Rev MaryGean Cope

Tag: love

  • The Heart of Prayer

    The Heart of Prayer

    Christmas. You know, I’ve never been one to get sentimental about Christmas Eve services—all that soft lighting and nostalgia. But standing here on Christmas morning, listening to our people pray for the sick and the hurting and those facing surgery, I’m struck by something.

    We come to Christmas supposedly knowing the story. Baby Jesus. Angels. The whole bit. But I think we miss something essential, which is that Mary was terrified. She was a young girl with a baby. Joseph was trying to figure out what in the world was happening. There were no midwives, no family, just a barn and animals. And we’ve turned it into a greeting card.

    The real Christmas story starts with people in the middle of chaos asking God to show up. And the thing is—God did. Not with angels cleaning the barn or making everything nice. God showed up in the mess. Vulnerable. As a baby. Depending on a teenage girl and a carpenter.

    I keep thinking about the people we lifted up in prayer this morning. Those facing surgery. Those mourning. Those wondering where God is in the middle of their particular mess. That’s what Christmas actually is. It’s God saying: I know you’re scared. I know you can’t fix this. I’m coming anyway. Not to make it prettier. To be present in it.

    That changes everything.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Heart of Prayer

    The Heart of Prayer

    As we finish out this year, I’m thinking about patience and hope. How hard it is to wait when you want resolution now. How easy it is to lose hope when things drag on. But that’s what faith is. Faith is believing that God is still working even when you can’t see it yet. Faith is showing up tomorrow even though yesterday was hard. Faith is hoping for something better and then actually living like you believe it’s coming.

    The world needs that kind of faith right now. It needs people who believe healing is possible, who work for justice, who don’t give up when things get hard. It needs you. Your hope, your faith, your willingness to believe that God’s not done with us yet. That’s what makes the difference.

    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 Gift of Forgiveness

    The Gift of Forgiveness

    You know that question, “Where is home?” It’s a good question, and there are a lot of ways to answer it. Home is where you’re from, where your people are, where you feel safe. But that doesn’t really capture it, does it? Home is more than a place. It’s a feeling. It’s knowing you belong somewhere.

    A lot of people don’t have that. They’re looking for home and can’t find it. So we have a job to do. We have to be the kind of place, the kind of people, where folks can find home. Where they feel like they matter, like they belong, like somebody cares whether they’re here or not. That’s the church. That’s what church is supposed to be.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope

  • The Power of Love (Luke 2027)

    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

    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)

    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

  • The Heart of Prayer

    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)

    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

    The Heart of Prayer

    Moses reminds the people: you were immigrants in Egypt. Joseph was there first, and it was complicated. But when famine came, his family came looking for help and found him. They were invited to live. They became prosperous and numerous. They got their own territory.

    And then a Pharaoh came who didn’t know Joseph and didn’t care what Joseph had done. He got worried. He made things hard. He enslaved them. And God heard their cries and sent Moses to say: let my people go.

    So now, generation later, the Lord is saying to these people: you know how to treat immigrants because you know what it’s like. You’ve been treated well. You’ve been treated badly. So treat other people well. Love the stranger. The foreigner. The one who isn’t you.

    It’s the same standard Jesus taught later: do to others what you’d have them do to you. But here’s the part that gets me—and it should get us—the emphasis is on us. Not on what immigrants owe us. Not on what rules they should follow. On what we owe them because we’ve been there.

    All of us need the grace of God. All of us need forgiveness. All of us need to repent and turn back. And when somebody is on the outside looking in—whether it’s because they’re a literal immigrant or because they’re just new and don’t know how things work—our job is to help them feel safe. Help them feel welcome. Help them know they matter.

    That’s not a political position. That’s a Jesus position. That’s what God asks of us. And it starts with remembering that we weren’t always where we are. We weren’t always comfortable. We weren’t always home.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope