Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on a Friday Afternoon

 The world mourns the loss of Wendell Berry, a remarkable poet, prophet, and pastor. Some may wonder why I called Berry a ‘pastor' since he wasn’t an ordained clergy member. That's a fair question. A quick look into the word 'pastor' reveals it originally relates to caring for animals, much like a shepherd.

Although Berry perhaps was never a literal 'shepherd,' his care for the land had a pastoral quality. One of my early mentors noted that whenever we read about a farmer or character’s relationship to the land in Berry’s writings—whether articles, essays, books, or poems—we could substitute 'church.' This reflects wisdom applicable to those in parish ministry. What I most appreciated about Berry’s fiction was his grasp of Jesus’s command to love our neighbor, regardless of their creaturely state. He also understood the importance of community, frequently emphasizing the value of being rooted in a particular place and of staying committed there.

Berry was a prophet. Reading “The Mad Farmer Liberation” reveals a voice calling in the wilderness, urging us to abandon our indifferent, greedy, and apathetic relationship with creation and to stop the practices that destroy our planet—Earth. I love, as one writer put it about Berry’s prophetic wisdom, “As a cultural conscientious objector, he occupied the rarefied space of a neo-humanist, a Renaissance man in an era of industrial agriculture, technology overdrive, and obsessive consumption. Most importantly, he was a prophet, warning us about the abuse of land, water, and atmosphere for ever-larger food production and the demons of economic development (and data centers).” If ever there were a time for his wisdom here in Central Illinois, it's now.

In seminary, I signed up for a class mainly because Wendell Berry was scheduled to speak the last time it was offered. On the first day, as I reviewed the syllabus, I saw an afternoon set aside for Berry. Despite the heavy workload, I thought it was worth the effort to learn from one of my favorite authors. Unfortunately, when a student dropped the course, the professor canceled it, and I lost my chance to meet Berry—like a small farmer’s lost hope. Later that year, in my final Master of Arts in Spirituality class, we read Jayber Crow, which became one of the five most important books in my personal library. It’s Berry’s most renowned novel and has taught me the most about membership and belonging. Some of my most treasured memories from that period are from the Thomas Merton Center at Bellarmine University, where I listened to Professor Greg Hillis teach Jayber Crow to help us understand and experience the doctrine of the Trinity.

Before moving to Kentucky at twenty-two, I wasn't familiar with Wendell Berry. Soon after, I started reading his poetry and dreaming of living in harmony with the land like him. His works, along with those of fellow Kentuckian bell hooks and Kentucky transplant Thomas Merton, have greatly influenced my understanding of ecclesiology. Although I know I will never reach his level of literary skill, I aim to grow by drawing inspiration from his art and work—as a pastor to this congregation and as a community member.

One of the first lines I read from Berry in his book A Place on Earth resonated so deeply with my 22-year-old self that it became the subtext for my very first blog. The blog no longer exists, but the words and their impact do:

“Nobody can discover the world for somebody else. Only when we discover it for ourselves does it become common ground and a common bond and we cease to be alone.”

For me, this is Berry in a nutshell. May we discover together our common ground, common bond, and common love – remembering we are never alone. I hope, at the very least, you feel this within the ministry of 1PC.

I don't have a photo of Berry. I could take a picture of the books of his I have -- but that's lame. Instead, here's this one. I invite you to think about your relationship with your place: the air, the ground, the creeks, the creatures above and below. And then remember this line: There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred and desecrated places."

Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on a Friday Afternoon

               

Over the weekend, I spent time with my brother’s family at their campsite in Canton. By day, we were fishing the high waters from the recent rains; by night, we were laughing around the glow of a campfire. On Sunday morning, I was the first up and sat on the end of their dock, watching the morning unfold. It was peaceful until the Kingfishers started chatting, and suddenly the moment became holy. The ground, or the dock hovering above the glasslike water, became sacred.          

