Rev MaryGean Cope

Tag: prayer

  • The Heart of Prayer

    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

  • 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

  • Faithful Stewards

    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

    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

    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

    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

  • The Heart of Prayer

    The Heart of Prayer

    There was a widow—that’s the only detail we need to know. She was a widow and her only son was dead. And she was carrying his body out of the city for burial.

    Jesus saw her and something moved in him. The Gospel says he had compassion. But compassion doesn’t quite cover it. It’s a gut-level, bone-deep recognition of someone’s suffering. Jesus knows the depth of her loss in a way nobody else can. He stops the funeral procession. He touches the stretcher. He tells the young man: get up.

    And the dead man sits up. He speaks. Jesus gives him back to his mother.

    Now, Jesus didn’t do that for everybody. He didn’t resuscitate everyone who’d died. We still live in a world where people die. Where grief is real. Where loss isn’t magically fixed by faith or prayer or anything else.

    But this story isn’t primarily about the miracle. It’s about Jesus seeing one specific person in one specific moment and meeting her there. Not waiting for her to come to him. Not asking what she’d done to deserve this suffering. Not explaining anything. Just stopping. Looking. Acting.

    We do such damage trying to explain suffering. We tell people it was God’s will. We suggest they must have done something to cause it. We come up with all kinds of theories, like Job’s friends, and we’re usually just wrong. What we know is that Jesus met this woman in her pain. And we can do that for people too. Not fix it. Not explain it. Just stop. See them. Be there.

    A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope