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Sermon, The Rev. Sue Joiner, February 26

2/26/2012

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Sermon: Lent 1
Mark 1:9-15
St. Michael and All Angels
February 26, 2012

"There you are with that mirror again. I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. Every Lent I come to you, O God, wanting your instant affirmation. Thinking you will be the god I thought I'd tamed. But in the quiet of your room, with never a word of condemnation, you hold up that mirror. I will not say what I see for the seeing needs no language. I will not deny the image nor question the reason for truth. Let the clock on the mantel be sound enough for what passes between us. Your warm embrace when I leave all the promise I need." Steven Charleston

The gospel lesson for the first Sunday of Lent takes us into the temptation story. We like to think we are talking about chocolate, television, alcohol or whatever we may use to dull our vision on any given day. We consider poor Jesus in the wilderness and we are grateful as we go into our homes and close the door safely behind us. It generally doesn’t occur to us to consider wilderness in our own lives. We prefer to live in a way that seems to be domesticated and safe. But what if we are wrong? What if the wilderness is right outside our door or worse yet, inside our very being? What then?

I love the words I read to you from Steven Charleston describing God holding a mirror up to us without condemnation, only the truth of who we are. He says that he begins each Lent wanting affirmation and thinking that he will meet the god he has tamed. So, here we are beginning another Lent and discovering a mirror. This journey we began on Ash Wednesday is not for the faint of heart. It is only for those who are willing to go with God into the wilderness and meet the wild beasts that are there. If you read each gospel account of this story, you will see that only Mark mentions the wild animals. That’s rather amusing because Mark’s gospel is known for lack of detail. Many accuse him of racing from one event to the next because he gives such little information. Why then, this detail? It is interesting that he doesn’t say that the wild beasts are with Jesus (as if they are learning from him), but that Jesus was with the wild beasts (as if he is taking his cues from them).

My friend Jan Richardson asks, “How will we see the angels if we don’t go into the wilderness? How will we recognize the help that God sends if we don’t seek out the places beyond what is comfortable to us, if we don’t press into terrain that challenges our habitual perspective? How will we find the delights that God provides even—and especially—in the desert places?” (www.paintedprayerbook.com)

Note the sequence of events in Mark’s lesson today: Jesus is baptized, the heavens are torn apart and a voice from heaven proclaims him as Beloved, he is driven into the wilderness to be tempted for forty days and he emerges proclaiming the good news. Whew!! It makes me tired just repeating it. In a mere 130 words Jesus’ life is completely reoriented. From baptism and the opening of heaven to wilderness, comes one who is now grounded in God’s love in such a way that he proclaims good news for all. The good news is not separate from the wilderness, but a direct result of it.

Biblically, the wilderness is a desolate and dangerous place. It is also a place where we encounter God in a unique way. Barbara Brown Taylor describes Lent as an “outward bound for the soul”. That’s not a bad way of looking it. We understand it as a time to go inward and deepen our relationship with God and so we make commitments for this season that will aid us in the journey. So you’ve decided to join a book group and Learn to Fall? Wonderful! You are going to do the Lenten retreat? Fabulous! You will pray daily? Terrific! All of those will contribute to our growth as people of faith.

What about the wilderness? Have you made plans yet to join the wild beasts this season? Parker Palmer describes this journey not as an easy choice, but as something he stumbled upon in a time of desperation:

<em>Like a wild animal, the soul is tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, and self-sufficient:  it knows how to survive in hard places.  I learned about these qualities during my bouts with depression.  In that deadly darkness, the faculties I had always depended on collapsed.  My intellect was useless; my emotions were dead; my will was impotent; my ego was shattered. But from time to time, deep in the thickets of my inner wilderness, I could sense the presence of something that knew how to stay alive even when the rest of me wanted to die.  That something was my tough and tenacious soul.

Yet despite its toughness, the soul is also shy.  Just like a wild animal, it seeks safety in the dense underbrush, especially when other people are around.  If we want to see a wild animal, we know that the last thing we should do is go crashing through the woods yelling for it to come out.  But if we will walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently at the base of a tree, breathe with the earth, and fade into our surroundings, the wild creature we seek might put in an appearance.  We may see it only briefly and only out of the corner of an eye—but the sight is a gift we will always treasure as an end in itself. (from A Hidden Wholeness p. 58)</em>

We tend to either romanticize or demonize the wilderness.  Whichever way we lean, we often see ourselves divorced from it. We live in a world that is highly evolved…we are no longer nomadic people who depend on the land for our very survival. At least that is what we think. We are more like tourists when it comes to wild places. We may choose to visit a nicely manicured park. We may go for a walk with our dog in our neighborhood. We may have a picnic on our patio. In any case, we can look at the wilderness from a safe distance without really engaging it. But scripture calls us to do otherwise. Scripture calls us to go in to the wild places and trust God in a whole new way.

Philip Simmons has a chapter called Wild Things in his book Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life. He reminds us “the word animal comes from the Latin word anima, which means soul. To acknowledge one’s soul, then, is to acknowledge the animal within.” This may not be easy to hear because we like to put things in their proper place. Don’t blur the lines for us: wildness is out there; soul is in here. Wait. You mean wildness is inside us??? Philip encourages us to have a deeper connection to the wildness in our daily lives, that in becoming more fully wild we might preserve both our world and ourselves.

He suggests that we “live like animals, without doubt as to our life’s purpose so that our every act flowed effortlessly from what was highest and truest within us. It would mean rising each day to forage or feed, to shelter and care for our young, to laze or labor, fight or frolic without distraction, without self-judgment, without taking one step off life’s true path. And even in the face of misery and terror, even as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, even as the sleet freezes our hides or the hawk descends upon us, it would mean living in the faith that this, too, is the way…cultivating your own wildness takes practice…With time (months, years, decades, lifetimes—did you think this would be easy?) such practice begins to open a space within us. Call it a wildlife preserve, a space where our wild selves can breathe while our judging, criticizing, worrying, doubting minds are kept safely on the other side of the fence. With practice we find ourselves living more and more inside this preserve, a place we come to recognize as our true home.” (from chapter 5, pp. 53-60)

That is what this season is about. We begin in ashes to remind us that we come from dust and we will return to dust. The coming weeks are not about transcending our humanness, but digging in more deeply to what it means to be human, to ground ourselves in God’s goodness, to look in the mirror and see what God sees, to grow in love by loving our way into each day.

Warning: this isn’t likely to make life easier for us. We may no longer fit into the world we have carefully constructed for ourselves. My favorite commentary this week said, “This story is a preview to the rest of the gospel in which Jesus is the wild beast who refuses to be domesticated into the household of conventional religion.” (Feasting on the Word, p44)

Yikes! Remember, Jesus started in the wilderness and was killed for the ministry that came out of that. The good news that Jesus proclaimed was not good news to those in power and authority. Do not be fooled into thinking that this is a journey of sweetness and light. It is a place of wild storms, darkness, beauty that will take your breath away, and the presence of God that comes in a way you have ever known before. How else do you think Jesus was able to make the journey to the cross? He knew God’s sustenance because he survived the wilderness.
As we fill our backpack to step out into the wilderness, we will discover that some of the things that we thought we needed, do not matter so much. We begin to set things aside that will not serve this journey and in so doing, we make room for God to travel with us into the deep unknown that awaits us. It won’t be easy. It shouldn’t be easy. It is, however, the place where we meet God. In the wilderness, we look to the wild beasts outside and within us for cues about how to live. We encounter a vulnerability that makes us uncomfortable and it is there that the angels minister to us. We discover God as we take a long look in the mirror and see we are growing into God’s likeness each day. Only then, will we emerge from this wilderness ready to be God’s people in a powerful new way.
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Sermon, The Rev. Susan Allison-Hatch, Ash Wednesday

2/22/2012

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The Fast God Seeks:  Ash Wednesday Reflections

To the proud and the haughty,
To the bruised and the broken,
The prophet lifts up the trumpet of God.
The prophet declares the judgment of God.

To the impatient and smug,
To the sad and discouraged,
The prophet shouts out
The Word of God.

To some, words of comfort;
To some, words of challenge.
God speaks of rebellion in the form of a turn--
A sharp turn from righteousness into ritual.

To those home from exile,
To those living in ruin,
God offers a way,
A way into righteousness:

Leave that sackcloth behind.
Wash those ashes off your face.
God does not call for stoic denial;
A tender heart is what God seeks.

Leave that sackcloth behind.
Wash those ashes off your face.
This is not the fast that God desires,
This is not the fast we’re called to keep.

Don’t beat your chest.
Don’t wail or moan.
This is not the fast that God desires.
This is not the fast we’re called to keep.

It’s not about you; it’s not about me.
It’s not about our solemn ways.  
It’s about our sense of us
Our common kin and our connectedness.



Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Again and again
Our Ash Wednesday refrain.

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
Words to remind us
That we are one.

“Loose the bonds; undo the thongs,”
“Share your bread;”  God says to us.
This is the fast God chooses for us.
This is the turn into righteousness.

Commitment for life
Not just for a season.  
Work harder by far
Than ashes and sackcloth.

The work of repairer,
The way of restorer:
Healing the breach,
Making safe the street.

Today we’re invited to a holy Lent--
To walk the way of righteousness; to do the works of justice.
This is the fast God calls us to.
This is the fast God chooses for us.

God—to whom we’ve always belonged;
God to whom we’re called to turn.
Remember that we are God’s
And to God we shall return.
            The Rev. Susan Allison-Hatch

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Sermon, The Rev. Brian Taylor, Ash Wednesday

2/22/2012

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We're sorry, the full text for this sermon is not available at this time.
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Sermon, The Rev. Brian Taylor, February 19

2/19/2012

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We're sorry, the full text for this sermon is not available at this time.
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Sermon, The Rev. Sue Joiner, February 12

2/12/2012

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II Kings 5:1-14 and Mark 1:40-45
St. Michael and All Angels
February 12, 2012


Several years ago during a very painful time in my life, my best friend invited me to go on a retreat on Molokai. She was leading it and thought it would be a good place for me to experience some healing. I am a lover of beaches and had always fantasized about a trip to Hawaii and all the enchantment that comes with that. This trip wasn’t exactly enchanting. I was in the midst of big changes in my life and I didn’t know what to do with the pain of it. It seemed ironic to go to paradise at a time like that.

Molokai is breathtaking! I was stunned by it’s beauty! I loved picking bananas off the trees and breathing in the fragrant flowers as I ran in the mornings. I don’t remember much about the retreat, but I do remember feeling that I could stay on Molokai forever. One day we hiked several miles to see the other side of Molokai. This paradise has a painful history as well.

When leprosy began to spread in the late 1800’s, there was no cure available and the solution was to isolate victims. Molokai was a perfect location because it was undeveloped and far enough from other islands. Authorities thought it made sense to separate people so that they couldn’t contaminate anyone else. They were taken by ship and sometimes, they were told to jump and swim the rest of the way. The ship’s crew would throw provisions overboard and hope the current would take it to the shore. The first arrivals to the island discovered that there were no buildings, shelter or potable water. Leprosy took people of all ages. Children were removed from their families and sent to live on Molokai until they died. Nearly 8,000 people were sent to live here until the segregation law was lifted in 1969.

Jesus touched a leper in a risky moment of solidarity. In doing so, he reversed their situations. The leper was healed and became clean, while Jesus became unclean. Mark tells us that Jesus was moved with pity. The word pity in Greek means an intense emotional response that propels one into action. Clearly, the man’s suffering moved him, but it also is likely that he was motivated by anger at an exclusive system. The man knew that Jesus was his only hope and by asking, he found the healing he desperately sought.

Naaman’s story is a bit different. Naaman is a man of power. He is respected for his great defeat of Israel. But he suffers from this awful disease. There are some interesting power dynamics in this story. A girl who was taken from Israel to be a servant for Naaman’s wife tells him that he should go to Israel for healing. He pays attention even though the girl has no authority, but he uses the systems of power to get what he wants. He goes through his king, who sends gifts and a letter vouching for him to the king of Israel. Then things start to fall apart. The king of Israel is scared by the request. Elisha steps in to help, but it doesn’t meet Naaman’s expectations. For one, Elisha doesn’t even come in person and there is no magic wand. Naaman is insulted by the recommendation that he bathe in crummy old Jordan river. He is used to much finer rivers and will not lower himself to this pathetic river.

Once again a voice with no power changes things. Naaman’s servants carefully ask, “Wouldn’t you do something that was incredibly difficult if told to do so? Why then, will you not do something so easy?”

That question gets me every time. Why do we make things so hard? How often do we miss the healing that is there for us because we aren’t willing to choose the path of humility? Have you ever been unwilling to say you are sorry? Have you ever entrenched yourself in a position even when you knew it was no longer right? Have you ever missed God right in front of you because things weren’t as you expected? Have you ever failed to look beneath the surface to find the beauty underneath?

So bathing in the Jordan isn’t your first choice? YOU HAVE LEPROSY. Do you really think this is a time to be choosy about your healing?? What have you got to lose…a bit of pride? Is it worth the loss?

Last week I began a new journey. I started a yearlong intensive Soulcraft program. Soulcraft is a series of nature based practices designed to help us more deeply connect with our truest self and discover our path in the world. I had my Naaman moment there too. Those of us who gathered came ready to encounter our souls. We dove into the practices and listened with care to one another and the earth. It was a powerful experience for me individually in the context of a loving community. It is the beginning of a rich journey.  One of our great teachers is nature. We were sent outside each day and often were told to ask nature to give us direction. Our guides gave each of us a task based on their experience of us. My first task was to lie face down in the earth and let it hold me. I was less than enthusiastic about this. Really? I came here to have a deep soul encounter and I’m supposed to go lay on the ground? (I could have done that at home.) How about reading a book on the subject? That’s a good task!

While outside one day, I decided to try it. I didn’t choose to do so in a lovely grassy area, but in a dirt pile that was pretty damp. I saw the place and wandered over to it, and then I worried about getting muddy. I did it. I laid down on the ground for a few seconds, then I lifted myself up to see how muddy I was getting (I wasn’t) and laid back down again. I felt the earth holding me and realized that this strong beautiful earth holds me all the time. I loved the way it felt to connect with the earth in this way.

I also discovered a simple practice to do several times a day…plant my feet in the earth and feel it holding me, lift my eyes to the sky and find myself in it’s vast expanse, and open my hands to receive the gifts that are there.

As followers of Christ, we often have lofty assumptions and expectations. The spiritual life will be beautiful and glorious. We ask how to follow Jesus and we are told two things: Love God and love our neighbor. Then we ask, “Is there anything else on that list?” We were kind of hoping for something more complicated so we could excel at this faith thing. Yet loving God and loving our neighbor prove to be the easiest and the hardest thing in the world.

Then there are the books and preachers who tell us that loving Jesus should bring us lots of money and a life of ease. Deep down we know better, but we are still baffled by all the pain and struggle we encounter in life. We don’t know what to do with suffering but we know that it doesn’t fit into our carefully constructed view of what Christian life should be. Jesus wants people who think, “Where the Messiah is, there is no misery” to understand “where there is misery, there is the Messiah.” (Preaching Through the Christian Year, p. 103)

I am stunned at how easy it can be. I am stunned at how near God is. I am stunned at the opportunity to lean back and find that God is here holding me. One of my best experiences of God in recent years came in a hammock swing when I realized that is what God is like…lovingly holding us and inviting us to lean back into the fullness of life.

You are all invited to join me in reading a book together this Lent. We will be reading Philip Simmons’ book Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life. Philip was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease at age 35 and was told he had less than five years to live. Learning to Fall is his encounter with the fullness of life, with nature often teaching him what it means to live. It is a beautiful book and his perspective opens me to a deeper understanding of life each time I read it. Philip says:
“We have all heard poems, songs, and prayers that exhort us to see God in a blade of grass, a drop of dew, a child’s eyes, or the petals of a flower. Now when I hear such things I say that’s too easy. Our greater challenge is to see God not only in the eyes of the suffering child but in the suffering itself. To thank God for the sunset pink clouds over Red Hill—but also for the mosquitoes I must fan from my face while watching the clouds. To thank God for broken bones and broken hearts, for everything that opens us to the mystery of our humanness. The challenge is to stand at the sink with your hands in the dishwater, fuming over a quarrel with your spouse, children at your back clamoring for attention, the radio blatting the bad news from Bosnia, and to say “God is here, now, in this room, here in this dishwater, in this dirty spoon.” Don’t talk to me about flowers and sunshine and waterfalls: this is the ground here, now, in all that is ordinary and imperfect, this is the ground in which life sows the seeds of our fulfillment.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Let us pray, then, that we do not shun the struggle. May we attend with mindfulness, generosity, and compassion to all that is broken in our lives. May we live fully in each flawed and too human moment, and thereby gain the victory.” (p. 37)

God is here with us in every moment. God is with us in the beauty and ease and God is with us in the pain and struggle. Let us open ourselves to the fullness of life and lean back into God’s embrace. It’s that simple and that difficult.
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Sermon, The Rev. Kristin Schultz, February 5

2/5/2012

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St Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church
February 5, 2012
Epiphany 5B – Isaiah 40


I’m going to start out this morning with a little history lesson.
In the sixth century B.C.E., the empire of Babylon destroyed Jerusalem
and took many of the  people of Israel  captive.
For 50 years, God’s people lived in exile in Babylon.
The words we read this morning from the book of Isaiah were written for these exiles.
They had been taken from the home they loved
and were living in a strange land.
They grieved for their holy city, their religious practice, and their way of life.
They wondered if God had forgotten them.

The prophet wrote these words to assure the people that even though they were suffering,
God had not forgotten them.
His first words in chapter 40 are the familiar phrase,
“Comfort, comfort my people,” says your God.

The prophet reminds the people of Israel of the power and might of their God,
    who created the world from nothingness and sustains all life.
“Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand
and marked off the heavens with a span,
enclosed the crust of the earth in a measure,
and weighed the mountains in scales and the hills in a balance?
Who stretches out the heavens like a curtain,
and spreads them like a tent to live in
Lift up your eyes and see: Who created these?
God, who brings out their host and numbers them, calling them by name;
because he is great in strength, mighty in power, not one is missing.”

The prophet also reminds the people of their place before their God.
“All people are grass,” he cries,
“Their constancy is like the flowers of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
    when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass.”
It is God who sits above the circle of the earth,
    and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers.”

Are these words of comfort?
How is it good news to be compared to fading grass – or grasshoppers?
For the people in exile, it was not news at all.
The prophet simply put words to what they already felt in their hearts –
    powerlessness and vulnerability.
Utter dependence on a God who seemed to have forgotten them.

Most of us know what it feels like to be in exile.
Not literally, of course.
But I’d guess that we’ve all felt, at some time in our lives, like strangers in a strange land.
We have experienced – or we are now experiencing –
 suffering which makes us feel lost and alone.
Whether it is sickness or grief,
    mental illness or addiction,
        the loss of a relationship or the loss of a dream,
    suffering can make us feel exiled.
Our struggles and pain can make us feel separated from the community,
from our best selves,
        even from God.

