YEAR C 2025 pentecost 20

Pentecost 20, 2025
Jeremiah 14:7-10,19-22
Psalm 84:1-6
2 Timothy 4:6-8,16-18
Luke 18:9-14

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

At last, we have a parable that makes sense!  The ironic twist at the end, that “this man went down to his home justified” is exactly how we want this story to end.  The proud man is humbled, and the humble man is lifted up.  The Pharisee thanks God that he is not like “this sinner,” and you and I can walk right into the trap of thanking God that we are not like that Pharisee.  It’s only natural, right?  The Pharisee thanks God he’s not like the Tax Collector, and we thank God we’re not like the Pharisee, which makes us like the Pharisee.  Ugh!

But my aim this morning will be to help us step out of that trap, and see how this parable from Jesus might actually be helpful to us, rather than a stumbling block.  So first, let’s look at these men’s professions—if we can call them that.

Pharisees, in Jesus’ day, were the good guys.  You’ve heard me say that before, and you will hear me say that again.  The Pharisees were the good guys.  They spent their days trying to obey the Law of Moses so that they might protect the Law of Moses.  It was important to them to be as upstanding as possible, and a good Pharisee was therefore a model citizen of the community.

On the seriously other hand, tax collectors were worse than you think.  They were more like tax farmers; they paid taxes to the Romans, and then collected it from their neighbors.  So, imagine someone pays your state tax bill of $1,000, and then comes to you and says, “Your state taxes are $2,000; pay up.”  By definition, the only way a tax collector could make money was by overcharging his neighbors.  In case it isn’t obvious, people hated tax collectors.

Jesus starts the parable by saying, “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.”  Anyone listening would jump to the short hand of, a Good Guy and a Bad Guy are going up to pray, got it.  So then what happens?  And then the Pharisee begins to pray . . . “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”  Now, we have to drill down a bit here, as they say.  Jews were required to fast once a year, on Yom Kippur.  This Pharisee fasts twice a week!  A hundred times the required amount.  And, tithing for faithful Jews consisted of tithing only on agricultural produce and reared livestock.  This Pharisee gives a tenth of ALL his income.  The Pharisee is a model of faith—not just a good guy, but a very good guy.  The best guy!

And the Tax Collector?  We don’t need to know what the Tax Collector did each week, because tax collectors were by definition bad people.  There is no such thing as a good tax collector.  This is not like “You’ve got to pick a pocket or two.”  Tax collectors cheated their own neighbors . . . for a living!  So, yeah, no need to explain how the Tax Collector is bad, because they all were.  Both these men are exactly as the listeners would expect.  A good guy and a bad guy are going up to pray.

And, of course, the key is how they pray, right?  You’ll notice that the Pharisee is announcing at God (and anyone who can hear) what a good guy he is.  He is letting God know that he deserves not only to be justified, but also to be patted on the back.  And, just to be sure it sounds exactly right, the whole prayer is framed as a thank you to God.  “Dear God, I am grateful that you made me so super awesome!  Especially compared to the people who are not so awesome, like this tax collector right here.”  The Pharisee is telling God all about himself, while throwing his neighbor under the bus.

Now, the Tax Collector tells God about himself as well.  He pleads, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”  The end.  No details, no comparison to anyone else, no justification or explanations.  Just, “be merciful to me, a sinner.”  And anyone listening to this story would’ve said, “Duh.  We already knew that!”  So there’s nothing surprising to those listening to Jesus tell this story.  Except that maybe the good guy is even better than a regular good guy would be, and he’s even thanking God for making him such a good guy.  All sounds just like we’d want it to be.

And sitting here, 2,000 years later, even we can tell who is the better man, right?  If I asked, “Which man would you rather have as your neighbor?”  The answer is the Pharisee.  (Which is not the same as, which one would you rather have a beer with, probably.)  When it comes to morality, the Pharisee wins this one hands down.  His actions are spot on.  And if good behavior is what justifies us, then move that man to the front of the line!  The obvious conclusion is that this man, this Pharisee will go down to his home justified.

