Rev MaryGean Cope

Tag: hope

  • The Heart of Prayer (Psalm 50)

    The Heart of Prayer (Psalm 50)

    There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to be a good person all the time. From believing that spiritual maturity means having it mostly figured out. From thinking that following Jesus means becoming less flawed, less angry, less human.

    I’ve been noticing how many of our best people are burning out. And it’s not usually because they’re doing too much. It’s because they’re splitting themselves in half. Public self and private self. Spiritual self and emotional self. The person at church and the person at home.

    What if wholeness actually requires integration? What if the real spiritual work is not becoming a better version of yourself, but becoming more honestly yourself?

    I think about Jesus flipping tables in the temple. Jesus getting annoyed at the disciples for being dense. Jesus not always being calm and understanding. We’ve created this version of Jesus that’s never actually frustrated, never actually angry, never actually human. And then we try to be like that impossible version.

    But the real Jesus—the one in Scripture—is fully present in his anger, in his grief, in his exhaustion. He doesn’t transcend his humanity. He sanctifies it. He shows us that being human is not the problem. Being dishonest about your humanity—that’s where we get stuck.

    So what if spiritual maturity looked like this: More honesty. Less performance. More integration of your actual life. Less splitting yourself into acceptable and unacceptable parts. More bringing your whole self to church, to your relationships, to your prayers.

    That would be revolutionary. And a lot less exhausting.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer (Psalm 62)

    The Heart of Prayer (Psalm 62)

    You ever notice how quickly we move on from hard things? We’re trained for it. Someone goes through something terrible, and after a few weeks we expect them to be back to normal. Back to functioning. Back to acting like everything’s fine.

    I watched someone this week navigate that transition—from crisis to “I guess this is just my life now.” And it struck me how much spiritual work happens in that middle space. Not the dramatic crisis that gets prayers and flowers. But the slow, hard work of deciding whether you’re going to let this break you or change you.

    Scripture’s actually full of people in that space. Waiting. Not getting immediate answers. Just having to decide, day after day, whether they trust God in the middle of the liminal. The in-between.

    I think we’ve missed something as churches. We’re great at crisis ministry. We show up for the emergency. But we’re terrible at the slow, grinding work of transformation. That’s where most of Christian life actually is, though. Not the dramatic moment. The thousands of small moments where you choose faith over despair, humility over bitterness, hope over exhaustion.

    That’s the real witness. That’s the real song. Not when everything’s resolved. But when you’re still standing, still trusting, still showing up to church, and you’re not sure you have any faith left. That’s where God works.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • A Living Hope

    A Living Hope

    New Year’s Eve. Candlelight service. Which is funny because candlelight feels peaceful, right? Contemplative. But I got a call this morning from someone whose husband just had triple bypass surgery. Lying in the hospital on New Year’s Eve. And I’m sitting there holding that phone thinking about peace.

    Here’s the thing about December 31st: we all want to believe next year will be better. Cleaner. We’ll finally get it right. But that’s not really how God works. God doesn’t give us a fresh start by magic. God says: I’ll be with you in the mess. Even the parts you thought you’d escaped.

    I was reading about the old tradition of watching for the New Year at midnight—the whole thing about “year in, year out.” Like time is just this turning wheel and you get to stand at the threshold and imagine something different. But then the phone call this morning reminded me: you don’t get a fresh year. You get a year with your actual life in it. With people you love in hospital beds. With failures from last year still hanging around.

    The real gift—if there is one—is God’s presence in that continuity. Not some magical erasing. Just God saying: I’m here. Still. Again. You don’t have to start clean. You just have to start true.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer

    I’m always struck by how the Christmas story shows up in the middle of the night. Kings and shepherds, stars and angels, all the most important things happening while most people are asleep. Which tells me that God doesn’t wait for convenient times to show up. God shows up when it matters, when we need it most, whether we’re ready or not.

    That’s good news if you feel like you’re not ready. If you’re not prepared enough or good enough or together enough to deserve God’s attention. God’s not waiting for you to get your life perfect. God’s coming in the middle of the night, in the middle of your mess, to tell you that you’re loved anyway. That’s the whole point.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer (Luke 1)

    The Heart of Prayer (Luke 1)

    We’re in Advent now, waiting. Waiting is hard. We’re not patient people. We want what we want and we want it now. But Advent is teaching us that waiting can be holy. That longing for something good, something true, something that really matters—that’s not wasted time.

