This collect has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember. Cranmer’s cadence—hear, read, mark, learn, inwardly digest—has a way of settling into the bones. Every time I pray it, something in me wants to reach for a Bible and sit with the words again, not to master them but to let them work on me. “Blessed Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ.” What I love about this collect is that it refuses to treat Scripture as an object to defend or a puzzle to solve. It points toward a way of life. The written word is a conduit, not a destination. It leads us toward the Living Word, toward Christ himself. We study the text—its languages, its history, its context—but we also read it for strength, for healing, for encouragement, for the quiet work of being changed from the inside out. Cramnerer wrote this in a moment when Scripture was being rediscovered in a fresh way during the English Reformation. You can feel that energy in the collect: Scripture not as a burden, but as a gift. Not as a rulebook, but as a companion. Not something to wield, but something to absorb. Kierkegaard once said that the real challenge of Scripture is not understanding it but obeying it—letting it shape the liturgy of our lives. You haven’t really “grasped” Scripture, he said, until it becomes part of your patterns, your habits, your way of being in the world. That rings true. Reading is good. Absorbing is different. Absorbing takes time, silence, repetition, and a willingness to be changed. And strangely enough, this is where the Mamas and the Papas wander into the picture. Every time I think about stepping into a church for the first time—the way the air shifts, the way something in you recognizes the Presence before you can name it—I hear that line from “California Dreamin’”: “Stopped into a church I passed along the way.” There’s something about that moment in the song, that unexpected pause, that feels like the moment Scripture becomes real. You step inside, and something in you says, “Stay. This is where you belong.” I’ve seen that happen in churches I’ve served, including here in Borrego Springs. Someone walks in, sits down, and something settles in them. They know. They may not have the words for it, but they know. That’s what it feels like when Scripture moves from the page into the heart. When it becomes part of you. When you inwardly digest it. That’s why this collect matters to me. It’s not about information. It’s about formation. It’s about the slow, steady work of letting Scripture become home—like stepping into a church on a winter’s day and realizing you’re going to stay. California Dreamin’.
Since Pentecost, we live in the age of the Spirit. Christian spirituality is a journey with God—a hand-in-hand walk, not a checklist of beliefs carved on a tablet. What does that look like? Not dogma. Not gatekeeping. Not spiritual scorekeeping. I sometimes joke that I’m a contemplative or a mystic—maybe even “so spiritual I’m no earthly good.” But the truth is, throughout my ministry I’ve sensed a calling to help people grow in their awareness of knowing God and being known by God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—the Three in One—drawing us into relationship. How many of you remember learning to drive? White-knuckled hands on the wheel, checking the mirrors every two seconds, praying you wouldn’t take out the trash cans on the way out of the driveway. And how many of you made a few mistakes? A curb jumped out at you. The mailbox leaned in a little too close. Maybe a parent in the passenger seat rediscovered their prayer life. But once you learn to drive, you don’t quit because of a rough day on the road. You get back in the car. Our spiritual life is like that. We drift. We overcorrect. We miss a turn. And the Spirit keeps whispering, “You’re still on the journey. Keep going.” Sometimes we say, “Not right now, God. Let me get my life together first. Come back when I’m more spiritual.” But God meets us exactly as we are—not defined by our past, not disqualified by our mistakes, not waiting for us to become perfect. The message you’ve heard from me before, and will hear again, is this: God loves you right now . Not the cleaned-up version of you. Not the future version of you. You, as you are. That’s what transformation means—being changed from the inside out as we come to know God more fully and allow God to know us. Our world and God’s world begin to weave together. Wow! This message is golden! Enjoy the summer months. We might even have some sun in our Borrego forecast. Blessings, Fr. Dave+
With the celebration of the Trinity on the Sunday after Pentecost, the church year shifts into a long stretch until it ends and begins again on the first Sunday of Advent. This year that will not be until November 29, 2026. This longer period, all of June, July, August, September, October and most of November, more than half the year in all, plus a few weeks after the feast of Epiphany, in January and February goes by several different names. Many churches used to call it the Sundays after Trinity. Now it’s for most the Sundays after Pentecost. That’s what the lectionary or list of readings name it. But it also has the label of “Ordinary Time.” Does that seem boring and humdrum? Why “ordinary’? One explanation is that all these Sundays are numbered, remember “ordinals” from math? Another explanation is that it is the part of the year falling outside the great feasts and seasons of Christmas and Easter. (In the past these were the only days some went to church.) So the non-festal part of the church year. It’s helpful to recall than until the last century, many great feasts also were public holidays as well, with banks and businesses closed. “Ordinary” has a further meaning of the proper, correct, actual state of things. Thus the bishop of a diocese is called the “ordinary,” that is the authentic, right occupant of that position and responsibility. Likewise in the old Latin titles for university staff, a full professor was “ordinarius.” All this historical digging is fine, but is there any point for us today in the reality that MOST of the year in the church is “ordinary”? Yes, I very much think so. Consider that Sunday morning, the Eucharist/Sunday Service takes a little over an hour (depending on whether preacher makes it to the point.) And then coffee hour, called the “sacrament after the sacrament,” maybe another 30-40 minutes lingering. If I do the math, this slice of being church together takes up a little over two hours. What about the rest of the week, when we are at home, at the store, with family and friends, working, walking, doing whatever? Is this being church at all, or are we Sunday Christians? (That is if we show up on Sundays? Big if these days.) The image I have here with these words is a drawing by Benedictine monk Br. Martin Erspamer. It’s the Last Supper, or better Jesus at table with his friends. It is my best image of “ordinary time.” You do see the bread and cup, what we receive in holy communion, Jesus present in food and drink we share. But notice Jesus’ face and all the other faces gathered round the table. This is “community as church, church as community.” Yes I wrote a book by that title, nevertheless it’s what keep me going in church. That’s because every meal we have at home or Kendall’s or Carlee’s or elsewhere is an extension of Jesus’ table. Every email or text or phone exchange, or better in person conversation, continues the table talk. The “ordinary time” is, along with the festal seasons, the time we’re given, the time we have left, the precious time we can do good things, make someone else at peace and joyful. I invite you to celebrate the ordinary time, with all the usual, everyday routines, troubles, aches and pains, smiles and tears, because Jesus is always there, as is the Spirit, opening a place at the Father’s table. We want, we need communion, community. It’s always here for us. (PS, Communion and Community is my forthcoming in 2026 book)
This collect has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember. Cranmer’s cadence—hear, read, mark, learn, inwardly digest—has a way of settling into the bones. Every time I pray it, something in me wants to reach for a Bible and sit with the words again, not to master them but to let them work on me. “Blessed Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ.” What I love about this collect is that it refuses to treat Scripture as an object to defend or a puzzle to solve. It points toward a way of life. The written word is a conduit, not a destination. It leads us toward the Living Word, toward Christ himself. We study the text—its languages, its history, its context—but we also read it for strength, for healing, for encouragement, for the quiet work of being changed from the inside out. Cramnerer wrote this in a moment when Scripture was being rediscovered in a fresh way during the English Reformation. You can feel that energy in the collect: Scripture not as a burden, but as a gift. Not as a rulebook, but as a companion. Not something to wield, but something to absorb. Kierkegaard once said that the real challenge of Scripture is not understanding it but obeying it—letting it shape the liturgy of our lives. You haven’t really “grasped” Scripture, he said, until it becomes part of your patterns, your habits, your way of being in the world. That rings true. Reading is good. Absorbing is different. Absorbing takes time, silence, repetition, and a willingness to be changed. And strangely enough, this is where the Mamas and the Papas wander into the picture. Every time I think about stepping into a church for the first time—the way the air shifts, the way something in you recognizes the Presence before you can name it—I hear that line from “California Dreamin’”: “Stopped into a church I passed along the way.” There’s something about that moment in the song, that unexpected pause, that feels like the moment Scripture becomes real. You step inside, and something in you says, “Stay. This is where you belong.” I’ve seen that happen in churches I’ve served, including here in Borrego Springs. Someone walks in, sits down, and something settles in them. They know. They may not have the words for it, but they know. That’s what it feels like when Scripture moves from the page into the heart. When it becomes part of you. When you inwardly digest it. That’s why this collect matters to me. It’s not about information. It’s about formation. It’s about the slow, steady work of letting Scripture become home—like stepping into a church on a winter’s day and realizing you’re going to stay. California Dreamin’.
Since Pentecost, we live in the age of the Spirit. Christian spirituality is a journey with God—a hand-in-hand walk, not a checklist of beliefs carved on a tablet. What does that look like? Not dogma. Not gatekeeping. Not spiritual scorekeeping. I sometimes joke that I’m a contemplative or a mystic—maybe even “so spiritual I’m no earthly good.” But the truth is, throughout my ministry I’ve sensed a calling to help people grow in their awareness of knowing God and being known by God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—the Three in One—drawing us into relationship. How many of you remember learning to drive? White-knuckled hands on the wheel, checking the mirrors every two seconds, praying you wouldn’t take out the trash cans on the way out of the driveway. And how many of you made a few mistakes? A curb jumped out at you. The mailbox leaned in a little too close. Maybe a parent in the passenger seat rediscovered their prayer life. But once you learn to drive, you don’t quit because of a rough day on the road. You get back in the car. Our spiritual life is like that. We drift. We overcorrect. We miss a turn. And the Spirit keeps whispering, “You’re still on the journey. Keep going.” Sometimes we say, “Not right now, God. Let me get my life together first. Come back when I’m more spiritual.” But God meets us exactly as we are—not defined by our past, not disqualified by our mistakes, not waiting for us to become perfect. The message you’ve heard from me before, and will hear again, is this: God loves you right now . Not the cleaned-up version of you. Not the future version of you. You, as you are. That’s what transformation means—being changed from the inside out as we come to know God more fully and allow God to know us. Our world and God’s world begin to weave together. Wow! This message is golden! Enjoy the summer months. We might even have some sun in our Borrego forecast. Blessings, Fr. Dave+
With the celebration of the Trinity on the Sunday after Pentecost, the church year shifts into a long stretch until it ends and begins again on the first Sunday of Advent. This year that will not be until November 29, 2026. This longer period, all of June, July, August, September, October and most of November, more than half the year in all, plus a few weeks after the feast of Epiphany, in January and February goes by several different names. Many churches used to call it the Sundays after Trinity. Now it’s for most the Sundays after Pentecost. That’s what the lectionary or list of readings name it. But it also has the label of “Ordinary Time.” Does that seem boring and humdrum? Why “ordinary’? One explanation is that all these Sundays are numbered, remember “ordinals” from math? Another explanation is that it is the part of the year falling outside the great feasts and seasons of Christmas and Easter. (In the past these were the only days some went to church.) So the non-festal part of the church year. It’s helpful to recall than until the last century, many great feasts also were public holidays as well, with banks and businesses closed. “Ordinary” has a further meaning of the proper, correct, actual state of things. Thus the bishop of a diocese is called the “ordinary,” that is the authentic, right occupant of that position and responsibility. Likewise in the old Latin titles for university staff, a full professor was “ordinarius.” All this historical digging is fine, but is there any point for us today in the reality that MOST of the year in the church is “ordinary”? Yes, I very much think so. Consider that Sunday morning, the Eucharist/Sunday Service takes a little over an hour (depending on whether preacher makes it to the point.) And then coffee hour, called the “sacrament after the sacrament,” maybe another 30-40 minutes lingering. If I do the math, this slice of being church together takes up a little over two hours. What about the rest of the week, when we are at home, at the store, with family and friends, working, walking, doing whatever? Is this being church at all, or are we Sunday Christians? (That is if we show up on Sundays? Big if these days.) The image I have here with these words is a drawing by Benedictine monk Br. Martin Erspamer. It’s the Last Supper, or better Jesus at table with his friends. It is my best image of “ordinary time.” You do see the bread and cup, what we receive in holy communion, Jesus present in food and drink we share. But notice Jesus’ face and all the other faces gathered round the table. This is “community as church, church as community.” Yes I wrote a book by that title, nevertheless it’s what keep me going in church. That’s because every meal we have at home or Kendall’s or Carlee’s or elsewhere is an extension of Jesus’ table. Every email or text or phone exchange, or better in person conversation, continues the table talk. The “ordinary time” is, along with the festal seasons, the time we’re given, the time we have left, the precious time we can do good things, make someone else at peace and joyful. I invite you to celebrate the ordinary time, with all the usual, everyday routines, troubles, aches and pains, smiles and tears, because Jesus is always there, as is the Spirit, opening a place at the Father’s table. We want, we need communion, community. It’s always here for us. (PS, Communion and Community is my forthcoming in 2026 book)
