Sermon on Sarah and Abraham

Just Be God’s: A Call to Continuing Conversion is a series of blog posts. You might want to start reading it from the beginning: Here.

I want to note that I would have probably never written this sermon if it wasn’t for it being assigned to me. It’s difficult to know what to do when you’re given a story that is 1/5 of the book of Genesis. Because this is the “last” sermon I’ll preach for a while, it gave me more anxiety than it probably should have…

Sermon at the Brookline Church of Christ

May 11, 2014

You’ll have to forgive me for this… It’s the end of the semester, the end of my time in Boston, and you’ve all been so good to me. As nervous as it makes me, I’ve really enjoyed being able gain this experience preaching here, and I have no idea when or if I will ever be able to again. That being said, I hope I’m not judged too harshly here, this one being the “last” I will preach, but also being second in a sort of series on Salvation history leading up to Pentecost. Continue reading “Sermon on Sarah and Abraham”


Cold, Wet, and Full of Grace.

Yeah. That’s what it looks like…

Just Be God’s: A Call to Continuing Conversion is a series of blog posts. You might want to start reading it from the beginning: Here.

January 13, Sermon Two: Baptism

I preached again. I felt more nervous than the first time, but I think people maybe liked it more? I’m not totally sure. I’m mostly judging by Clint. He seemed super happy about it. All the theology people were out there going, “Yes!” And all the non-Theologian trained people were going, “Yes, I think?” 


Part 1: Recalling our own baptism

Whether you remember it or not, baptism is an incredibly sensual experience. Whether you were being baptized, or you were a witness to a baptism, or are just guessing what a baptism might be like.

For a moment, relax a little. Get comfortable in your seat. Maybe close your eyes if you want, breathe, and take a second to imagine baptism. You could remember your own baptism. You could recall being a witness to someone’s baptism. Or, if neither of those work, just imagine whatever you think baptism is—the setting the feelings, the water, all of it.

What comes to mind? What are you thinking? Feeling? Are you afraid? Excited? Nervous? Maybe even inconvenienced or annoyed? Where did/does it happen? In a church? Camp? Outside? Inside? In a hottub? a Pool? the ocean? Maybe a lake? A river? A trough? A Baptismal just behind the pulpit and the curtain? How is the weather? Sunny? rainy? cold? Hot? Are you the only one being baptized? Who else is there? Your family, friends, children? What are you wearing? Who baptizes you? What might be that person’s significance?

What does the water feel like? Is it cold? It’s always cold. Maybe it was the perfect temperature. I don’t know. If you were only witnessing the baptism, did you wonder? Why did you do it? Or not do it? Or why did your parents do it?

I remember my baptism better than my mom remembers. It was after one of my first years going to Bible camp in Southern Indiana. Everyday we sung, played, learned about Jesus, and gossiped about who had a date to the end of the week event. Regardless, I knew long before camp that Jesus loved me, and I loved Jesus, but being a fifth grader in the Church of Christ—there is a lot of pressure to get dunked. The day I was baptized, a Sunday, I don’t remember the crux of the preacher’s sermon, but I do remember the intense need to get baptized, like if on the way home from church we crash and I die, my sinful 11 year old self was going to be in eternal danger!

After church, I told my mom that I wanted to get baptized, she told the preacher, and after church he took us back to his office and he asked me if I believed that Jesus was my savior, I said yes, and soon after I was waist deep in that hidden chlorinated pool behind the curtain behind the pulpit.

It was cold, wet, and full of grace.

Part 2: Why did Jesus get baptized?!

I was a sad sinful 11 year old. That makes sense, but why did Jesus get baptized? What is this baptism? Why? It is a strange ritual. Before Christianity embraced traditional baptism, ritual cleansing was practiced by the Jews. This is why we have John the baptist, a voice crying out in the desert calling for repentance. This is why John had the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to him, because baptism was the thing to do… But Jesus didn’t need to repent, did he?

Originally, I was going to run down about 5 reasons “Why Jesus got baptized” but I changed my mind this morning.

[Here they are, not in my actual sermon. These reasons are not mutually exclusive…1. To be an example. Jesus got baptized, told us to be baptized, so we should be baptized. Pretty straight forward, pretty simply. We obey. 2. Jesus as “the new Adam.” Some suggest Jesus baptism as a representation of the undoing the fall of man… Adam fell/disobeyed, and Jesus is the ultimate example of complete obedience to God. It says in Isaiah “See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.” And with these new things, a new symbol, as opposed to circumcision, we Gentiles have baptism. 3. Foreshadowing of Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection. Easy peasy. Next, two more reasons…]

One of the traditional reasons for Jesus baptism is to mark the beginning of his ministry, or perhaps some sort of ontological change in Christ. In a sense, it marks the complete obedience of Christ’s will with God’s will. But was Christ not God and savior before his baptism. Spoiler alert: Orthodoxy says, “Yes.”

Theologian Raniero Cantalamessa, who wrote a tiny little book on the Holy Spirit in the Life of Jesus, asks the questions (p8), “How can the word incarnate become something new, which he already was not at the moment of incarnation?” Was he not perfect savior and perfect human from the moment of his birth? It is not an easy question, and has been under scrutiny in Christianity for hundreds of years.

Another reason Jesus was baptized is to fulfill the prophets. Rarely do all four gospels record the same event. And all four of the Gospels record the baptism of Jesus, and all of them are a little bit different in their approach.

Matthew is particularly concerned with reaching the Jews, essentially convincing them with the prophets that Jesus is the Messiah. And so, Matthew is the only Gospel where Jesus explains (sort of) “Why?” as if directly responding to Isaiah 42:6, “I have called you in righteousness.” And Jesus answers, Mt 3:15, “Let is be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”

Consistent with Matthew, all of the Gospels cross-reference Isaiah 42:1 “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights.” Perhaps the Gospels are calling back to prophecies involving literal water, and even the Psalm reading, 29:3 “The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over the mighty waters.” This feels reminiscent of the voice of God over the waters of Jesus baptism.

Of course, we can easily make sense of baptism, and the prophets, retroactively. And I think if Jesus wasn’t recorded as being literally baptized with water, we would probably still be able to make sense of Jesus as savior. Even without the record in all four gospels of Jesus being baptized, Jesus could have just told us to be baptized and we would have done it because ritually it made sense then, and it sort of makes sense now.

After all, what is it we say, “I baptize you for the remission of sins, in the name of the Father, the son and the Holy Spirit.” Jesus, didn’t exactly need “remission of sins.”

Maybe baptism is simply something that Jesus, God, wanted to share with me, us, humanity, and all the earth. This vivid process. Jesus was, and is, with us through the entire process—before, during and after. But there is more than just the person of Christ at work in the baptism—there are other divine persons involved here that deserve equal attention.

What I’m talking about is the Trinity. The readings in the lectionary for the past couple weeks are, whether you notice or not, Trinitarian in nature. All three, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are mentioned in one passage.

Like Clint discussed last week, Christian theology tends to solely focus on Christ, not that Christ isn’t important, but Christianity also affirms that there are two other persons of the Trinity, traditionally, the Father and the Holy Spirit.

The baptism of Jesus isn’t just an announcement of Jesus, but an abundant image of a breaking open of the heavens, communion between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Where none are completely separate from one another, or are any more or less than the other, and where none were before or after the other.

Now, I understand that Father (and probably even Son) imagery for describing the person(s) of God isn’t helpful for everyone, especially if you didn’t have a father, or had a not very nice one. That doesn’t mean that the tradition has to be abandoned altogether—there is more to “The Father” as God in the person/action of the Trinity, than the literal image of a father. Likewise, there is more to the Son and the Holy Spirit, none of which are mutually exclusive. They all work together, and all are in the baptism story!

The Father: Clint talked about this week—this power, this creative person of God. Almost like the brains of the operation, the one who conceives this plan. The one who is like a parent constantly reaching out for connection.

The Son: The redeemer, the human, the one on the ground unifying, seeking justice and peace, the one in solidarity with our hopes, dreams, trauma, and sufferings. The one whose example we can understand, follow, make sense of, and trust.

The Spirit: The one who sustains us, sanctifies us. The one that mediates between Father and Son. The one who insinuates action, makes things happen and then keep happening. The one who is with us presently as a gift and acknowledges and knows what is holy, good, and names it as such.

The word “trinity” isn’t in the Bible. It is simply something that we use to attempt to explain God and how God relates to God within God’s self. God, in God’s self is a representation and example of loving and holy relationship. This is ever present in the baptism story. God, in the Trinity is a radically relational being— an example of relationship while also actively engaging in relationship.

In this baptism, we are given the picture of the unification of God, God communing with God, while also communing with us. God (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) is invited to commune with us in baptism, and God invites us to commune with God’s self in baptism.

Can you imagine being the next guy or girl in line?

Part 3: ACTION

Well, technically, we all are next in line.

Jesus stands right next to us in line for baptism. The triune God is waiting to break open the heavens for us.

Jesus, who is God, stands among us, who are unworthy, he is mercy and grace.

While we don’t know, I like to imagine that Jesus did stand in line, and was just like us.

How did he know where John was? Maybe he needed to ask directions to get there. Was it a far walk? I wonder if it was in the morning or afternoon. I wonder if it was really hot and sunny, or maybe overcast, hazy. Was it dry? It is a desert out there. Maybe everyone is covered in dust. Were there only men, or were there families? Did Jesus go alone? Was there a long line? Was the water cool or warm? Was it rushing or calm? Was it shallow or deep? When he came up from the waters, was Jesus the only person who heard God’s voice and saw the spirit “like a dove”? Or did everyone?

Movies always show him just walking up and the crowd parting. Did Jesus cut the line? For some reason, I doubt he cut.

He probably made small talk with the people around him. Acting no better or worse than anyone else in his position desiring to be baptized by John.

Jesus, the spotless, sinless, perfect Lamb of God was baptized. Jesus, 100% divine and 100% human and 100% savior took a walk out into the desert, to a river somewhere, likely stood in line with and among sinners, and then received baptism from a sinner. How mundane and how awesome is that?

Just like us, Jesus made a decision. Jesus in human flesh, in our body, stood in solidarity with suffering humanity yearning for redemption. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the human and the divine, experienced baptism just like we are able and invited to do.

Like Jesus’ baptism was concrete, vivid, and particular, we live out our call, our baptism, in the concrete, vivid, and particular days of our lives. God chooses to make a seemingly impossible relationship, possible, by just standing in line. How much more are we called to relate to our fellow human being.

If we as Christians claim this relationship with God—impossible! We should probably learn how to relate to one another. At whatever time you choose, perhaps your baptismal calling is to simply make small talk with the person next to you. Maybe it’s reaching out to a friend. Maybe it’s generosity. Maybe it’s your in your job. We are called to be with and among whatever is most other to us, as God stood among us, but not like we are gods.

Jesus, being God and Man, and the Holy Trinity, is an incredible, beautiful, and extremely mysterious example of probably the most other things (God and Man) being one.

Not only that, but that we are invited to partake in this divine relationship, and if we claim to have such a divine relationship, then having a relationship with my enemy or with those I ignore and avoid should be a lot easier. Right?

No, it’s not always easy. It’s a daily struggle being human. But the baptism given to us, the invitation to commune with God, ought to be a daily reminder of who we belong. It doesn’t always make sense, and so we need to leave room for mercy, mystery, and grace.

The experience of baptism encompasses whole body, mind, and spirit, as well as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Whether you realize it, or not, in the moment, whether you are conscious or not, fully prepared or not (really, who can be fully prepared), there is something at work backwards and forwards through time and space that we are unworthily invited to over and over again—being baptized with God.


Paid to Preach

Just Be God’s: A Call to Continuing Conversion is a series of blog posts. You might want to start reading it from the beginning: Here.

October 5

$200 for preaching?! Yep. That happened. I received a check in the mail from someone I don’t know, but it’s from the “Brookline church of Christ” checkbook.

I had no idea this was a paid gig. Several people asked me if I was getting paid, and I was like, “No. You don’t get paid to preach. You’re just like serving, and the church is poor.” Apparently not. Now, I know why people do this, and I know why one of the regular preacher’s wives was looking at me all sideways asking, “So, you’re preaching on Sunday…”

I received a very nice letter, along with my check:

Hi Paige,

I meant to give this to you at church Sunday, but I didn’t catch you before you left… so here it is. Thanks for preaching, I really enjoyed your sermon.


It’s probably a good thing I didn’t know, because I don’t know if I would have preached if I knew I got paid, and I don’t know if I would have said I’d do it again if I knew I got paid.

I mean, I know everyone who invited me to preach knows that money is involved, and no one mentioned it?! Why does money make it more intimidating? Maybe I should have done their usual post-holily conversation—at least that way they get their money’s worth.

I don’t know why it feels so weird. But I guess it makes sense. It’s probably more economical to simply pay someone to preach, than to have a full time preacher.

When I decided I would be okay preaching, I guess it was sort of an intrinsic decision (besides that whole power trip thing). Obviously, there is also extrinsic motivation (besides money) like breaking church of Christ rules, getting attention and hopefully praise for whatever I preach, being one of those girls that preach, being able to use my degree… There was still a lot of risk involved, it was very personal. I want to serve, and apparently they need some women to say “Yes” to preaching (and I don’t know why they don’t). Though Brookline does expect a certain caliber, they want people trained in theology, and many are not theologically trained in the churches of Christ. I’m glad I could help, and I said I would help again.

First Sermon: Every Heart a Chasm

Just Be God’s: A Call to Continuing Conversion is a series of blog posts. You might want to start reading it from the beginning: Here.

Every Heart A Chasm

This sermon was preached at the Brookline Church of Christ, in Brookline, Massachusetts, September 29, 2013.

Paige Cargioli

Preface to the Sermon

When I was growing up, preaching wasn’t exactly a vocational option, but it was something I always wanted to do. I wrote in my notes at church on August 11, “Maybe they’ll let me preach here someday.” Six weeks later, I was at the pulpit. This being the first time I preached, I wrote a preface for them that sums up my feelings. “There are two things I have to say. First, it’s important to let you know I believe this is the best Church of Christ in the world! I wish there were more people, barring today, to hear the great preaching here. Secondly, I don’t know if you realize how crazy this is to me, but probably not, because Brookline has had women preaching since before I was born. Thank you for this opportunity.

In preparation, I listened to D’Esta Love’s sermon she preached at a Sunday morning service at a Church of Christ. Other than a sermon she preached at Brookline with her husband, Stuart, it was the first sermon she had preached alone at a Church of Christ service. She was seventy-years-old! In light of D’Esta’s legacy, I simply want to acknowledge her and all women in the Church of Christ, particularly those in churches where there is gender inequality or discrimination. Today, I want to stand in solidarity with those women.”

Reading the Text: Luke 16:19-31 (New American Bible Revised Edition)

There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld, where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. And he cried out, “Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering torment in these flames.”

Abraham replied, “My child, remember that you received what was good during your lifetime while Lazarus likewise received what was bad; but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented. Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours.”

He said, “Then I beg you, father, send him to my father’s house, for I have five brothers, so that he may warn them, lest they too come to this place of torment.” But Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them.” He said, “Oh no, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.”

Then Abraham said, “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”

The Sermon: Every Heart A Chasm

When I was growing up I recognized that this was one of those “heaven and hell” passages. Just this week, I was going over this text with a small group, and someone recognized it as such. The good guys go to heaven; the bad guys go to hell.

While it’s arguable, I look at this passage and see it as a type of parable, so there really isn’t a clear lesson. And while this one isn’t as confusing as the lectionary gospel text for last week (Luke 16:1-13: The Dishonest Steward), this text can be pretty fuzzy.

At the same time, on the most primary level this is definitely a jab at the Pharisees (and really anyone) and their greed. The moral of the story is: Don’t be greedy. Just because things are good now, it doesn’t mean they always will be. But even the pagans know that.

Looking more closely at the passage, it doesn’t say the rich man did bad things, and the poor man did good things. It just says that the rich man was rich, Lazarus was poor, they both died, and they went somewhere else where their places were reversed. Not that I want to make Lazarus out to be the bad guy in the afterlife, but it was kind of similar. Let me explain.