    Jesus came once, and we know that story. But we’re still waiting for him to come again, to make everything right, to finish the healing work. In the meantime, we get to be his hands and his heart. We get to show people what God’s love looks like while we’re waiting. That’s our work. That’s our calling. And it matters more than you probably know.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer

    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

  • Walking by Faith (Isaiah 12)

    Micah asks a question that just haunts you: what should I approach the Lord with? Should I come with burnt offerings? With year-old calves? Will he be pleased with thousands of rams? Should I give my oldest child for my crime?

    And then Micah answers his own question. He’s already been told. God has already told you what’s good. What the Lord actually requires is this: do justice. Embrace faithful love. Walk humbly with your God.

    That’s it. Do justice. Embrace faithful love. Walk humbly with your God.

    Now Micah was talking to a people who’d gotten comfortable. They’d gotten powerful. They had resources and ability and education and all the things that give a person power. And power can be wonderful, but there’s power over—which is oppressive, which controls people—and there’s power to, which means the power to lift people up, to help them, to do positive things.

    Here’s what I need to say: when we get power, we can be dangerous. It goes to our heads. We think it’s about us. Underneath we’re scared we’re going to lose it. So we turn mean. Abusive. Disrespecting. We hold ourselves up by holding others down.

    I’m not preaching to you. I’m preaching to us. When I step on toes, I’m stepping on my own. Because all of us are flawed. All of us need grace. All of us need to repent and turn back.

    So the message here is simple: the compassion of God is for whoever is on the outside. Whoever doesn’t quite fit. Whoever’s new and doesn’t know the rules. Whatever the deficit is, God wants us to help make that up. Help people feel comfortable. Feel safe. Feel good about who they are and where they are.

    Because that’s God’s love flowing through us. And that love has a lot to do with how we use whatever power we’ve got.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer

    The Heart of Prayer

    Prayer is not trying to change God’s mind. I think we get that confused sometimes. Like prayer is this negotiation where if we ask hard enough or long enough, God will do what we want.

    Prayer is showing up. It’s saying, I don’t know what to do with this. I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m grateful. I’m broken. I’m here anyway. And then listening. Not even necessarily waiting for words. Just being willing to sit with God in whatever this is.

    We pray for people who are sick. For people dealing with loss. For leaders who have to make impossible decisions. For people threatened by violence. For all the things that break our hearts. We pray and we don’t know if God will do what we’re asking. But we pray anyway because prayer is an act of faith. It’s saying, I believe God hears this. I believe God cares about this. I believe that matters, even when I can’t see how it matters. And showing up—being present to each other, to the world, to God—that’s what prayer is. That’s the hope right there.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • A Living Hope

    A Living Hope

    We call the Sunday before July 4th Freedom Sunday. And I know that can get tangled up—mixing God and country—but here’s what I mean: God is the source of our freedom. Not the nation. God.

    And that matters because when we forget that, we start thinking freedom is something the government gives us. Or takes away. And that’s not all of it. Real freedom? That comes from knowing you belong to God. That nothing can separate you from that. Not success, not failure. Not approval, not shame. You belong to God.

    I think about all the people who came before us who knew that in their bones. Who were locked up or beaten or killed and still knew they belonged to God. Still knew that was the thing that mattered. And they passed that down. They passed down a faith that was bigger than fear. That’s the freedom we’re celebrating. Not fireworks. Not flags. But the God who makes us free.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Power of Love

    The Power of Love

    Mother’s Day. I’ve never been great at these kinds of days. You’re supposed to say the right thing, honor the right people, and I always feel like I’m missing somebody. Somebody’s mother showed up on a Friday when her own mother couldn’t. Somebody’s mother is gone. Somebody’s mother did her best and it still wasn’t enough because nobody’s perfect. Somebody’s mother left, and somebody else became the one who showed up.

    What strikes me is that real love—the kind Jesus was talking about—doesn’t require blood. It doesn’t require perfection. It just requires showing up. It requires saying, I see you. I’m here. You matter.

    That’s what we’re really celebrating today. Not the card. Not the flowers. The people who looked at another person and decided to love them anyway.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope