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How much of what Jesus says do we believe?

How much of what He says do we incorporate in our lives?

And to whom do we listen more closely, Jesus, or our financial planner, lawyer, or personal trainer?

If we say that we love Jesus, could anyone tell that this is so by looking closely at our lives?

That is, if we were accused of being Christians, would we be convicted?

What would be the standard of evidence?

Would it be church attendance, how closely we follow His instructions in the Bible, or how much we give to a church or other charitable organization?

Do we go to church because it’s what we’ve always done, or because we love Jesus and we can’t help ourselves?

Does loving Jesus mean we will go to church, or does it mean something else?

Can we love Jesus and hate other humans?

Are we following Jesus for the afterlife insurance?

Would we follow Jesus if He told us that when we die, there is nothing else to the world, just an eternal Spirit hovering over the deep of creation?

Have we ever tried to live as He commanded?

What would it take for us to love as we are called to love?

Do we call ourselves good when Jesus Himself didn’t call Himself Good?

Are we honest with ourselves about our hopes, fears, and questions?

Do we know how to be vulnerable to each other?

Do we want to be vulnerable to each other?

Is anybody reading this?

Would it matter if they did?

I heard the following story in church when I was in high school. I have preached it several times over the course of my own ministry, and think it is especially pertinent now, August 22, 2025 – though it applies to all ages of human history.
—Fr. Jason

There once was a wretched old woman who lived in a small village in Iowa. It was bitterly cold in the winter and horribly humid in the summer. She’d been a wretched old woman for as long as anyone there could remember, and no one there knew her name. Most just called her the old woman. She kept a garden and small orchard and would tend it daily. No matter the time of year, she wore a long, soiled cardigan and faded, flowered scarf over her hair. The cardigan had always been brown and only got browner; the scarf might have been red at one point, but was now brownish gray. Anyone who made the mistake of walking onto her property was met first with loud shouts and insults, and if that didn’t work, she would begin throwing rocks. One day, there was an ambulance in front of her house, and the next month, there was a for-sale sign in the yard. There was no obituary, funeral, or mention that she’d died, save for the record of her death at the county morgue.

She remembered seeing that brat with the yellow hat trying to grab a pear from her best tree; she’d stood up too fast, eager to yell and scare him off, got dizzy, and when she awoke, she was in a dark place that smelled of sulfur, sweat, and rotting meat. She was hot, hotter than she’d ever been, and she tried pulling her cardigan off her shoulders, but it wouldn’t move. She was afraid, more afraid than she’d ever been, and said silently to herself, “Good Lord.” A quiet, sharp voice answered right next to her ear: “Not here, old woman.” The old woman screamed and tried to run, but her feet were stuck fast to the floor. She was able to fall to her knees and, in desperation, began to pray.

She’d not prayed in years, decades – scores of decades, and she didn’t know what to say. She began to say, “Lord Jesus help me,” over and over, her face buried in the ground, her words muffled, but still intelligible. She prayed for what seemed like hours, days, years…she did not sleep, eat, or do anything else – she didn’t think those things were possible. She cried for herself, and then for all the people she’d hurt – she began to pray, “Lord Jesus forgive me,” over and over, for days, years, centuries…

One day, there was a small beam of light miles above her, but it reached her eyes – a hole in the ceiling. The hole widened, and from the hole there descended a pear, hanging from what looked like a spider web. She prayed all the more, and the more she prayed, the faster the pear descended. It stopped just in front of her face. She licked her lips…it had been so long since she ate. She reached for the pear, holding it with both hands, and when she held it, it tugged her upwards. Soon it pulled her up from the floor; it wasn’t for eating, it was pulling her out of hell, towards the light!

Other souls nearby saw her rising and quickly grabbed her ankles. The pear slowed slightly but still rose into the air. Soon, there was a long line of people holding onto one another, being pulled up ever so slowly by the pear; each soul that was added slowed the pear slightly, but still it ascended. The old woman grew fearful; she felt the weight of all the people holding on to her. Looking down, she saw the whole of hell being pulled upwards by the pear. As they went up, the hole in the ceiling grew larger, until the old woman could see the choir of angels singing, Christ sitting at the right hand of God, and her parents with their arms outstretched, tears streaming down their faces.

The closer she got, the slower the pear pulled her up, and the more her fear grew. Looking down, she grew angry – the people holding on to her were slowing her down and keeping her away from heaven. She was the one who had been praying unceasingly, and this was her pear. They didn’t earn it or deserve it, not like she did. She began to kick her legs, doing her best to dislodge the freeloaders holding on to her. She gladly watched them tumble back to hell, and as they fell, the pear gained speed.

She looked back to her parents, eager to greet them, but they were gone – the hole quickly closed, and the pear grew rotten and fetid in her hands. She was holding on so tightly she smashed it between her hands, the pulp squelching through her fingers. It was her pear. She’d prayed for it. Those were her thoughts as she fell back into hell, into the arms of her tormentors, into the eternal darkness, where there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

As you may know, it has been my hope to hire an associate priest at St. Francis to help me with my pastoral and sacramental responsibilities. However, due to budget constraints, we were only able to offer potential associates 3/4 time pay. While this limited the field of candidates, we did get some strong leads. As things were beginning to move forward with potential candidates, one of our parishioners asked me what we had planned for children 11 – 18; this was especially pertinent as we have two children who have aged out of Blair’s Sunday school, with at least one more that will age out next year. Regretfully, I had nothing planned for our older youth. The clergy position was geared towards sharing care of the congregation, with an emphasis on programming for all ages.

It was at this time that Shelley Reece came to me and said she’d heard of an opening at the church; I told her it was for a clergy person, but that she should come to the office and talk with me. After a fruitful and spirit-led conversation, I realized that Shelley was a perfect fit for leading programming and youth, with an emphasis on people ages 11 – 25. Shelley has been an instructor with Ancient Ways Karate for several years, and she is an excellent teacher. She ably teaches students ages 4 – 70, with grace, humor, and discipline. Hiring a lay person over a clergy person comes with a few advantages: the total pay package is less, and there is no expectation that she takes part in the service on Sunday morning. She can be with the children, and during the week, her focus will be on programming for all ages, with an emphasis on our kids and children in the community.

I realize that this happened quickly; I met with Shelley on July 24, and on July 31, asked the vestry to approve funding for a Missioner of Programming and Youth, rather than an associate priest. After meeting for nearly an hour, the assembled vestry unanimously approved the hiring of Shelley Reece to be the Missioner of Programming and Youth. The vestry’s primary concern was that I receive the help I need to run the church; I assured them that Shelley would be taking enough off my plate to help me a good deal. The reason for haste was twofold: one, Shelley is excited to work with youth in the church, and she already has a strong background through her teaching at Ancient Ways. Two, the programming year begins in September, and I wanted to have someone in place for our children.

As I said to the vestry, we owe it to our youth and the youth of the community to create and sustain a strong community geared towards their spiritual needs. We will review and assess Shelley’s progress in January and decide where to go from there. It is my hope and prayer that she is wildly successful and that we have as many kids here on a regular Sunday as we do on Christmas Eve. The kids are out there; it’s getting them here that’s the challenge.

—Fr. Jason