Reflections

A Word for Today

This was our cantata service, so we were singing our hearts out. Songs about praise and trust and believing that God’s got us even when things are scary. Music does something words alone can’t do. It gets into you differently. It reminds you of truth you already know but maybe forgot to feel.

Trust is hard, especially when you’re in the middle of hard things. But that’s when it matters most. Not the easy believing, the kind you do when everything’s fine. The real trust is when you’re scared and you pray anyway. When you’re tired and you sing anyway. When things aren’t working out the way you hoped and you still believe God’s there.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
The Heart of Prayer

So Jesus says we’re like sheep, and he’s the shepherd. And if you know anything about sheep, you know they’re not exactly known for their brainpower. Aggressive sheep are dumb. They run off the cliff or into danger because they don’t have the sense to know better. That’s where the shepherd comes in.

Here’s what I’ve learned about being human: we’re not that different from those sheep. We think we know what we’re doing. We think we can figure it out on our own, handle it ourselves, make all the right decisions. And then we run straight into something that breaks us. We wander off where we shouldn’t be. We follow the wrong crowd because we’re lonely or scared or tired.

The good news is that Jesus isn’t mad at you for being a sheep. He’s not disappointed in you for needing help. That’s literally the whole point. He’s there to guide you back when you go astray, to protect you when you’re vulnerable, to feed you when you’re hungry. The only thing you actually have to do is follow. Listen. Stay close. Trust that he knows the way better than you do.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
The Power of Love (Luke 2027)

We hear a lot of talk about people not forgiving, about grudges and bitterness eating people alive. And it’s true—unforgiveness is poison. But I’m struck by how many people carry hurt from things they didn’t even do. They’re paying the price for other people’s evil or carelessness or just plain neglect.

Sometimes you inherit the damage. A parent’s addiction, an ancestor’s violence, systems that were never built to include you. And people will tell you to just forgive and move on, and I get it—hanging onto that stuff doesn’t help you. But forgiveness without acknowledging what actually happened? That’s not healing, that’s just swallowing it.

God doesn’t ask you to pretend the hurt didn’t happen. God asks you to trust that God’s stronger than whatever broke you. That God can mend what’s torn apart. And yeah, part of that healing is letting go of the bitterness. But the other part is naming what happened and asking God to make something good out of it. That’s a real forgiveness. That’s the kind that actually saves you.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
Walking by Faith

I’ve been thinking about what it means to shine. We sang about Jesus shining on us, about letting his light come through us. But I wonder sometimes if we understand what that actually looks like in the real world, in our real lives.

When I look around at the people I know and respect, the ones who shine, they’re not necessarily the smartest or the richest or the most talented. They’re the ones who show up and do the right thing, even when no one’s watching. They’re the ones who help when it costs them something. They trust. They show you who God is just by how they live.

That’s what shining means. It doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being honest about who you are, asking for God’s help, and then actually living like you believe God’s got your back. When you do that, people notice. Kids notice. Your family notices. The people you work with notice. And somehow, when you’re not trying to shine—when you’re just trying to follow Jesus—you end up being a light to people who are in the dark. That’s the miracle of it.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
The Heart of Prayer (Matthew 1039)

You know, I got kicked in the head playing kickball at our church’s fifth quarter event. Didn’t think much of it at the time—just a sore head. But by Tuesday it got to me, so I went to the doctor and found out I had a concussion. The medication worked, the headache went away, and life went on. What struck me about people’s response was how they just showed up. They prayed. They cared. That’s what the church is supposed to be doing.

This week we also blessed some folks who have been training to do disaster response work. You know what that is? It’s showing up when things fall apart. When hurricanes hit or tornadoes touch down or people are hurting in ways that don’t make the news, you go. You help. That takes training, sure, but it starts with just deciding to be the kind of person who shows up.

I think a lot about what it means to be God’s people in this world. We’ve got good intentions. We’ve got resources. We’ve got communities that care about each other. But good intentions don’t matter if they don’t turn into actual help. They don’t turn into showing up. God doesn’t call us to have the right thoughts—God calls us to do the right thing. Your hands matter. Your presence matters. Your willingness to help, even when it’s messy or hard or costs you something, that’s what transforms the world.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
Faithful Stewards

Jesus tells this wild story about a manager who gets caught cooking the books. When he’s about to be fired, instead of panicking, the guy just keeps cooking—he cuts his boss’s debtors’ bills in half. And here’s the really confusing part: the boss commends him for it. For being dishonest! And then Jesus uses that story to teach the disciples about money. It makes you go, what in the world?

John Wesley figured this out centuries ago. He knew Jesus was being practical about how people actually work. Wesley called his most famous sermon “The Use of Money,” and he didn’t get tangled up trying to justify the dishonest part. Instead, he gave us three clear rules: earn all you can, save all you can, spend all you can on what matters. But here’s where it gets serious: give all you can. Give for others. Give for God’s work.

Wesley lived that way his whole life. Money was just a tool to him, not the point. He took care of what he needed, sure, and his wife did too. But they were always asking, what does God need us to do with what we have? There’s a story about a kid who knew Fred—one of his youth—who remembered Fred saying that money was only good for what it could do for other people. That stuck with him years later. That’s the kind of life that matters.

So the lesson isn’t about being clever like that dishonest steward. It’s about being clever like Jesus—figuring out how to use what you have to actually love people. You’re not serving money. You’re serving God. And that changes everything about the decisions you make.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
The Heart of Prayer

Here’s what I’m asking you today. If I sat down with you one-on-one and asked about your faith life, your faith story, what would you tell me?

Where did you first encounter church? Where did you first encounter God? How did you first hear about Jesus?

Some of us would go all the way back. Some of us came to it later. Either way, there’s power in your story.

I used to be bothered that I didn’t have a dramatic conversion story. All that pain and brokenness that other people had to go through to find God—I missed out on it. I was sorry about that. But then I realized: I’m glad I didn’t have one of those stories. I’m grateful I was spared that suffering. And that gratitude is its own kind of testimony.

But here’s the thing. All of us, dramatic conversion story or not, all of us have areas where we need to repent and turn back toward God. All of us need that forgiveness. All of us need that grace. We just maybe express it differently.

So what I want to know is: how has God shown up in your life? Where has God spoken to you? Where has God given you hope or forgiveness or correction and said, you need to change, or you need to come home to me?

And here’s the bigger question: who knows your story?

Do your children? Your grandchildren? Your nieces and nephews? Do they know the story of God’s relationship with you?

Because I’m going to tell you something. The fastest growing religious preference group in this country is the “nones”—people who don’t claim a faith. And then there are the “dones”—people who were church people and just burned out. Then there are the spiritual-but-not-religious folks.

They’re all looking for something. They’re spiritual nomads. They want faith. They want meaning. They just don’t see it in the church.

And you know what would change that? If they knew you. If they knew your story. If they knew that being Christian isn’t about being perfect or better than anyone else. It’s about knowing Jesus. It’s about that love changing you.

So tell your story. Let people know. Because they’re looking. And they might listen to you when they wouldn’t listen to me.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
Bound Together (Luke 10)

I want to tell you something about faith stories.

Some folks have dramatic conversion stories. You know the kind. They were terrible and their life was a mess. Bad things, obvious bad things. And then Jesus showed up and everything changed, fast and powerful.

Those are powerful testimonies.

But some of us don’t have those stories. I’m glad I don’t, actually. I was grateful when I realized that. Because the pain I was spared by knowing God my whole life, by not spending years and years broken and lost—that’s a gift. A huge gift.

And you know what? Some of our stories don’t make for dramatic telling. But they make for powerful testimony.

The thing is, we all have deep sin. We all need to turn from something. We all need to move into the grace of God and let him forgive us. It just doesn’t always look like a lightning bolt moment.

What I’m wondering is: what is your story? And who knows it? Do your children know it? Do your grandchildren? Do your friends?

Because here’s what I’m concerned about. And I’ve been concerned about this since I was a kid, which is probably why I’m a preacher. People don’t know God. And I don’t think it’s my job to be the one telling everybody about God. Different people are called to different parts of that message. But what I do know is that people will listen to you. They won’t listen to me. You have an impact you’ll never know about.

And I want that impact to be for God.

We need to tell our stories. We need to let people know where God has shown up in our lives. Not dramatically, maybe. But really. Because how else will people know that God is real? How else will they know that this faith matters? How else will they know it’s not all just church talk, but something that actually changes a life?

Your story matters. Tell it.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
The Heart of Prayer

You know this story. A guy’s beaten up on the side of the road. Priest comes by. Crosses to the other side. Doesn’t stop. Levite comes by. Same thing. Crosses over. Keeps going. Then a Samaritan comes by.

Now here’s the thing. For Jesus’ audience, “good” and “Samaritan” did not go together. These were people they didn’t associate with. People they thought were wrong about basically everything. Wrong about where to worship. Wrong about scripture. Just wrong.

And yet this Samaritan sees the beaten man and he’s moved with compassion. He goes to him. Bandages his wounds. Puts him on his own donkey. Takes him to an inn. Pays the innkeeper to take care of him. Says come back and I’ll pay for any extra cost.

Over and beyond what’s required.

So Jesus asks: which one was a neighbor? And everyone has to say: the one who showed mercy.

Here’s what I need to ask you though. Who is the person or group you have a thing against? And I mean honestly. Not just Samaritans. What group do you think is wrong? What group makes you angry? What group do you put outside of God’s love?

Because that’s what this story is asking. It’s asking us to retell it with our own enemies in it. Our own people we don’t like. The people we’re sure don’t deserve God’s mercy.

I want you to know they do. I know that’s unsettling. I don’t want that either sometimes. But Jesus is pretty clear about this. There is no one outside of God’s redemption. No one outside of God’s mercy. No matter what they believe. No matter what they do.

Now they can reject it. They can say no. They can push it away. But that’s their choice. Not ours.

The Samaritan didn’t need to help. He had resources but he needed those resources for his own life, his own business. But he helped anyway. He had things he could lose. But he chose to love.

So what do we have? Time. Money. Ability. Smiles. Prayers. Whatever it is we have that could help someone. Can we be neighbor to the person who doesn’t fit? The person we don’t like? The person we think is wrong?

Can we see them as a full human being? With all the grace God gives to God’s people? Because that’s what it means to follow Jesus. It means we do that.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope
A Word for Today (Micah 6)

I’ve been thinking about power lately. And how to tell the difference between power that’s good and power that’s not.

Power over is oppressive. It tells people what to do. It controls them. And power to—that’s the power to lift people up, to help them, to do something positive with what you’ve got.

The thing is, there’s no getting away from it. There’s no place where there are no people and no power dynamics. It happens in households. It happens in businesses. It happens in churches. It happens everywhere. Because whenever you have more of something—more size, more health, more resources, more education, more age, whatever—you have power over someone else. And that’s where the temptation is.

Micah was talking to people who had gotten into the habit of using their power wrong. They were powerful and they liked it. And they didn’t want to let it go. So they used it to keep other people down.

Here’s the deal though. In the end, what the Lord requires is simple. Do justice. Embrace faithful love. Walk humbly with your God.

Justice. Love. Humility. Those are the things that matter.

When we have something—money, time, ability, education, position—we have to ask ourselves: am I using this to help or to control? Am I using this to lift people up or to keep them down? Am I walking humbly, or am I acting like my power makes me better?

Because it doesn’t. It just means I have more responsibility. To be kind. To be just. To love the people I could hurt if I wasn’t careful.

A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope