejected, but he honors those who fear the Lord.

5 He has sworn to do no wrong and does not take back his word.

6 He does not give his money in hope of gain, nor does he take a bribe against the innocent.

7 Whoever does these things shall never be overthrown.

(This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. Please note that these days in the church, there are two tracks of readings in the lectionary, offering a choice of psalms. Your church may or may not have read the psalm included in this email.)

Psalm 15:1 poses these questions: Lord, who may dwell in your tabernacle? Who may abide upon your holy hill? The psalm goes on to list qualifications for that person, the price of admission if you will. My reaction on reading those attributes make me think that it won’t be very crowded in that tabernacle or on that holy hill. I’m not sure who makes the cut. I’d be outside looking in.

Which brings me, of course, to baseball. As I look out the window at a goodly amount of snow (the most that has landed in the Southeast since 1989), I have this good news. There are only 52 days until the opening of baseball season. And with baseball comes this deep learning offered by former Baseball Commissioner Frances T. Vincent, Jr:

“Baseball teaches us, or has taught most of us, how to deal with failure. We learn at a very young age that failure is the norm in baseball and, precisely because we have failed, we hold in high regard those who fail less often—those who hit safely in one out of three chances and become star players. I also find it fascinating that baseball, alone in sport, considers errors to be part of the game, part of its rigorous truth." 

Our Christian faith echoes this baseball wisdom. Failure, falling short, messing up, missing the mark, sin, whatever you want to call it, they’re all part of the game, part of the rigorous truth of our faith. If you take the tradition that King David wrote this psalm, it’s pretty clear that he himself might not have made the cut of Psalm 15. He was an adulterer, a murderer, a liar, on occasion a coward. If this psalm was a test, he might have failed. He, like most other biblical characters, was not perfect.

The good news is that this rigorous truth is built into our faith. I’m struck with the baptismal promise that invites us to repent and return to the Lord whenever we sin. Not if ever we sin, but whenever. It will happen. And there will be a way to start over. In the Celebration and Blessing of a Marriage, we pray for the couple that they will offer forgiveness whenever they hurt each, not if ever. It will happen, as sure as the sun rises. And they can find a way to start over.

So while Psalm 15 gives us laudable aspirations, indeed, as the psalm describes what a whole person looks like, the entire witness of scripture is that while we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, there is a wideness to God’s mercy. There is hope for us miserable offenders.

Where does this leave us this Monday morning? For starters, we recognize that the high standards outlined in Psalm 15 are aspirational. We need not deceive ourselves that we can fulfill all of these standards on our own steam, based on our own merit. That’s why the Confession is such an important part of our liturgy. In a nutshell, it reminds us that we have not loved God with heart, soul and mind. We have not loved neighbor as self. That’s true of each one of us each day. How might we simply acknowledge that this morning?

Then once we embrace the rigorous truth, we also are called to praise the God whose quality is always to have mercy, whose mercy is expressed in the life, ministry, witness, self-offering of Jesus. I have a feeling that our embrace of that grace is the thing that can free us to move closer to those aspirational goals described in the psalm. Not so we can earn God’s favor, but so that we can reflect it. So it’s worth asking this morning: What is your experience of God’s mercy? How has that changed you? How has that shaped you?

And finally we are called to live into that forgiveness by extending it to others. As Anne Lamott said: Earth is forgiveness school. Who do you need to forgive? Who do you need to ask for forgiveness?

Following Jesus sets us on a journey in which we grow more into his likeness. As we grow in that way, we simply come closer to realizing (i.e., making real) the aspirations of Psalm 15. Can you take a step in that direction this week? Play ball.

 -Jay Sidebotham

Psalm 27:1, 5-13

1 The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?

5 One thing have I asked of the Lord; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life;

6 To behold the fair beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.

7 For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe in his shelter; he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling and set me high upon a rock.

8 Even now he lifts up my head above my enemies round about me.

9 Therefore I will offer in his dwelling an oblation with sounds of great gladness; I will sing and make music to the Lord.

10 Hearken to my voice, O Lord, when I call; have mercy on me and answer me.

11 You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." Your face, Lord, will I seek.

12 Hide not your face from me, nor turn away your servant in displeasure.

13 You have been my helper; cast me not away; do not forsake me, O God of my salvation.

(This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. Please note that these days in the church, there are two tracks of readings in the lectionary, offering a choice of psalms. Your church may or may not have read the psalm included in this email.)

In my experience, a majority of the baptisms I’ve witnessed involved an infant, adorably clueless, brought forward by parents and godparents. It’s a beautiful thing. 

Less frequently have I witnessed adults being baptized. Beautiful in its own way. In our increasingly secular culture, the decision of an adult to seek baptism is powerful in its implicit intentionality. Since the early days of the church, there’s a process for preparing adults for baptism known as the Catechumenate, a period of “training and instruction in understandings about God, human relationships and the meaning of life” according to the Book of Occasional Services. Tall order for a curriculum, don’t you think?

I’ve been part of churches that offer the Catechumenate not only for adults seeking baptism, but also for those seeking to be confirmed or to reaffirm faith. As those persons enter the process through a liturgy for the admission to the Catechumenate, they are asked this question: What do you seek? They are to answer with three simple words: Life in Christ.

Think with me this morning about how you would answer that question: What do you seek? How often do you ask yourself that question? Often enough? 

I’m directed to that question by the psalm heard in church yesterday (if the winter storm didn’t knock out your church service). That psalm has a lot to do with seeking. In the first verses, the psalmist says: One thing I seek, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Later on, the psalmist prays: You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." Your face, Lord, will I seek.

What does it mean to seek God’s face? The psalmist speaks of a desire to dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Perhaps in the time that the psalm was written that was a literal reference to the temple in Jerusalem. For us, it takes on metaphorical sense, with a call to recognize the presence of God in all of life. In the spirit of confession, I spend a good deal of my life as functional atheist, not really aware of God’s abiding presence. I do seek change in that regard, to have God's presence increasingly inform all that I do. I’m well aware that I’m not there yet.

As those entering the Catechumenate embark on study of God and human relationships and the meaning of life, they do so in community, which is one of the ways that we seek God. We seek God by putting ourselves in the company of others who are on that similar journey, learning from each other, listening to each other, being fed with the bread and wine of Holy Eucharist (something we can not do by ourselves).

We seek God in a commitment to our individual spiritual practices. A rhythm and consistency in our prayer life. Reading and meditating on God’s word. Sitting in silence.

We seek God in our service to those in need. In Matthew 25, Jesus says that’s how we come to see Christ the King, even if we don’t realize it at the time. We get some direction from the Baptismal Covenant, which calls us to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to love neighbor as self, to strive for justice and peace. I'm mindful of this critical call, reeling from news of the past weekend, as agents of our government murder an innocent man on our city streets, as top officials baldly lie about it, as too many who claim to follow Christ make excuses. With broken hearts in a broken world, we are called to seek God's presence, power and mercy, to choose compassion.

Soren Kierkegaard said that purity of heart is to will one thing. The psalmist identifies that one thing as seeking God. Join the psalmist this week in prayer for guidance in your own life in that single-minded process. Think this week of how you might sharpen your focus in that regard. 

And as you do, consider that this is miraculously a two way street. By grace, God is seeking us out, captured in the beautiful parable of the one lost sheep that the shepherd goes to find, or in the parable of the prodigal son whose father looks down the driveway for the son to return.

What do you seek? The New Testament letter to the Colossians helps us with an answer: If you have been raised with Christ, seek the thing that are above, where Christ is (Colossians 3:1). In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus invited disciples to seek first the kingdom of God, and all else will be added (Matthew 6:33). Blessings in your search this week.

 -Jay Sidebotham

This year RenewalWorks, a ministry of Forward Movement, has been thinking a lot about the notion of discipleship. We use this word often in church, but do we understand what it means to live our lives as a committed follower of Jesus? Discipleship requires knowledge and understanding of Jesus and his teachings. It requires dedication and a sustained effort and sometimes transformation. It is also requires simple personal connection – both with God and others. (I hope you had the chance to read the January 8^th blog post from Robert Hendrickson, Forward Movement’s Director of Discipleship. He penned a powerful reflection on his definition.)

At our fall retreat Robert asked the Forward Movement staff to write their definition of discipleship and to give examples of how we have experienced it in our own lives. It was an interesting question with many different responses. Ultimately the discussion led to how we each can see our own work as an act of discipleship.

RenewalWorks has long held that a key part of creating a culture focused on discipleship includes leadership committed to deepening their own spiritual growth and to fostering that in all relationships. We call this the Heart of the Leader.  When we work with church groups, they automatically assume this is a clergy responsibility. The rector certainly sets the tone but imagine how impactful it could be if lay leaders - wardens, vestry members, staff and lay ministers - also model and commit to actively deepening their relationship with God and each other.

What does it look like to encourage and model discipleship in your life and your church? Churches we work with find this can be done through small intentional changes.

Twice each week the Forward Movement staff come together to read Forward Day By Day (FDD) and to share prayers. Recently we now include a discussion around the “Moving Forward” statement at the bottom of the reflection. I find I am often inspired by my co-workers’ thoughts and comments to this short contemplative question tying the scripture to everyday life. And, despite many of us working remotely, the discussions are a venue for knowing each other a little better and a little deeper. This tweak has become a spiritual practice with a big impact.

I wonder how you define discipleship. Where are the places and people who inspire you to deepen relationship with God and your fellow neighbors? And finally, how might you serve as that inspiration to others?

Psalm 29

1 Ascribe to the Lord, you gods, ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.

2 Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his Name; worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.

3 The voice of the Lord is upon the waters; the God of glory thunders; the Lord is upon the mighty waters.

4 The voice of the Lord is a powerful voice; the voice of the Lord is a voice of splendor.

5 The voice of the Lord breaks the cedar trees; the Lord breaks the cedars of Lebanon;

6 He makes Lebanon skip like a calf, and Mount Hermon like a young wild ox.

7 The voice of the Lord splits the flames of fire; the voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness; the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

8 The voice of the Lord makes the oak trees writhe and strips the forests bare.

9 And in the temple of the Lord, all are crying, "Glory!"

10 The Lord sits enthroned above the flood; the Lord sits enthroned as King for evermore.

11 The Lord shall give strength to his people; the Lord shall give his people the blessing of peace.

(This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. Please note that these days in the church, there are two tracks of readings in the lectionary, offering a choice of psalms. Your church may or may not have read the psalm included in this email.)

The psalm reprinted in this email, a psalm in the lectionary line-up for yesterday, seems focused on the voice of the Lord, so let’s think this Monday morning about that voice. How have you heard it?

The way the psalm presents it, on first reading, I imagined the voice of the Lord as similar to the voice of the Wizard of Oz. Booming and knee-quakingly terrifying. No doubt about it, there is great power in the voice of the Lord, as all of creation came into being through the spoken word of the Holy One. But think with me about some of the other places in scripture where the voice of the Lord is heard. 

In the midst of his daily, and I assume mind-numbingly boring job as wilderness shepherd, the voice of the Lord came to Moses through a bush that burned but was not consumed. Lesson here: the voice of the Lord meets us right where we are.

In the cave where he fled because Jezebel, the queen of mean, was out to kill him, Elijah heard the voice of the Lord. That voice was not in fire or earthquake or storm. It was in a still small voice, or as one translation puts it, in the sound of sheer silence. Imagine what that was like. Lesson here: the voice of the Lord often comes when we simply try to be still.

Yesterday in church, we read about another occasion when the voice of the Lord was heard. As Jesus emerges from Jordan waters, whether he was dunked like a Southern Baptist or discreetly sprinkled like an Episcopalian, a voice from heaven spoke, with a message of grace: This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased. The voice that begins the season of Epiphany is heard again on the last Sunday of the season, when atop the Mount of Transfiguration, the voice from heaven again declares the belovedness of Jesus.

Do you see what’s happening here? The voice of the Lord indeed has awesome transformative power but it need not be seen as a voice that causes fear. It’s a voice that meets us where we are, often heard in a moment of quiet peace, with a message of belovedness.