But nope.  Wrong answer.  Salvation does not come from good behavior, sorry.  Being good does not make you justified.  It is not what we do that saves us; it is what God does that saves.  Your good behavior is just your good behavior.  Now you’re thinking, “Is he telling us, ‘don’t behave’?”  No, I’m not.  I think behaving is good.  (I even wish that I could.)  I’m just saying that your morality (even a super-charged Pharisee morality) will not bring you to the point of going down to your home justified.

Following the law makes society better for everyone; but it is not what saves.  Living a moral life makes things better for both you and your neighbor; but it is not what justifies.  There are plenty of reasons to do the right thing; but thinking it brings salvation is not one of them.  You cannot save yourself, no matter how good you are.

So then what?  And what about prayer?  Is there no point in talking to God?  Good question.  Let’s look at the purpose of prayer.

In a sentence, we could say that the purpose of prayer is to put us in right relation with God and our neighbor.  That is, praying to God reminds us that we are not God.  Prayer makes us mindful that we are reliant on the One in whose hands all creation is held.  Prayer humbles us before God.

And, as far as our neighbor . . . well, remember that Jesus says to pray for our enemies?  To pray for those we don’t like?  We don’t pray for them so that God will come around to loving them.  We pray for our enemies so that we will come around to loving them.  When we pray for our neighbor, we are acting in love toward them, even if we don’t like them.  We do not pray for our enemies by asking God to smite them; we instead pray for their needs, we pray for their well being, and that makes us start to want what is best for them.  So, yes, in a sentence, we could say that the purpose of prayer is to put us in right relation with God and our neighbor.

Now, with that in mind, let’s look at how these two prayed in the Temple.  The Good Guy “standing by himself,” thanks God for how awesome he himself is, and uses his neighbor as a foil to magnify just how awesome he himself is.  He lets God know how grateful he is that he is “not like other people.”  He reminds God how he goes over and above what is required, that he is above reproach, and that he lacks nothing when it comes to righteousness.  It’s like an annual job performance review.

The Bad Guy, meanwhile, is “standing far off,” and “ would not even look up to heaven.”  His prayer?  Simply this: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  That’s it.  And Jesus then tells us, “This man went down to his home justified rather than the other.”  This sinner, who cries out for mercy, is the one who goes home justified.  Dare I say, we should be like the sinner?  Yes.  I do so dare.

The morality of the Pharisee is good for society, to be sure.  Just as the immorality of the Tax Collector is bad for society.  Obviously, life would be better for everyone if we had more people tithing, and fewer people ripping people off.  So again, I’m not saying, “Don’t behave.”

But when it comes to prayer, we would be better off having more of us praying like the Tax Collector (“God, be merciful to me, a sinner”) and fewer of us praying like the Pharisee (“Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way.”).  And all the while, we must resist the temptation to say, “God, I thank you that I am not like that Pharisee,” since that makes us exactly like that Pharisee.

The bottom line is this:  Stick to what you know and what we confess every week:  I am a sinner in need of God’s forgiveness—just like my neighbor—and trust that we are all redeemed by what God has done, in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  And whether or not we succeed at living upstanding moral lives, we are all welcome at this altar.  Because we worship a God of second chances.  We worship a God who justifies tax collectors.  We worship a God of redemption.  And we all go down to our homes justified, because of Jesus.

Amen

Massillon Tigers Prayer Service

Tigers Prayer Service
10/25/2025
Hebrews 12:1

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

This is the tenth time I’ve had the honor of leading this annual prayer service for the Rivalry Game.  But the tradition has gone on much longer than my short time here.  And it all goes back to Paul Brown.  Whenever I tell other priests that I am the rector of St. Timothy’s in Massillon, I always add, “Where the football comes from.”  And that’s because of Paul Brown.  And because of this team.

When Paul Brown started coaching the Tigers in 1932, he was a member of St. Timothy’s Church.  That’s why this prayer service has been held at St. Tim’s since . . . well since at least the 1950’s.  Plus, of course, the high school was right down Oak Street at the time, so it was pretty convenient.

Paul Brown left Massillon to become the coach of Ohio State.  From there he went on to become the first coach of the Cleveland Browns—which some people say are named after him.  After falling out with management, he moved to Cincinatti and started the Bengals, whose colors are orange and black (which is not a coincidence), because Paul Brown knew that orange and black is everything.  When he died in 1991, Coach Brown’s funeral was held right here at St. Timothy’s, and he is buried in Rose Hill cemetery up on Wales Road.

Paul Brown and the Tigers and St. Timothy’s all go together.  And so far this season, you have played every game in Paul Brown stadium, and now you are here, sitting in St. Timothy’s.  Paul Brown left Massillon to go do even more great things.  And after 9 games in Paul Brown stadium, you all are leaving Massillon, to play in one of the most anticipated high school games in Ohio football.  

But enough of all that.  The thing I really want to remind you of is the scripture reading we heard from Hebrews:  You are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.  You really are.

All those people who keep coming out to cheer you on, they are your cloud of witnesses.  In the good years and in the not so good years, the people of Massillon stand behind this team.  They support you as athletes, they support you as students, and they support you as people who will go on to support the ones who come behind you.  Massillon has always had a strong and faithful football program, because Massillon has always had strong and faithful people.  You are not the first to play the game here, and you won’t be the last.

Which brings us to today.  Everyone in town feels like this is their game, like this is their day to beat McKinley.  And—in a way—sure, it is.  But for each of you sitting in this room today, there’s something more.  Because this is literally your game and your day, in a way that no one else will ever know.

Whether you are throwing a ball, or blocking a tackle, or carrying water to the players, or calling the plays from the sideline, this game is your game.  You are the ones who will play this game, in front of—and on behalf of—that great cloud of witnesses who are supporting you, and who will always support you.

Massillon is a unique place, and I am proud and honored to host this prayer service with you each year.  Whether or not we share the same faith tradition, we are all made in the image of God.  The God who creates, redeems, and strengthens us this day, and all the days to come.  May God bless you all, and may God keep you safe this day, and every day.

Amen.  And go Tigers!

The Burial of Wanda Hann

Wanda Hann
10/24/2025
Isaiah 25:6-9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Those who knew her well know that Wanda’s life was characterized by a love for her faith, her family, and God’s creation.  In a sense, this is the pinnacle of a life well lived.  Because it shows a love for the things that God loves.  Faith, family, and creation.

For much of her life, Wanda was a regular attendee of services here at St. Timothy’s, and she served on the Altar Guild, among many other things.  When she was able, she was committed to being here in person.  Her faith was always an important part of who she was and how she lived.

As many have noted, Wanda found great joy in spending time with her extended family, especially during holiday celebrations.  One of God’s deepest blessings is to spend time with family, whether that family is related to us by blood, or is a family of choice.  Families, and companionship with the people we love are a gift from God, and Wanda knew that and lived it out in her own life.

And then there is creation.  Wanda loved the birds that came to her feeders.  And I really get that.  In the time when we had birdfeeders, I could sit there for hours watching them.  (But never as long as our cats watched them!)  But there’s something in that about birds relying on people.  And also, there’s something that stirs in our hearts to watch birds eat what we provide.  In a sense, having a bird feeder is joining God in the care of creation.

Faith, family, and creation.  These were the loves of Wanda’s life.  And they are all gifts from God in each of our lives.  And through faith, family, and creation, you could say that God was always on Wanda’s mind.  Because those are the places where we find God.  Wanda kept God on her mind and—even more importantly—God kept Wanda in mind.

As we just heard Jesus say in the gospel reading from John, “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”  And, “this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”

Wanda was given to Jesus in her baptism, and Jesus does not lose what is his.  God will raise up Wanda along with her beloved Lawrence on the last day.  And God will raise you up on the last day.  Because—like Wanda—you have been given to Jesus, and Jesus does not lose what is his.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 19

Pentecost 19, 2025
Genesis 32:22-31
Psalm 121
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Well, here we are once more back to looking at a morally ambiguous parable for our gospel text.  Special shoutout to the Lectionary Committee.  There are many reasons this text is troubling.  And a few reasons why this text often does more harm than good in the lives of Christians.  But my main goal this morning will be to get us to consider a different way of interpreting the parable we just heard from Jesus.

