It was Sunday morning. I had traveled to Philadelphia to be present at the meeting of MARCHA (Metodistas Representando la Causa de los Hispanos Americanos). The night before this group of Methodists talked about values that would guide them as they grapple with what is next for our denomination.

At this writing, we are just a few days into official summer, and it is raining. A steady downpour has us under yet another flood watch. And the weeding that I have been trying to do in my garden between trips and responsibilities is beyond me.

Attending my own annual conference is always like coming home. I meet and greet clergy who have been with me on the journey in ministry since my journey began. There was my clergy friend who was on my first DCOM when I was coming through the process. There was my first superintendent, and my second, and my third. There was the clergy friend and her family who accompanied mine to family camp. There was the friend that I have leaned on for years for counsel and support.

Many of us, no doubt, were at Easter services this past Sunday. We enjoyed the smell of flowers in our sanctuaries. We reveled in the Alleluia chorus sung by our choirs. We celebrated the hymns commemorating Christ’s resurrection, and we rehearsed once again the stories of the women at the empty tomb. As we worshipped together, we greeted each other with the faith-filled Easter affirmation, “Christ has risen! He has risen indeed!”

This past Friday, I hosted my youngest son’s eleventh birthday. He wanted a slumber party, so we invited six of his friends over for a sleepover and party in our basement. The boys watched movies, ate popcorn, played games, and took turns wrestling with a huge stuffed dinosaur that my kids had been given by a church member some years ago.

I had heard about the labyrinth from a friend who suggested I visit it while in Austin, Texas for my brother’s wedding. The labyrinth is in back of the Lake Travis United Methodist Church out on Farm Road 620. It sits on a hill overlooking Lake Travis in a beautiful part of the Texas Hill country.

At the beginning of a meeting in 2018 at the General Board of Global Ministries with the leaders of the National Ethnic Plans, I gave a devotional that focused on God’s vision for a worldwide church.  The Rev. Fred Shaw, Shawnee storyteller and United Methodist pastor, followed my devotional with a traditional, indigenous prayer. His prayer started with a story. I asked his permission to share it.

The book, Anatomy of Peace, has been suggested for delegates preparing for the Special Session. It is instructive in terms of what we must decide as a denomination but also for how we are to be in relationship with people in our lives.

When I was a local church pastor in my first appointment, I found myself in conflict with a lay person in the congregation. This man wanted to be chair of the trustees.  I thought him inappropriate for the role, and I made sure he did not get elected. I later found out that he was hurt by my actions.

Friends, we all meet this day with heavy hearts over the events of last week. Five Dallas police officers, trying to protect peaceful demonstrators, were senselessly killed and seven others wounded, as well as civilians.

We are in strange times. Britain recently voted to leave the European Union amidst stirrings of xenophobia and nationalism.

I have always taken it for granted—that the water, which comes from my tap—clear and cold—is safe to drink. No more. The tragedy in Flint, Michigan keeps us all from taking clean drinking water for granted.

On a Wednesday night, a lone gunman entered an historic African Methodist Episcopal church (Emanuel A.M.E.) and killed nine people, including the pastor Rev. Clementa Pinckney. The gunman was welcomed into that congregation to join in a time of Bible study and prayer. A wolf came amongst the sheep.