This Sunday’s Old Testament lectionary text was from Exodus 3. We know it well. It’s the moment when Moses encounters the Divine in the desert through a burning bush. The famous line is, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground!” It’s a moment of transformation for Moses [and the bush!], and one many of us resonate with, especially those of us who love a good sunrise, a beach photo, or the vibrant pastels this time of year created by corn sweat. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good nature photo [hashtag blessed; hashtag god is good; hashtag awesome]; however, the passage doesn’t end there, does it?              

Moses has more to do than just removing his sandals. In verse 7, we see that God listens to the cries of God’s people—actually, God notices their suffering and understands their pain.

               Did you get that? Way back in the Old Testament, God knows the people’s sufferings. God is intimately involved and aware of God’s people and their lives. What happens next? God acts. God intervenes in history [as this story tells it] and sends Moses to bring God’s people out of exile.

               Here’s what I’m getting at, friends. We need to admire and stand in awe of the creative energies of God that are embodied in the first incarnation – creation. AND we need to join God with our creativity and gifts to see that justice and peace flow through our streets like a mighty river. I love what my Hebrew professor, Dr. Tyler Mayfield, says about this when he writes:

What happens in the holy spaces of our lives should also have holy consequences in the world around us. Moses’ experience with God directly leads to action for and alongside God. Spiritual formation and working to bring about social justice cannot happen in vacuums – they naturally flow into and out of one another, fueling the fire and fanning the flame of the Spirit’s work and witness in our world.

               Dr. Mayfield goes on to reflect that our burning-bush moments invite us to look away, then look back, and to allow those moments to transform us into action. Yup, it’s contemplation and action! Everyone we meet – no matter how they identify – or whatever stereotype we cast upon them – is a beloved child of God who contains the Divinity’s spark. All of us are as beautiful as that sunrise you admire in Florida. So let us see that all of God’s beloved, good, holy creation is cared for, and that we join God in creating a place where not only is everyone welcomed, but we all know in the depths of our being that we, along with everything, belong!

******

     I don't know about you, but this week has been heavy, largely because the queen of country music and a truly great human being, Dolly Parton, died. What isn't there to admire about the cultural icon known not only for her music but also for her philanthropy, her allyship with the LGBTQ+ community, and her status as one of the best teachers on what it means to live as your true self? An Episcopal priest I follow on Substack, and self-proclaimed biggest Dolly fan, Rev. Lizzie, wrote a beautiful reflection on Dolly's faith and how it shaped her music. You can find it by clicking here.

******

Wednesday, August 26, was [Inter]National Dog Day. So, here's a photo of Tecumseh and Brigid.

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This week, I read an article from the Presbyterian Outlook that I found both insightful and compelling. The article’s title is also its topic: Why College Students are Leaving Church – But Not Faith. You can access it by clicking here. As your pastor, I value authenticity– not unlike what Dolly preached and practiced. An element of this is the ability to ask questions and be comfortable with the unknown. One statement in this article that stuck with me was from a student about membership. They said, “The only benefit of membership is that you’re asked to give money. I don’t have any.” I’m curious: what is the benefit of membership? The second person to respond will get a cup of coffee on me! [Meaning, I’ll take you out for coffee while we discuss!]

 

Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on a Friday Afternoon

                  Surprise!

                 That was a theme from Sunday’s sermon. The text was the account of Jesus' interaction with the Canaanite woman in Matthew. The story is also in Mark, and I encourage you to read both [Matthew 15.21-28 & Mark 7.24-30] to see what is similar and what is different. I’ll be curious if anything surprises you!

                  The primary takeaway from Sunday is that our limited beliefs and traditions can sometimes hinder our growth. My attempt to connect this story to an invitation to serve on Session as a Ruling Elder is inspired by the Canaanite woman’s faith and courage. Her voice challenges Jesus’s automatic responses and encourages a broader understanding of God’s mercy. In the same way, the church can become too comfortable with routines and the ease of ministry, and we may overlook how we exclude or isolate others in our community. Like the Canaanite woman, your voice and presence can help us advocate for the safety of those we serve.

                 You'll be surprised by how rewarding it can be to serve on the Session. As the governing body of our congregation, we are in ministry together, not in silos but as members of Christ’s body, discerning together where the Spirit is leading us. It's also a chance to say ‘yes’ to God and to contribute your talents to shaping our community's ministry. Caring for the congregation is truly a gift, and I hope many of you will have the opportunity to join me in serving here at 1PC Lincoln someday.

                 One last word regarding the Canaanite woman’s story. I hope that we, as a community of faith, continue to remain open to the calling of the Risen One, trusting in the transformative ministry of which we are a part, and that we might also listen to those in need when they describe why the world ought to be transformed. If you want to read a sermon that addresses some of the problematic interpretations of it over the years, click here for Diana Butler Bass’s Sunday Musings.

                  During my sermon, I mentioned the work by Canadian psychologist Michael Rousell on the power of surprise. I’m including the TED Talk he gave in 2019 about three decades of work and the insights he’s gained into how surprises are opportunities for change.

                  Finally, I have begun a new practice inspired by my favorite poet, Mary Oliver, and intrigued by Mark Ragland, who writes at The Pocket Notebook on Substack. I started keeping a pocket notebook to help me notice and record surprising moments. I’ve been doing this for three weeks, and my pages are filled with lines from poems or essays, feathers found on walks, sketches, doodles, and anything else that helps me pay attention to life's beauty. Unlike my journal practice, a pocket notebook doesn’t require much time or energy. Simply jot, doodle, or tape the things that stand out to you and put them in your pocket notebook. If I’m honest, the reason why I began this practice was to be more present to the life in front of me, and not the one being fed to me by the algorithms on my phone. Here’s a link to an intro on keeping a pocket notebook from Mark Ragland.

Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on Friday Afternoon

          

Consider all the times the light of
the Risen Christ has processed and
recessed down these aisles?

 Last week, I shared some thoughts on ritual. Thanks to everyone who read it, and I’m eager to hear your opinions on the podcast. I’d also love to learn more about your personal rituals and how you include them in your daily routine.

           I thought it would be helpful to further explore how rituals are a part of our collective life as a congregation. While most of us know why we do what we do in worship, I am always appreciative when I can get a refresher on practices I take for granted. Or, in the context of being your pastor, why I do and say some things I say and do. 

           For example, do you know why we begin the service with the procession of the light? Bringing in the light symbolizes recognizing God's presence in our sanctuary at that moment by lighting the three candles on the chancel. Do we need a light procession? Not necessarily. Many denominations, including some Presbyterian churches, don't practice it. However, as mentioned in last week’s post, rituals facilitate transformation and mark transitions, which is why they are part of our Sunday service at 1PC. Throughout human history, the flames of fires and the lighted wicks of candles have been used to acknowledge, in a very real way, the presence of the Divine in our midst. 

          Another reason rituals hold power is their participatory nature. While a Deacon often leads the procession with the light of Christ, anyone can assume this role. As Presbyterians, we uphold ‘the priesthood of all believers,’ meaning everyone has a part in creating God’s beloved community. It is the intention and attention of those gathered, whether one or many, that consecrate a place and a moment, like what Jacob did after his ladder dream. 

          Know what I wish would happen on Sundays? While the role of the acolyte has been assigned to the Deacons, it would thrill me to have someone from the congregation serve in that role. It would be especially thrilling if someone different served each week. Remember, rituals are powerful because they invite participation from all God’s people, not just the clergy. As Presbyterians, we believe that all people have the capacity to offer wisdom, love, and connection and to find and create meaning in the ordinary stuff of life and in Lord’s Day worship. 

          My favorite ritual is beginning with the opening sentences. I appreciate a well-crafted opening because it marks the shift from arriving to being present. Typically, Sunday opening sentences draw inspiration from that day’s readings. If you’ve attended a Kirk Night, you know I also like to begin on Wednesday with a greeting related to the liturgical Sunday just observed. Some may find my emphasis on starting each gathering with an opening sentence or liturgical greeting annoying, but I do it to remind us and invite us into our assembly as God’s people. Whether it's a Ministry Team meeting, a fellowship event, or Sunday worship, offering an opening sentence helps us transition into our time together and sets the tone for encountering the Holy One who brings everything into existence. 

            Do you have a morning ritual that helps you transition from sleep to awareness? Something that grounds you in your body and prepares you for the day? Each day, we practice resurrection—at night, surrendering to God and the peace of Christ; in the morning, awakening to live anew with the Risen Christ. Perhaps tomorrow, you can create a simple ritual—like taking a breath of your coffee before drinking, or silently recalling ‘Remember your baptism and be thankful” as you fill your tea kettle. Even pausing briefly before planning your day can help us connect with ourselves and something greater—the love of God, which is as close as our breath. 

            I’ll see you on Sunday. 

            And maybe, just maybe, you’ll help us in our transition in time by bringing in the light of the Risen Christ!

**NOTE**

I know some want deeper content. So, here's a great podcast I listened to recently about faith, doctrine, and the gift of reorganizing our beliefs! It's a delightful and insightful conversation between Prentis Hemphill, the host of Becoming the People, and their guest, Kristian A. Smith, public theologian and creator. You can access the podcast by clicking this link! I think my favorite part of this podcast is Kristian's definition of sin. 

Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on Friday Afternoon

                I used to write for our congregation during the week. While my writing wasn’t as profound as Bruce’s weekly posts or as wise as the church mouse's musings, I took pleasure in the process. Occasionally, especially during Advent, I aim to share something creative that captures the spirit of the season's anticipation.

                 I’m feeling inspired to start this practice again. I’m interested in hearing which topics you'd like me to explore—whether through 'Thursday Thoughts on Friday’ (a working title) or even a sermon. Would you find value in a short commentary on the upcoming Sunday lectionary readings? Are you curious about what I’m currently reading and how it influences me? Maybe topics like current church trends, PCUSA happenings, or brief liturgies and rituals interest you. Or perhaps you'd like some photos of my dogs, Tecumseh and Brigid? Whatever topics or questions you have, please share them with me. I’d be happy to connect here and tailor my content to your interests.

                 Here’s my first entry.

                 Long before I knew it, rituals mattered to me in my personal life. Now, I’m not talking about the ones we engage in at church, although those certainly remain deeply resonant in my being and a major reason why I am a pastor.

                 I’m explaining how we synchronize our hearts, minds, spirits, and bodies for meaningful moments like the first day of school. This is especially top of mind as students prepare to return, a reminder I notice every morning after 7:30 a.m. when the Lincoln Community High School marching band starts practicing. Still, the bittersweet reality that summer was concluding and school was approaching was softened by the annual tradition of shopping for school supplies and clothes.

                 I remember joyfully browsing the school supply aisles, eager to select folders, notebooks, and writing tools, filled with hope for their future use. I thoughtfully picked the colors: blue for social studies, because I liked the subject; red for math—need I say more? Yellow for health and science, and orange for spelling and literature, since those were the subjects most likely to be left behind!

                 Then there was the shopping for school clothes. Well, I mean, one new ‘outfit’ and a pair of shoes. Who am I kidding? As the fourth child, my ‘new’ stuff was the clothes my brothers wore that didn’t have holes or stains. Regardless, having a fresh wardrobe helped ease the sting of summer’s end.

                 Here’s where the ritual came in, and perhaps you or your kids did this, too.

                 The night before school, I carefully packed my book bag with the items we bought at K-Mart (blue-light special, anyone?). I matched folders and notebooks by color and arranged my pencil box neatly, fully aware that once I closed it, everything would become chaotic and disorganized. Then I laid out my first-day-of-school outfit, knowing two things: first, I wanted to impress my classmates; second, I knew Mom was going to make me stand on the porch at 7 a.m. after a long summer to take my photo. As a kid, I tried sleeping in my clothes and uncreased Nikes, but eventually I realized that wrinkled clothes wouldn't impress anyone, and sleeping in shoes isn't great for circulation. I wanted to make sure I was ready for the first day of a new year.

                 What I didn’t consciously realize but felt deeply was that those rituals made the shift from summer to school smoother and more meaningful. They signaled a transition in time and gave me space to acknowledge my sadness about what had passed and to hope for what lay ahead, even if I wasn't fully aware of it. Internal and external changes were unfolding, and these rituals helped me move through my feelings and circumstances with a sense of calm and acceptance.

                 Rituals have existed since the beginning of human history. The word ritual can mean different things to those who are religious and those who aren’t. I’ve always been intrigued by rituals, and it’s no wonder I ended up as a pastor, since ritual lies at the intersection of humanity and faith. I recently listened to a podcast [so Millennial of me] about ritual, and it reignited my deep appreciation for ritual. It’s titled “Ritual: Finding the Center in a Turning World.” In it, two Jungian psychologists have a conversation with New York Times best-selling author Bruce Feiler about his new book A Time to Gather: How Ritual Created the World – and How It Can Save Us.

                 My copy of the book arrived today.

                 In the weeks ahead, most posts won’t be this long. Bear with me as I figure out these “Thursday Thoughts.”

                What rituals do you practice to help you manage the various transitions in your daily life? I’d love to hear about them!

One last note – this Sunday we will be ‘blessing the backpacks’ of our students. If you could offer 1 word of encouragement to these students, what would it be?

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 24 and 25 -- Rests | Forevermore

Rests | Forevermore

 

Merry Christmas, church.

 

I want to thank everyone who took part in our Advent journey. Whether you read a post, watched a Tuesday timeout, attended worship in person or online, or lit a candle with intention, your presence this season was a meaningful source of encouragement and joy.

 

Thank you!

 

It’s hard to believe we're now in the Christmastide season. Over the next twelve days, we celebrate the good news that God loves the world so much and that eternity is revealed in a baby. During the twelve days of Christmas, we reflect on the mystery of Love made flesh, entering history once again and pondering the paradox of God’s grand creation and the particularity of the manger. We hold onto the good news that we are God’s beloved. 

 

So, today, tomorrow, and the days ahead, take time to be present. Listen for the sounds of the angelic choir—whether in Bird songs, children’s laughter, knowledge shared in stories told by the wisest among us, or the soothing silence while drinking your tea—and let it be enough. Because it is—and you are. 

 

One of my favorite theologians, Sr. Ilia Delio has this great poem about today I can’t help but share.

What do the stars say?

The light that meets our eyes after millions of years summons us to look beyond.

The dark that hovers over us is filled with light.

That underneath the appearance of the stable heavens is the bubbling energy of the universe.

We are forming, forming, forming and nothing can stop us.

There is a palpable power of attraction, pulling us toward we-know-not-where.

Love alone is the guide of the universe and the whole universe is in the human heart.

Tend to the heart and the power of love will name itself as God.

 

Today, we celebrate the joyful news that Love rests upon us all. Although it’s a foggy Christmas Day here in Lincoln, it remains a day filled with the illuminating presence of the Incarnation. The darkness of Love’s womb gives birth to the hope, peace, and joy we have been waiting for.

 

Also, for those who woke up feeling a bit tenderhearted this morning and might experience grief at some point today, remember that part of the Christmas story is that God understands what it’s like to be human. God accepts all of our parts and knows how we feel. Not only that, but S/He welcomes them and breathes with us when we laugh and when we cry. I heard it once put that God is as close as the air we breathe and the heartbeats within our chest. I don’t know about you, but that’s some good news.

 

And the thing is, this is good news today and will be good news forevermore.

