On the heels of my visit to our church camp last week comes this lectionary text from Exodus 3, where Moses meets God in the burning bush, and God declares, "remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground."
For me, camp has been a holy-ground place for as long as I can remember. Not for the setting or the worship or the music, though I love these things. But it has been holy for the experiences I've had where God seemed close enough to touch, know what I mean?
I've been to other holy places in my life. I spent a summer doing CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) which in many ways was one of my least favorite experiences ever. But one of my floor assignments was to the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and I felt that the NICU was a place of holy ground, all of those tiny lives striving to be.
What are places and situations where you've experienced holy ground?
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Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year B, "Picnic and a Boat Ride," John 6:1-21 (Proper 12B, Ordinary 17B)
Sermon 7/28/24 John 6:1-21 Picnic and a Boat Ride Our gospel lesson today is a text that’s probably familiar to most of you, at least some...
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When I was younger, and to a lesser extent over the past few years, Casowasco was that place for me. Moving around a lot as a PK meant I never felt as though I had a place that was "home." But because I spent a week or two at Casowasco every summer it was the only consistant place I had. And it is somewhere I've always felt closer to God. I still feel it everytime I drive down the hill.
When I traveled to Northern Ireland in March and I found the graves of some of my paternal grandmother's family - including her 9yo brother - I really felt that humility and awe. I can't explain it really but there was something about standing in front of the monument, being in a foreign country - in a sense, my homeland - and I just felt so moved by such a simple thing.
A close friend had been fighting cancer since about the same time (5 years) that I was diagnosed with a chronic degenerative but not terminal disease. When I go to visit my friend I see someone whose faith bring life and promise of resurrection hope in what could be considered a hopeless situation. When we tell each other to keep plugging away and pray with and for one another there is a mutual hope for things yet to come.
There's a hidden spot above Peavine Falls in Oak Mountain State Park, Alabama that is sacred to me.
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