If you want a good project for Epiphany, read a book by Henri Nouwen called Life of the Beloved. (It's mercifully succinct, i.e., short.) He explains the Christian faith to someone outside of the faith. He bases his presentation on the voice heard when Jesus was baptised. Nouwen asserts that the voice heard by Jesus is a voice we can hear addressed to us as well. He writes to this friend:

“All I want to say to you is “You are the Beloved,” and all I hope is that you can hear these words as spoken to you with all the tenderness and force that love can hold. My only desire is to make these words reverberate in every corner of your being – “You are the Beloved.” The greatest gift my friendship can give to you is the gift of your Belovedness.’

The psalm tell us that there is transformative power in the voice of the Lord. It’s hard to imagine a more transformative force in our lives than the news that the God of creation regards each one of us as beloved. The God whose character is love shines that love on us in a powerful way that can free us from fear. It shines that love on us in a way that we can share it, letting our life be guided by the goal of loving God with all our being, and loving neighbor as self. 

In a world where voices of hate aspire to be a winning political strategy, Christians are called to listen for a different voice. Ask God to let you hear that voice this week in some new and transformative way.

 -Jay Sidebotham

Robert Hendrickson joined Forward Movement in fall 2025 as Chief of Discipleship after nine years as Rector of St. Philip’s in the Hills in Tucson, AZ. Enabled by a grant from the J.C. Flowers Foundation, Robert and team will focus on transformational discipleship resources to help Episcopalians grow as followers of Jesus. RenewalWorks will be a part of those resources.

In our work with churches, RenewalWorks finds that it can be hard to define what discipleship means and even harder to live it in our everyday lives. We are honored to share Robert’s recent reflection on that subject below and look forward to continuing that conversation with you in 2026.  

I was talking with my son recently and we were talking about why I worry about AI and social media and every other thing that seems to be breaking our brains. I told him that it’s not that I didn’t trust him with these things but that I didn’t trust these things with him. 

And I don’t trust them with all of us.  

Discipleship is giving ourselves to Christ. Full stop. It is making a way for Christ to guide one step after the other in our journey. I trust Him with myself. I trust Him with my son. I trust Christ. That’s only the first step to being a disciple though. The next is reaching a place where we trust ourselves to follow. 

In that conversation about social media and AI I told my son something I’ve not told many people. I said, “I spent a lot of my young life thinking about dying. About how to kill myself.” That voice is quiet now, but it wasn’t when I was younger. It’s a voice I could never trust but have learned to tell to be still. 

My worry is that all the impersonal forces that dominate our days will bend the old, personal voices that are a part of each of us, toward shortening and darkening those same days. It’s kind of what they are built for. They are built to spend us for profit. 

As happens in moments like that there was a long quiet. Then my son asked why. So, I tried to be honest. I’m probably more honest with other people than I am with myself which is often the case in our lives. I said, “When my mother died and my sister died my love had nowhere to go.” It’s not an original thought but one that has stayed with me. 

But it found somewhere to go. It found the One who wept at the grave of Lazarus. It found the One who asked why His Father had forsaken Him. It found One who was Love’s source. It found One in whom I could put my trust again. 

So, I decided to try and be a disciple. Whatever that meant and however bad at it I’ve been, my will took a turn and so did my life. We’re putting our trust in lots of places now. We’re trusting our lives and our kids and our country to a lot of faceless, nameless forces who profit from the trust. 

But the place where we might yet find hope has a name and a face and it is Christ the Lord. 

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about dying now. I spend my time thinking about how to live. It’s the thing I want to pass on to my sons. Where can they put their hope. Where can they put their trust. That’s the first step. The next step is where discipleship really begins. How will we follow the trust. How will we follow the hope. 

How will we live. 

The promised light of Advent is showing the way to the Center where that purpose will be found. It is taking us along the disciple’s way. Will we dare to follow to the place, to the One, where true hope is yet to be found. 

That will be our journey of discipleship. One step after another. Listening as His voice calms the storms and the voices of our past and opens a future we cannot imagine and for which we’ve never dared to ask. 

That voice is hope and it’s how we will live.