Recently, I was asked,

According to Scripture, how has God chosen to accomplish God's mission in the world? What is the role that the church has been given? How do you define "church" in the context of that role?

These are the sort of questions I’m inclined to struggle with right now, all as part of a bigger question of what sort of role is God calling me to in the church. Yet it is only Wednesday, and I’m exhausted. Perhaps it is in part because I’ve been very busy at work. Perhaps it is part because it is a rainy day and I’m not getting enough vitamin D. Perhaps it is in part because I went to a memorial service on Saturday. So, I think about these questions and don’t feel engaged.

Evelyn had gone to the church I attend for many years, long before I ever started going. She and her best friend had always served coffee hour, that time of breaking pastries and drinking coffee that comes after the time of breaking bread and blessing wine. She lived out her final days at a nursing home I sometimes visit. After the memorial service, I wrote in my journal the idea for a blog post, The Theology of Michael, Florence, and Evelyn.

By Michael, I mean the Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church, Michael Curry. In a message to the church, Presiding Bishop Curry says,

This is the Jesus Movement, and we are The Episcopal Church, the Episcopal branch of Jesus’ movement in this world...Now is our time to go. To go into the world, let the world know that there is a God who loves us, a God who will not let us go, and that that love can set us all free.

This doesn’t sound like some task force report, the answer to some divinity school or ordination exam. This is about being moved by God.

By Florence, I mean Florence Nightingale. Between working in health care and learning about Nightingale’s brilliance as a scientist and statistician which she put to work on the gritty front lines of health care, and her deep religious belief, she also shows what it is to be moved by God.

Of course, by Evelyn, I’m talking about Evelyn whose memorial service I went to on Saturday. I’m talking about a person who loved receiving the Eucharist, how loved sharing food with people around her, who might not have been able to put her faith into words that would sound good on a task force report or as an answer to a theological examination, but who instead embodied what it was like to be moved by God in daily life.