This space is devoted to sharing the sermons preached at Park View Mennonite Church, in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Please feel free to read, listen to, or watch any of these sermons, and then offer your comments, questions, or reflections, using the "comment" link at the end of each sermon. May these sermons challenge you to think and to act in new ways, and to grow in grace and in faithfulness to God's call.
Luke 15:1-32 - Parable of the Lost Sheep, Lost Coin, and Lost Sons
Park View member, and guest preacher, Myron Augsburger continued the summer sermon series at Park View Mennonite Church on the theme of Jesus the storyteller, but he did it by turning around the reading of the three parables found in Luke 15:1-32. In one parable, the shepherd persevered in looking for the one lost sheep, a force of compassion that can move the world. It is not easy for us to move to compassion. Jesus told stories to his audience, stories that would help listeners meet themselves. In the parable of the lost sons, we hear of not one but two sons who were lost. One was the son who wandered away and squandered wealth. The father showed compassion and welcomed his son back. But the elder brother, the one who had stayed with the father, was also lost and was not able to join in the celebration. God forgive us when our sense of judgment overwhelms our sense of compassion!
Watch the video:
...or listen to audio:
[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below and write your comment in the box. When finished, click on "Other" as your identity, and type in your real name. Then click "Publish your comment."]
Luke 18:9-14 - Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
Watch the video:
...or listen to audio:
...or download a printer-friendly PDF file: click here
...or read it online here:
Jesus was a storyteller.
Of course, we know that already.
It’s one of the most well-known facts about Jesus.
But do we really know why he told so many stories?
A quick common-sense answer might be that he told stories
to more effectively get across his points,
like preachers and politicians are taught to do.
People will remember a story.
So if you want someone to remember a point,
put it in a story.
I’d agree with that, except for one thing.
Jesus told us the reason, and it’s the exact opposite.
Once, when his disciples asked him why he told stories,
he told them it was so people won’t understand.
“To you disciples,” Jesus said,
“I tell the secrets of the kingdom of God.
But to others I speak in parables, so that
looking they may not perceive,
and listening they may not understand.”
That statement of Jesus used to always bother me.
Why would Jesus want to hide the truths of the kingdom
from the public?
Didn’t he come to proclaim and demonstrate the kingdom?
Didn’t Jesus want people to enter the kingdom?
But now . . . I think . . . I get what Jesus meant.
You see, if you just tell someone the way it is,
and they “understand”—
that is, they respect you as the authority,
and they believe, and accept it,
then they’ve finished wrestling with it.
They understand. And they’re done. It’s settled.
The truth sticks, but doesn’t necessarily transform.
But kingdom truth is not just for information.
It’s aimed at formation. And trans-formation.
As I said in my Pentecost sermon last Sunday,
the Holy Spirit trans-forms.
So Jesus told stories.
Because stories—especially the kind of stories Jesus told,
ones that were a little off-kilter, surprising, disturbing,
enigmatic, mysterious—
those kind of stories you have to let hang in the air for a while,
ponder them,
live with them,
enter into them,
and wrestle with them.
It’s in the struggle that we might get transformed.
As Will Willimon said,
Jesus’ stories are meant “more to dislodge than explain.”
Or another way to put it,
they take us from a settled place of complacency and security,
into a journey of struggle and growth and discovery.
So we will spend this summer listening to Jesus’ stories,
and wrestling with them, I hope.
Some will take more wrestling than others.
_____________________
But today we have the story of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector.
At first glance, this is a very simple story.
It seems we hardly have to wrestle with it.
There is no complicated plot.
No character development, no rising tension, or sudden crisis.
There is no perplexing dilemma, no mystery or problem to be solved.
Just one simple scene.
It has as much complexity as the old joke that begins,
“Two guys walked into a bar.”
It’s just about that simple.
Except in this case, two guys walked into a temple.
These guys were two stereotypes, really.
Everyone in Jesus’ audience immediately knew the characters.
Two men went into the temple to pray.
One was a righteous Pharisee.
The other a sinful tax collector.
The Pharisee prayed looking to heaven,
“I thank you God, that I’m not unclean or sinful,
like that tax collector over there.”
The tax collector prayed,
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”
The people hearing Jesus tell this story knew exactly
what these characters represented.
We might need some help.
The Pharisee was a highly-esteemed,
and a truly beloved leader of that religious community.
Public opinion toward the Pharisees was consistently high.
Pharisees were the heroes of the common people,
in contrast to the more elite rival party, the Sadducees
Pharisees identified with Moses and the prophets,
while Sadducees were identified with
priestly privilege and prerogative.
The priests—most of whom were Sadducees—
would adjust temple worship rituals to satisfy the Pharisees.
They didn’t want to offend the people,
who nearly always sided with the Pharisees.
And it’s no wonder people thought so highly of them.
They were such good people.
Good in the sense of being holy people.
They cared about staying holy and pure,
because they believed with a passion,
that is what God wanted of them.
And they wanted what God wanted.
What purer motivation could there be?
The religious life of the Jewish people was in a bad way.
People were forgetting their spiritual roots.
Religious life was losing its vigor.
And the Pharisees were all about renewal—
spiritual and religious renewal.
They were concerned about being pure
and avoiding contact with evil,
not because they were stuck up or arrogant
or hated people who were considered unclean.
They believed if the people of Israel could achieve religious purity,
as God desired,
then the Messiah might come and deliver them.
So out of their sincere faith, and hope for salvation,
Pharisees avoided contact with heathens,
or even their own people who were unclean.
Some Pharisees even walked the streets with their eyes closed,
or wore a special hat to cover their eyes,
just so they would not risk the chance
of seeing any impurities or indecencies.
This group became known as the “Bruised or Bleeding Pharisees,”
because they had so many injuries from bumping into things.
Pharisees were good people.
And they did it all for good reasons.
They did it all for God.
They did it all for salvation.
Who can fault them?
_____________________
So a Pharisee went into the temple to pray, Jesus said.
And there in the temple, way off in a far corner,
he saw another man praying—a tax collector—
the very kind of person that the Pharisee needed,
for noble religious reasons, to avoid contact with.
Tax collectors were despicable by anyone’s standards.
If you’ve ever complained about the IRS,
its inefficiency or injustice,
then you aren’t familiar with the Roman tax system.
The Roman empire found it easier to get their money,
if they didn’t have to do it themselves,
so they contracted it out to private business,
whose task was simply to deposit a certain amount
of money into the Roman treasury,
and to get it by whatever means necessary.
So big private companies were formed,
with the top administrators in Rome,
then regional managers under them,
and individual tax collectors under them,
usually natives of the region.
Everyone, from the top on down,
was in it for personal gain.
And they had a lot to gain.
They got wealthy by overcharging,
or taking bribes,
or extorting money from their own people.
So this Jewish tax collector praying in the temple
represented everything evil
that the Pharisee spent his whole life working against.
This person was unclean not only
because he sold out to the heathen, idol-worshiping, enemy of Israel,
but he turned against his own people,
and got rich off of doing it.
The tax collector was the worst kind of scoundrel.
I can’t imagine anyone more despicable to a Pharisee
than a Jewish tax collector—the epitome of evil.
It’s surprising enough that the Pharisee even allowed this unclean man
to be in his line of sight.
It’s no surprise at all that he would have prayed a heart-felt prayer,
“Thank you, Lord, that I didn’t end up like that man over there.”
But not knowing the context, we don’t look at the situation that way.
We’re quick to point fingers at the Pharisee,
say he should have been more accepting.
We identify the Pharisee as a stuck-up, self-absorbed,
self-righteous, nit-picker,
a religious hypocrite who gets some kind of crude pleasure
out of condemning other persons.
And we identify this grief-stricken tax collector as
a decent ordinary person caught in a bad system,
humbly coming to God for forgiveness.
I even have a mental image of this scene.
Don’t know where it came from.
Maybe from a picture in the Egermeier’s Bible Story Book
my mother read to me when I was a child.
My picture is a well-dressed Pharisee,
standing in his regal robe,
with rich accessories, and gemstones, and fancy headpiece,
proud hands raised toward heaven.
And off in the far corner,
is this humble-looking figure of the tax collector,
bent over double by the weight of his guilt,
dressed perhaps in sackcloth and ashes.
If anyone was dressed in a regal robe,
it was the tax collector.
He was certainly the wealthier of the two.
I bet he had more rings on his fingers
than the Pharisee could ever hope to own.
It was the Pharisee who was just an ordinary religious person
trying to follow God’s way,
trying to live a holy, principled, moral, and ethical life,
because that was what God wanted.
For most of us, I suspect, and certainly for me,
if we begin to put ourselves into this story,
there is no question which character we are.
We are the Pharisee.
And that is not a spiritual slam.
Being a Pharisee, per se, was not the problem.
Jesus took no issue with those who sought to live holy lives.
The Pharisee’s sin was in how he positioned himself.
By his attitude and his corresponding prayer,
he separated himself from the enemy,
he made a distinction between himself and the sinful person.
He could not see the common human connection
that could have formed a relationship,
that could have been trans-formative for them both.
Whenever we thank God we’re not like someone else,
we write that person off.
We undermine our ability to ever connect
and have a transformative relationship with that person.
Thank God I’m not like one of those people!
How often have we made that sort of comment?
or at least had that sentiment?
But that drives us away from the other,
it creates distance, it reinforces our enmity,
and worst of all, it blocks the grace of God.
All of us, at one time or another have surely quoted the saying,
“There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
The supposed origin of the phrase is John Bradford, mid-16th century,
who said, as he watched prisoners being led to execution,
“There, but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford.”
The implication behind that saying is actually a noble one, I’m sure.
It’s a statement of humility.
I didn’t get where I am on my own.
It was outside factors—God’s grace, my upbringing, whatever—
that made me who I am.
But it’s a very small step to go from,
“There, but for the grace of God . . .” to
“Thank God, I am not like that sinner.”
To innocently say, as I often have, “There, but for the grace of God . . .”
at least implies that the other unfortunate person
lies outside the grace of God.
And I have effectively done exactly what the Pharisee did,
stood upright, back turned, and created a safe distance
between my own sin and depravity,
and that of the other.
When we create spiritual distance between ourselves and those near us,
we undermine the grace of God.
It’s a little hard for me to accept this,
because I am one of the good people.
But Jesus has bad news for good people.
We cannot bank on our goodness to bring us favor with God.
In fact, our goodness might even get in the way—
if it keeps us from seeing our need.
The tax collector’s need was obvious.
He knew he was in trouble.
He knew he was not on good terms with God.
He just never had the courage to admit it, or act on it,
because the money was too good.
But on that decisive day, in Jesus’ story,
he submitted himself to the judgement of God.
“God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
To cry for mercy, is to admit our life is in the hands of another.
That’s not easy for good people to do.
_____________________
So let’s start with the assumption we are the good people. The Pharisees.
From where we stand, who are the tax collectors?
Who are those who stand for something we can’t stand?
In this age of widening political polarization,
a growing number of church splits,
and an ever deeper emotional divide that pits against each other,
East and West,
Christian and Muslim,
Arab and Jew . . .
that creates thick walls, even in the church, between
immigrant and native-born,
pro-choice and pro-life,
straight and gay,
creationists and evolutionists,
hawk and dove,
Democrat and Republican,
developers and environmentalists . . .
In this anxious and polarized age,
it shouldn’t take us much time or effort to identify,
from where we stand, in our goodness,
who the tax collectors are in our minds.
Every single one of us in this room, including me,
should not find it difficult to name those persons or groups,
about whom we have said, or thought,
“Thank God I am not like them.”
Our whole cultural discourse is built around the statement,
“Thank God I’m not like them!”
It’s a prayer we pray all the time.
But it’s a prayer, I submit, that is spiritually toxic.
It impedes the grace of God in our lives.
It keeps us from “going home justified,”
which is how the tax collector went home, according to Jesus.
The prayer we must learn to pray—
against our intuition,
against the tide of culture—
is, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”
That is the prayer that will not only put us right with God,
but will be a foundation upon which we can build
a transformative relationship with those around us
who are so difficult to bear,
hard to understand, or
impossible to love.
May we learn how to pray that prayer.
In fact, let us pray that now.
I invite us to a time of confession.
First, if you would turn to #92 in the green book, Sing the Journey.
I will lead us in a prayer of confession,
followed by a time of meditation,
during which you might identify the tax collectors in your life,
and then pray on your own behalf,
“God be merciful to me, a sinner!”
After which we will sing together.
Let us pray.
Holy God, before whose face we are not made righteous
even by being right:
free us from the need to justify ourselves
by our own anxious striving,
that we may be abandoned to faith in you alone,
through Jesus Christ. Amen.
[silent meditation]
In the words of the prophet Isaiah,
“You shall call, and the LORD will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.”
—Phil Kniss, June 19, 2011
[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below and write your comment in the box. When finished, click on "Other" as your identity, and type in your real name. Then click "Publish your comment."]
...or download a printer-friendly PDF file: click here
...or read it online here:
This Pentecost we are celebrating
the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.
Sounds so good, so fitting, so spiritually right.
Who wouldn’t want the Holy Spirit to transform us?
Am I the only one who’s not sure I want to be transformed?
Am I the only one who finds the whole idea of being transformed,
a little overwhelming . . . intimidating . . . even frightening?
Well, I’ve had more time to ponder the question this week,
and I just suddenly dropped it on you,
so I don’t blame you for apparently being
so blissfully eager to be transformed.
But let me tell you why, when it comes to transformation,
you should be careful what you wish for.
Transformation doesn’t only mean we become better people—
a little nicer, kinder, more spiritually aware.
Transformation means our lives are completely rearranged.
One of the enduring metaphors of Pentecost,
one of primary symbols of the Holy Spirit,
is that of a flame.
The Spirit as fire.
The image comes from the story we just heard in Acts 2,
when the disciples received the Holy Spirit,
and the sign that accompanied it was
the appearance of tongues of fire on their heads.
Fire is a perfect metaphor for what happened to the disciples
after the Holy Spirit fell on them at Pentecost.
Fire transforms.
Fire really doesn’t destroy physical matter.
It rearranges it.
It forces a radical chemical change.
Before we toss a piece of firewood onto the campfire
or into a wood stove,
it contains within its structure immense amounts of energy,
but that energy is bound up in the wood fibers.
It isn’t going anywhere.
It isn’t going to be fundamentally changed from its current form.
Unless it is trans-formed by fire.
The heat of the fire loosens up the energy
trapped within the molecular structure of the log,
to where the molecules are set free of their old bonds,
and make new bonds.
What used to be wood fiber molecules, are transformed
into carbon, water, oxygen, hydrogen,
and probably lots of other stuff
which I don’t pretend to know anything about.
Ask our resident chemists Glenn Kauffman or Tara Kishbaugh.
The point I’m making, is that after contact with transforming fire,
the wood was completely changed into a radically different form.
That’s a pretty good analogy of what the Holy Spirit is likely to do.
The Holy Spirit—if we fully open ourselves to the Spirit’s work—
will rearrange the molecules of our lives, so to speak.
Being transformed into the likeness of Christ
certainly sounds well and good.
But it’s not to be taken lightly.
Radical life change can have all sorts of
unexpected and unintended side effects.
It can destroy what we formerly thought to be true
about ourselves, or about God, or about the world.
It can result in a heightened state of chaos and confusion,
as those things we used to cling to,
start crumbling around us.
It can result in significant loss—
loss of job security, loss of certain relationships,
loss of identity, loss of order, loss of income.
For our Anabaptist ancestors,
and many other Christians throughout history,
and even today,
it can result in loss of life.
But I would guess many of us can look back on our own life story,
and recall a time when we surrendered ourselves in some way,
to the transforming work of God in our lives.
And even in the midst of the sense that God was in this,
all of a sudden there was also more chaos, confusion, and loss.
That happened to Irene and me, one year after I graduated from college,
when we listened to what we believed God was saying,
and moved ourselves, with our 3-month-old Andrea,
to help start a church in a city in North Florida,
where I had no paying job lined up,
and we knew only about a half-dozen people.
That decision to go, at what we sensed was the Holy Spirit’s urging,
and our willingness to be transformed,
introduced a whole lot of chaos and loss into our lives.
And frankly, there was more loss for Irene than for me.
But it also opened up a new life path for us.
Being utterly dependent on God and others,
was anxiety-producing,
but spiritually rich, and invigorating.
When we open ourselves to transformation,
we will lose something in the process.
We will lose something.
But we also launch into a new way of living,
with the potential for deeper joy, purpose, and meaning
than we never dreamed possible.
The old loyalties and identities may go up in smoke,
but there are new loyalties and new identities to replace them.
And the new ones are the ones we were actually created for.
Not having the kind of job we dreamed about . . .
Not having the way of life our culture taught us to aspire to . . .
might be unnerving.
But when we re-align ourselves with our created purposes,
when we re-order our lives around God’s priorities for the world,
we make possible a deeper joy and peace.
And that trumps any anxiety and insecurity that erupts
when the old gets consumed in the fire.
So despite my hesitation in asking to be transformed,
it’s something I really do want . . . at least at some level.
I just need to pray for the courage to seek it.
_____________________
I like the metaphor of fire for the Holy Spirit,
for the reasons I just stated.
I also like the metaphor of wind, or breath,
which we also heard in this morning’s readings,
for the Day of Pentecost.
But it’s important that we make those metaphors work for us
in the way they were intended.
They’ve often gotten mis-used.
The Christian movement we call “Pentecostal-ism,”
in its broadest sense,
has had a huge impact on the Christian church around the world,
and mostly for the good.
It has had a positive impact on the Mennonite Church,
and we’re still discovering the points of connection
between Anabaptism and Pentecostalism.
At our last couple General Assemblies,
there have been guest Pentecostal preachers,
who brought together pacifism and social action,
with a lively experience in the Holy Spirit,
But there some ways that Christians commonly misuse
these metaphors of fire and wind for the work of the Holy Spirit.
I know I, for one, have heard lots of talk in the church about
“being on fire for the Lord”—
a phrase used to describe someone
who’s had an encounter with the Holy Spirit.
Being “on fire” for God is a wonderful thing, of course.
If the Spirit is a flame of fire,
then being “on fire” is something we should all aim to be.
But usually when I hear that expression,
I’m not quite sure what the speaker means by it.
Sometimes, being “on fire” sounds like
being excited about Jesus,
being exuberant and zealous for the Lord,
with uninhibited enthusiasm.
So if someone’s faith isn’t visibly bursting at the seams,
if they are not always talking about their relationship with Jesus,
if they are not engaged in vibrant, spirited,
emotionally-intense worship,
then they’re not “on fire for the Lord.”
Then I begin to say “wait a minute.”
That’s like saying unless there’s a forest burning out of control,
there’s not really a fire.
Sometimes, no doubt, the Spirit burns like an inferno.
And leaves in its wake, a rapidly changed landscape,
like the devastating wildfires in Arizona last week.
But sometimes it burns like a candle.
Slowly, but surely, shedding light and warmth.
But it’s the same Holy Spirit.
And it’s still fire.
There is still transformation.
Whether in a raging wildfire,
or in one of the tiny tea lights we use in our Taizé services,
there is an identical chemical reaction happening,
that’s rearranging the molecules.
There is really only one reliable sign
that someone is “on fire for the Lord”—
Is their life being rearranged?
Can we see evidence of transformation?
In the case of the Holy Spirit doing the transforming,
the evidence is predictable.
We will see the fruit of the Spirit exhibited.
The by-products of the fire of the Holy Spirit
isn’t carbon-dioxide and such.
It’s love, joy, peace,
patience, kindness, generosity,
faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
The Spirit-fire that rearranges our lives will by definition,
make us more loving, more patient, more generous.
There is a difference between fire that works . . . and fireworks.
The color and the noise of fireworks are lots of fun, of course.
They are exciting to watch.
But they don’t change our lives.
The mighty acts of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost,
that Luke told us about in Acts 2,
were not just fireworks.
Yes, Pentecost was an astonishing sight.
It drew big crowds, like any good fireworks show.
But the real miracle that happened that day
was not the sound of the violent wind,
it was not the vision of tongues of fire resting on their heads,
it was not the ability to speak and understand other languages.
The miracle of Pentecost was that
the fire of the Holy Spirit rearranged some molecules.
Lives were transformed into
something different than they were before the Spirit-fire came.
People were more loving.
Luke writes that they “devoted themselves to fellowship.”
People were more joyful.
Luke writes that they “praised God . . . with glad hearts.”
People were more generous.
Luke writes that with “generous hearts”
they distributed their possessions to those in need.