 

So, as I tried to articulate last night in my sermon, let the story change you. Allow the mystery of the particularity of the Christ child disrupt your life and let the love of God transform your heart. After all, each of us is a little word of the Word of God, a mini-incarnation of divine love.

 

Who knew I had more words left to write? If you read this, thank you! Now, go move the three wise folks a little closer to your creche. But don’t bring them to the manger just yet. They’ve got 11 more days of travel!

 

A very Merry Christmas to all of you!

 

With Deep Love and Admiration,

 

 

The Rev. Dr. Adam R. Quine

Christmas 2025

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word[s] a Day -- Light | Deep

Light | Deep

 

I’ve got no deep thoughts today.

 

I took the Dogs to the park. We walked among leafless trees, brown and gold fields bent down from the weight of snow that’s all but gone, and a low-hanging gray sky empty of Birds. So boring. So ordinary. So quiet.

 

We spend most of our lives in days like these, don't we? At least, I believe I do. I’m comfortable with this reality. I guess it makes the arrival of the Red-winged Blackbird and His ‘conk-la-lee’ call that much more surprising when he returns in February to perch on those dead Sunflowers in that field. Oh, today, during one of the seemingly hundred times I let Tecumseh out, I did hear a flock of Geese flying over. Speaking of Tecumseh going outside, with this unseasonably warmer weather, the frozen yard is now a muddy mess, and there’s a fun trail of paw prints throughout the house.

 

I suppose the Geese and the mud remind me that I’m alive. That there’s life teeming everywhere, especially deep beneath the Earth right now, even if I can’t see it.

 

The ordinariness of a dreary day in the park made me think of how I perceive things. There’s a whole world, of which I am a part but rarely attentive to, alive in places like the park this time of year here in the Northern Hemisphere. The park is breathing: the Trees do, though not like I do, but the same breath I take is an exchange of air with the Whitetail Deer and the Bald Eagle I saw last week. I guess, I’m considering that the world isn’t made up of inert matter but is a realm of diverse, active intelligences (plants, animals, elements) with whom humans are deeply entangled through shared senses.

 

Okay. I’ll admit it – that’s too deep.

 

Know what else is deep? God’s love – both deep and wide. We are preparing for the good news that the love of God is infused throughout all creation. I think it’s Paul in Colossians who was one of the first of our tradition to say this when he wrote, “Christ is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For in him were created all things in heaven and on earth, the visible and the invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers; all things were created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” Some call this a deep incarnation!

 

The Christ mystery holds us together. God’s love binds us together. It’s this energy and love of God that stitches us together like sinews and bones and muscles – our bodies.

 

'Know what else is deep? God’s love isn’t just an idea. It’s real. It’s alive. It’s felt in how we relate to each other. I experienced it—I saw it in the light and darkness of our Longest Night | Blue Christmas service last night. Over twenty of our friends gathered to witness our individual and shared grief and joy. I felt God was—and still is—near. It’s like that line from the poem by Mark Nepo we read last night, “I am so sad and everything is beautiful.” [I’ll post the poem below so you can see this line in its proper context.]

 

Goodness, our lives, as ordinary as they are at times, are full of depth. On well-worn paths and padded pews, I encountered the supernatural in the natural – aren’t they the same?

 

Take a deep breath. Sit in the dark and light a candle. Do you perceive it? You are alive. So is that plant, albeit a little thirsty, on your shelf. That spirit-breathing-life that you take in, that gives light to the candle, is the deep love God has for us – and that matters.

 

And so do you.

Here is the poem "Adrift" by Mark Nepo

Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.
This is how the heart makes a duet of
wonder and grief. The light spraying
through the lace of the fern is as delicate
as the fibers of memory forming their web
around the knot in my throat. The breeze
makes the birds move from branch to branch
as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost
in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh
of the next stranger. In the very center, under
it all, what we have that no one can take
away and all that we’ve lost face each other.
It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured
by a holiness that exists inside everything.
I am so sad and everything is beautiful.