Abraham says to the rich man, “Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours” (Luke 16:26).

In the first half of the story Lazarus and the rich man are close in distance, but you could say there was a chasm between them. What could the rich man do to cross over this economical or cultural gap to really put them on the same level? They didn’t know each other. They didn’t talk. They just were. And like Amos prophesies in the first reading for today (Amos 6:1-7), the rich man was simply enjoying his riches, enjoying the blessings he had been given in life, whilst consciously or unconsciously ignoring the suffering before him.

The picture is very similar after they die! There is a great chasm, but not so great that the rich man can’t have a pretty strange and lengthy conversation with Abraham, whilst dying for a little help! In their conversation across the chasm, the rich man pleads with Abraham so he can warn his brothers, but Abraham still says, “Nope. They won’t believe it.”

I wonder what the rich man would say to his brothers, because there are no instructions here. Abraham doesn’t tell the rich man what he should have done. It doesn’t say what the rich man did wrong, or what he should do to fix it. But really? They won’t believe it if someone is raised from the dead? This is definitely a foreshadowing of Jesus’ resurrection. We’ve all known people so stubborn and so caught up in their ways, not even someone rising from the dead would make them change their minds. I know such people.

I’m not bragging, but my grandpa was a preacher in the Church of Christ. His son, my uncle, is also a preacher in the Church of Christ. There are more on my mom’s side of the family, but when I was a teenager my uncle stopped talking to my family because we started attending the wrong type of Church of Christ.

I imagine there are some here who have, to some extent, experienced something similar: a fear-driven community struggling to grasp the grace and compassion that the gospel story tells. I am striving to be a witness to Christ’s unconditional love, swimming in the chasm, full of discomfort and frustration. In painful moments such as this, while it’s difficult to see, we share a desire for healing as well as a certain solidarity with Christ and God in their frustration, their righteous anger.

My uncle probably wouldn’t be thrilled at my preaching this morning, and I don’t know if even someone rising from the dead would make him change his mind, or at the very least allow some space for grace and mercy. There is a great chasm between my family and my uncle.

Permit me another example. For my entire life my dad didn’t believe, while my family and his were believers. In reference to my dad, I was the rich man. I expected him to do something, to take care of himself spiritually. Also, I thought I could do something—pray or argue instead of simply being a witness, being uncomfortable, being grateful for him, and loving him. There was a great chasm between us.

I’m sure we could all think of endless examples of broken relationships, chasms that have been healed—or have not. These chasms are where we have not allowed love, forgiveness, grace, and mercy to enter and heal. These chasms, whether we are rich or poor, are created by pride and also by greed. Pride makes us think of others as somehow above or below us, and we expect something from them.

Now, I haven’t been entirely fair to this passage, because I’m not taking all of Luke into context. In Luke, the poor, the last, the lost, the broken, and the “other” always appear to come out on top. Even more so, they are always the conduits of Christ. Jesus is always working in and through them.

And in Luke, the rich are out of luck. They never give enough, and they never seem to care enough, and it’s usually too late once they do. Yet, we have an entire gospel dedicated to this binary of rich and poor—God lifting up the poor and reaching out to the rich.

Conceivably, we are the rich. If you are here, in this church, in Boston, we are the rich spiritually, economically, and intellectually. And it may make us feel like there is something we can do because of our status. There are all these things we need to do, in order to be more like Christ or become closer to God.

We may then come to the conclusion that our job, as the rich, is to take care of the poor, i.e., “Don’t be greedy,” and in some ways this is true. Perhaps we say to ourselves, “I, oh so high, rich, mighty, and spiritually deep and pious, have to somehow help you—the lowly, the lost, the poor.” But, I really have to be careful with that sort of language—the language of them and us.

I don’t think that was the point Jesus was trying to make. Not that I’m trying to shirk our responsibilities to take care of one another. It’s like the example with my uncle and my dad. We can all be the rich, and we can all be the poor. We ought to give help, and we need help. We are not giving to the poor out of our riches, but we give out of our poorness. We serve the poor out of our poorness, our realness, our vulnerability, and our humility. But sometimes that is easy, and it feels good when I cross the chasm to have a relationship with someone I want to reach.

So, then I couldn’t help but wonder, “What about those people, or groups, or institutions that I don’t want to serve, or relate to, or with whom I want to fix the chasm?” I am referring to those relationships where I justify the chasm, and I am perfectly happy with that chasm, now and in the afterlife. We all have those people whom we consciously ignore or avoid. Even someone rising from the dead to tell me I’m wrong, probably wouldn’t change my mind. I am stuck.

This is more real to the story of the rich man and Lazarus and the chasm that exists between them. The questions that I need to ask myself, as “the rich man,” are:

“What converts me?”

“What in the world jars me?”

“What compels me?”

“What gets my attention to the point of genuine action?”

The chasm is deep and the chasm is wide. Sometimes we reach across it for help, and don’t receive it. Sometimes someone reaches across the chasm for help from me and I don’t give it. Sometimes I ignore the chasm; sometimes I even like the chasm. But that is not the type of relationship to which we are called.

I, alone, cannot fix the chasm. And at the end of the story, we are left with more questions than answers. So what do I do? What do we do?

Now, this is where I’m going to try and drive a point home, but it’s not coming that easily, because this passage in Luke can feel pretty grim. We are called to hope and to love. In the simplest of terms, we hope that Jesus fills the chasm. We believe Jesus heals the chasm. Jesus closes the chasm. And we are compelled by Christ’s love to work together, to serve, to receive in the midst of co-creating the kingdom now and the kingdom to come.

With my dad, I prayed for years. I gave up. I was angry. I stopped caring. I didn’t give him an ounce of mercy. I cried because he was going to hell and I was going to heaven, and he is a super good dude. Lots of people would give anything to have my dad as their father. I went through all of these feelings, and eventually, as an adult, I stopped worrying. I just started loving—I became an uncomfortable witness in the chasm. And without my help, my father came back to his faith a couple of years ago. It seems weird. Was there ever even a chasm? Where there is such radical transformation, whatever I thought existed before is now difficult to remember. That is the power of Christ.

Honestly, there is a lot of discomfort with the relationship between my uncle and the rest of the family. It ought not be denied, but I have to hope that some day he will come to meet us in the discomfort, in the chasm that has already been healed. That is what Christ does. Christ fills the chasm between God and humankind, clean and unclean, rich and poor, Church of Christ and Church of Christ, gay and straight, man and woman, time and eternity…

It’s not our job to fix the chasm, because the chasm is fixed in Christ. I have to remain hopeful about the broken relationships in my life. If I don’t have the faith or the strength to hold onto that hope—if I feel helpless, then I should express my weakness. I ought to be able to confide in my community, where maybe someone else has enough hope and faith for me and for the transformations and healings that need to take place.

These passages, and all of Luke’s gospel, are about our inability to bring about transformation and healing on our own. Liberation comes with knowing this. It comes about by finding hope in our helplessness, and that hope is Jesus.

I will fail. I will be wrong. I will be rejected. I will reject. I will give up. I will ignore. I will deny. The list goes on. But I am only one person—we hope and we try and we have faith together. We do this—believing, hoping, suffering, healing, forgiving, and reconciling—together and in communities with Christ. We are uncomfortable together and we laugh and have fun together.

We shouldn’t keep the love and hope and riches to ourselves. And that way when I don’t have enough, I then can trust and have faith that someone else has it for me. When we walk together in the chasm, we experience Christ’s healing power, love, restorative justice, and forgiveness.


This sermon was published in Finding Their Voices: Sermons by Women in the Churches of Christ, ACU Press, 2015. Love, D. Editor.

Women in Preaching Podcast

I started podcasting this week. Here is my first sermon.
Don’t ever procrastinate making a podcast. It should be up in iTunes next week (fingers crossed!) Until then, and while we are patiently waiting for iThings to do their magic, you can have a listen right here.

That being said, here is Episode 1! Yay! Next week is Katherine Balmforth. Enjoy!

The lectionary readings can be found at that Vanderbilt website here.

Here is the transcript:

Continue reading “Women in Preaching Podcast”