So first, beware the road of knee-jerk interpretation.  The typical way to read this parable is to see God as the judge, and see ourselves as the widow: and therefore, the obvious takeaway is that a life of persistent prayer wears God down into relenting and helping us.  That is, if we—like the widow in the story— pray without ceasing, then God will finally relent and grant us whatever it is we’ve been praying so hard for.

Two problems jump out with that interpretation.  First, and most obvious, it suggests that God’s response to us—and even God’s care for us—is dependent on our efforts at convincing God to notice us.  I’m sure you have already experienced some devastating loss or tragedy in your life.  You have probably prayed to God that something would or would not happen.  Something like praying against the death of someone who means the world to you.  Or praying that the loss of a close friendship or marriage would not come to pass.  Or praying that the financial hardship you’ve been going through might finally come to an end.  To be human is to suffer, it seems, and a good amount of our prayers to God really come down to asking God to make things turn out okay.  We pray that we would find that the patient had recovered, the workplace didn’t close, the relationship didn’t end. 

And then, despite our fervent prayers, things often don’t turn out how we’d hoped.  We might tell our friends, “My prayers were not answered.”  And we are faced with the horrible dilemma: has God abandoned me?  Or was it that I didn’t pray hard enough?  Or, to today’s point, should I have been more like the persistent widow in this parable?

Here’s the thing:  If we approach prayer in such a way that we imagine God sitting on a judge’s bench waiting to be convinced by our pleading to take some action . . . well, what kind of loving God is that?  That is how the ancient Greek and Roman gods act; it is not how the God who brought the people out of Egypt acts.  AND, it implies that when our prayers are not answered, it really was our fault.  We should’ve prayed more.  We should've prayed harder.  We should've enlisted more friends to help us pray.  As though God’s love for us were just some huge bolder we need to push by brute force to get moving.  But I want to tell you this: when tragedy strikes, when things go wrong, it is not helpful to think that it is all up to you to pray harder.  This is commonly called “blaming the victim.”  In very plain terms: A God who truly loves you does not play hard to get.

The second problem with this parable takes us back to our constant refrain over the summer with these parables in Luke: When you read the parables, do not assume that God is the one in authority, or the one in power.  We tend to reflexively assume that God is the judge in today’s parable, right?  That’s why we think badgering God will get us what we want and need in our lives.  You just have to convince God to help you, like the widow did with the judge.  But I need to remind you how this judge is described in today’s Gospel: “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people.”  That’s not God.  Or not our God.  And here’s another way you can tell the judge is not God . . .

Over and over in the Hebrew scriptures, God insists that the people pay special regard to the widows and orphans.  Widows and orphans were powerless in that society—as they mostly are in our society—and, if those who had some means to help them did not care for them, the widows and orphans had nothing.  God does not hold out against the pleas of a widow; on the contrary, God has a special regard for them.  This judge in the parable is trying to ignore the widow, and is trying to deny her justice.  The judge is not God.

Which brings up another thing about this parable.  It is easy to misunderstand the word “justice” when it shows up in the scriptures, because we have a completely different understanding of, and approach to, justice.  We have ended up with the Roman method of justice, which is—essentially—retribution justice.  We make them pay—like in those Misny billboards—but often without regard to helping the victims.  The ancient Jewish understanding of justice is restorative justice, which is more like making sure the victim gets a just compensation.  So, in our time, if I steal from you, the emphasis is on making sure I am punished for stealing.  In the Jewish culture of that time, if I stole from you, the focus would be on making sure you were compensated.  Very different goals.

Jewish justice sought restoration, justice for the oppressed.  A judge would be, by definition, on the side of the widow.  So, with that understanding of justice, the judge in our parable is a pretty lousy judge when you think about it.  A judge with no regard for the widows and orphans should not be a judge in the first place.  The whole point in having a judge was to set things right for those who have no voice.  This judge is dis-ordered, and not worthy of being a judge.  So again, this judge is not God.

There is a great little gem, which is hidden from us in our English translation of this parable, and which I just find so amusing.  The judge says, “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out.”  The part of that statement that gets translated as the very mild “so that she will not wear me out” is actually something more literally like “so she will stop beating me black and blue,” or “stop giving me a black eye.”  Poor old meanie judge, afraid of a defenseless widow, right?  Again, this judge is not our God.

So now you’re saying, “Okay, okay, we get it.  The unjust judge is not God.  So now what?”  I’m glad you asked that.  I’m going to tell you what I think this parable means, and—I admit—it will be very far afield from what you hear other people say about this parable.  But hear me out.

What if God is the widow in this parable?  What if the one who keeps coming back, pleading for attention is Jesus, seeking to set things right, and to get a fair hearing for a restoration of how things should be?  We like to think of God as all-powerful, all Zeus-like, throwing thunderbolts and taking names.  (But I remind you, our God chose to come to us as a defenseless baby in feeding trough behind a sold-out hotel.)  God is not above appearing in whatever form it takes to get us to pay attention.  To notice that things are not right in the world.  Seeing God as a defenseless widow is radical, yes, but we worship a radical God.

And as for the judge . . . well, what if deep down you and I are the unjust judge?  Maybe it is our own hearts that have no fear of God, and no respect for anyone.  When we truly examine ourselves, we might just find what the judge says describes us as well, and our innermost attitude about God and our neighbor.  We are naturally people who—like the unjust judge—have no fear of God and no respect for anyone.  We, by nature, consider ourselves above others.  We reflexively tell God that we can do it on our own.  We want to be in control of our lives— in a very uncontrollable world—and prefer to think that we are going to get along just fine.

And then along comes this widow, this Jesus, pleading for restoration.  Pleading for our attention so that he can change our hearts.  And, yes, we obviously can go about our business, having no fear of God and no respect for anyone, and get by just fine.  But, eventually, tragedy strikes.  Things happen.  We are, in a sense, beaten black and blue, and given a black eye.  And along comes this widow, this God in disguise, trying to get our attention.  This widow keeps coming back, day after day, and our black eyes mark us as people who need redemption.  People who need another way.  A better way.

And, eventually, you and I say, “Enough!  I give up!”  And that is exactly when it all turns around.  Because in those moments, we are no longer the ones who have no fear of God and no respect for anyone.  Instead, we find ourselves promising to respect the dignity of every human being, with God’s help.  With.  God’s.  Help.

So, yes.  Left to our own devices, we are apt to have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, just like the unjust judge,  But with God’s help, we can turn this around. 

Jesus is like the widow in this parable, always pleading with our unjust hearts.  Reminding us that we don’t need to be beaten black and blue to find justice.  Jesus will never stop pleading with us to change our ways.  And every time we find ourselves having no fear of God or respect for our neighbors, Jesus will come back, pleading with us to choose the better way.  To choose justice for the oppressed, and love for the victims.  May Jesus continue to turn our hearts away from hatred and toward love.  Day after day.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 17

Pentecost 17, 2025
Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
Psalm 37:1-10
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

“The apostles said to the Lord, Increase our faith!’”
That’s the start of this very strange and disjointed gospel text we just heard.  But I have preached on that gospel text here at St. Tim’s in 2016, and in 2019, and in 2022.  I’ve pretty much said what I have to say about it so far.  Three times in fact.  (And if you really want to hear my thoughts on that text, I can send one of those sermons to you.)  So today, I mostly want to talk about the other three texts we heard.  And specifically I want to talk about faith and trusting in God, since those come up in all four readings today.  Faith, and trust in God.  And hopefully, with the apostles, we will all say,  “Increase our faith!”

So first, how about that reading from Habakkuk?  Did it make you feel a little on edge?  Uncomfortable?  Maybe even angry?  The writer asks God: Why do you make me see wrong-doing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. So the law becomes slack
and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous--therefore judgment comes forth perverted.

We could call the writer’s language righteous anger, couldn’t we?  Justice never prevails, and judgement becomes perverted.  And I’m angry about it!  But notice what we heard right before that section.  “How long shall I cry for help and you will not listen?  Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save?”  Cry “violence,” to the God who in love created everything that exists?  Do you hear yourself talking?  When faced with injustice and strife and contention, Habakkuk calls for violence, and God does not comply.  Habakkuk wants bloody revenge in the midst of strife, and God holds back.  His complaint is that God refuses to spill blood just because Habakkuk is angry.

And Psalm 37 seems almost like a response to this:  
Do not fret yourself because of evildoers; do not be jealous of those who do wrong.  For they shall soon wither like the grass, and like the green grass fade away. Put your trust in the Lord and do good. 

Put your trust in the Lord and do good.
But God, I want you to smite my enemies.  And the answer is, do not fret yourself because of evildoers.  That’s hard to hear, isn't it?  In our deeply divided times, when we all claim that we are correct, and we alone are in the right.  We are certain that we know what is best.  And if God would just wipe out those who are wrong, everything would be right.  Trust me.  Yet we hear, “Put your trust in the Lord and do good.”

We want God on our side because we’re sure we are right.  God is righteous, like us.  God is bloodthirsty, like us.  God knows who is good and who is bad, like us . . . and Santa Claus.

I don’t have to tell you that temperatures are running high across our nation and the world right now.  As the bishop said at our Clergy Day last week, “Y’all, it is hard to human right now.”  And in the midst of all of this, we tend to see two understandable reactions:  cowardice, and rage.  Some people cower and give up, hoping the worst happens to anyone but them.  And some people never stop screaming about the injustice they see, and call for violent rage in response.  But helpfully, two of our readings today address these understandable responses of cowardice and rage.

In Paul’s second letter to Timothy, he writes, “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”  And in Psalm 37 we heard, “Leave rage alone; do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.”  We are not called to violence and rage, but neither are we called to cowardice and fear.  Cowardice and fear and violence and rage may be our way, but they are not God’s ways.  So, if our response to the injustice happening all around us is not cowardice and fear, or violence and rage, what is the proper response?  What does God call us to do?

We find our answer sprinkled throughout today’s readings.  We could call it the middle ground between cowardice and rage: and it is steadfastness.  From Habakkuk, “I will stand at my watchpost, and station myself on the rampart.”  From the psalm, “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.”  And from Paul, “Guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.”

In essence, remain steadfast.  We remain steadfast in faith and trust in God.  Standing steadfast is strength.  Standing steadfast is honorable.  Trusting and waiting for God is faith.  We were not given a spirit of cowardice, AND leave rage alone.  Have faith and trust in God.

We see this throughout these four readings today.  Have faith, and trust in God.  In Habakkuk, “Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith.”  The righteous live by faith.  From the psalm, “Put your trust in the Lord and do good.”  And also, “Commit your way to the Lord and put your trust in him.”  And we heard Paul write to Timothy, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.”  And here we see how faith is passed down and passed on.  Timothy’s grandmother, Timothy’s mother, and now Timothy himself.  Timothy receives faith, through these faithful women.

Faith and trust in God are not just things to get us through the times we are living in.  They are also gifts we pass on to others and pass down to those who will come after us.  Cowardice and rage, violence and fear, none of these are from God.  They might be our natural reactions when we see the world spinning out of control.  But in all of today’s readings we can see God calling us to a different way.  Calling us to have faith, and to trust in God.  Faith and trust.  That is the only way forward, and it is the only way through.

We think cowardice is safety.  We think rage is strength.  But we are wrong.  Because we were not given a spirit of cowardice, and we are told to leave rage alone.  And faith is middle way. Faith shows us a path between cowardice and rage.  The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!”  May we boldly join with the apostles in their insistent plea.  
Lord, increase our faith!

Amen