So this group of disciples that the four Gospels describe, almost always,
as bickering, or competitive, or confused, or fearful,
are transformed into a
sharing, loving, vibrant, and growing Christian community.
Whether the fire of the Spirit burns
as a roaring fire or as a candle makes no difference.
What makes the difference is whether we let the fire burn,
and allow our life structure to get rearranged.
_____________________
The same point can be made about the metaphor of the Spirit as wind.
In Acts 2, there is the sound of a rushing, violent wind, it says.
Sounds a bit like the news stories
coming out of Missouri and Kansas and Alabama recently.
But wind doesn’t always roar.
We saw this in John 20, the children’s story.
The disciples were together in one place.
Possibly the same house they were in at Pentecost.
They were fearful.
They were behind closed doors,
hiding from the people who crucified Jesus.
Then Jesus “came and stood among them,”
and he said, “Peace be with you.”
And the room was filled with a pervasive
warmth and joy and wonder.
The disciples were breathless.
And then Jesus breathed on them.
Breathed.
And said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
That’s all.
No flaming tongues of fire.
No earthquakes.
No violent wind . . . just wwhhoooo.
“Receive the Holy Spirit.”
And they did.
They received the Holy Spirit just as decisively as they did
in the story that Luke told us.
That’s the way it is with the Spirit.
Sometimes it blows with great force,
or it burns like an inferno.
Sometimes it gently exhales,
or burns like a candle.
But it’s the same Spirit.
And always, always,
the breath and the fire of the Holy Spirit,
will transform us.
It will rearrange our lives.
If we receive the breath and fire.
God has given us the power to resist.
We can shield ourselves from the wind.
We can put out the flame.
Transformation is God’s work alone.
But we are invited to open ourselves to it.
If we have the courage.
I’m guessing many of us can remember times that
God changed the landscape in our lives and relationships,
quickly and dramatically.
Maybe a life-shaking event, good or bad,
or an unforgettable spiritual encounter.
But I’ll bet the work of the Spirit we miss out on most often,
is of the candlelight variety, and the gentle breath.
Jesus is still coming and standing among us, as in John 20,
and saying “receive the Holy Spirit.”
It can happen any number of different ways,
if we have the courage to be open and attentive.
And it does take courage.
Freedom is wonderful!
But if we have gotten used to being bound,
then being transformed and set free,
is not always a welcome change.
Nevertheless, we are well to hope for it, and pray for it.
Open your bulletins to the order of worship, if you will,
and at the same time, turn to Sing the Journey, the green book, #32
In a moment, I’ll ask us to read together this affirmation of faith,
and then sing the hymn as a response.
But before we do, let’s spend a few moments in silence,
listening for the breath,
looking for the flame.
Let’s be attentive to Jesus’ invitation to “receive the Holy Spirit,”
in whatever form that may be coming to us.
Watch and listen,
for what the Spirit may be saying,
either in our individual lives, or in our life together,
about the kind of transformation God wants to work in us.
Affirmation of Faith:
Leader: The Spirit of Christ transforms us with wind and flame,
People: empowering us to testify, and energizing us to serve.
Leader: We turn to Jesus
People: and receive the sending power of the Spirit
Hymn:
If you believe and I believe and we together pray,
the Holy Spirit must come down and set God’s people free
and set God’s people free, and set God’s people free,
The Holy Spirit must come down and set God’s people free.
—Phil Kniss, June 12, 2011
[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below and write your comment in the box. When finished, click on "Other" as your identity, and type in your real name. Then click "Publish your comment."]
Most of us do not wait well. Waiting is hard. But it is one of the things we as a church do. Today is Ascension Sunday and marks the beginning of a period of time when the church waits. We wait for Pentecost. Pastor Barbara Moyer Lehman reminded us that in Acts 1:1-14 the disciples of Jesus see Christ ascend to heaven and then wait for the Spirit to come to empower them in the ministry of witnessing to others. Pastor Barbara pointed out that while they waited for the Holy Spirit they gathered together and they prayed. They were expectantly waiting. Today the work of the church is about more than being busy and doing things. We are also to be waiting and praying, constantly seeking anew the gift of the Holy Spirit to empower us.
Watch the video:
...or listen to audio:
[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below and write your comment in the box. When finished, click on "Other" as your identity, and type in your real name. Then click "Publish your comment."]