The words of the prophet address us in these places of vulnerability and fear:
“Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
God does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.
God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted;
    but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles.”

With these words, the prophet invites the people to “wait for the Lord.”
He does not mean a passive waiting –
just sitting around waiting for what’s next.
Waiting for the Lord means trusting.
Waiting for the Lord means practicing the faith –
    worshipping, praying, serving, and studying.
Waiting for the Lord is something God’s people do together.
It’s part of what it means to be in community.
During the course of life in the community of God’s people,
each of us goes back and forth -     
    some days certain, some days doubting,
some days full of love and trust, some days locked in fear and sadness.  
One purpose of community is that when you are in exile,
going through the motions for the sake of a hope you haven’t quite forsaken –
        there are others here whose trust can carry you along.

Waiting for the Lord means that even if you doubt, you go on with life and faith
as if you know God is there for you, supporting your steps.
And your practice of faith will eventually allow you to once again see and experience God working in your life.

I want to share with you two stories of what waiting in exile looks like.

When I was 25, I got a divorce and left the seminary.
My marriage had failed.
The church was not what I had hoped it would be.
I was very depressed and had a very hard time praying.

Somehow, I came across Psalm 42/43, with the repeating refrain:
    Why are you cast down, oh my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?
    Hope in God, for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.
I prayed the psalm every day for weeks.
Slowly, the words became imprinted in my mind – and then on my heart.
When I had no words of my own – when I was stuck in anger and doubt –
    these words of scripture opened me up
to once again know God’s loving presence in my life.


Years later, when I was a pastor in Illinois,
I spent two years in a covenant group with four other women.
One of the women, Melanie, started the group at a particularly difficult time in her life.
She was in a difficult marriage, a job she hated,
and her daughter had been bullied so badly she had contemplated suicide.
Through hard work with counselors and lots of prayer,
Melanie’s family was dealing with their problems and life was getting,
marginally, better.
Then Melanie was diagnosed with cancer.
She told us in a brief email,
and we all worried for the weeks until we got together again.
I think we all expected to see Melanie weeping, distraught,
as she had been at our first meetings.

Instead, Melanie was calm, and she told us this story.
After her diagnosis, she drove home, pulled into her garage, and just sat in her car.
And while she sat there, she suddenly felt God’s presence with her.
She felt bathed in light, held in loving arms.
And she knew it would be alright.
She knew God had been with her so far, and that whatever happened next,
God would always be with her.

Melanie’s cancer wasn’t miraculously healed.
She wasn’t spared the months of cancer treatment,
or continued work to heal her family.
But Melanie’s faith – the faith she pursued even in her time of exile -  
made a difference in how she experienced her struggle.
About a year after our program ended, we all heard from Valerie again.
She was cancer-free, and she was beginning new work – as a spiritual director.


The words in Isaiah spoke centuries ago to the Babylonian exiles are spoken to us as well.
Wait. Trust.
Live in faith, even when you don’t feel like it.
Have confidence that God has not forgotten or left you alone.
“Have you not known? Have you not heard?
God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted;
    but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles.”

Count on it.
Amen
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    Bishop David Bailey
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    Bonnie Anderson
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    Christopher Mclaren
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    Jan Bales
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    Judith Jenkins
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    Light Into Darkness
    Mandy Taylor-Montoya
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    Philip Dougharty
    Richard Valantasis
    Rob Clarke
    Rob Clarke
    Season After Epiphany Year A
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    Sue Joiner
    Sue Joiner
    Susan Allison Hatch
    Thanksgiving Eve
    The Rev. Joe Britton
    Transfiguration Sunday
    Trinity Sunday
    Valentines Day
    William Hoelzel

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505.345.8147                601 Montaño Road NW, Albuquerque, New Mexico 87107                  office@all-angels.com

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