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Servant Church in the of Mason City, IA

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“Did not Jesus say in Matthew 25 that to welcome him is to welcome those whom the self-righteous have rejected? The hungry. The immigrant. The homeless. The convict. Jesus’ church can show Jesus’ fierce love by inviting into the intimacy of their faith fellowship those whom others are scandalized by.

By recalling Jesus’ journey to the cross, the season of Lent reminds us of God’s extravagant love. May this season inspire us to love others just as extravagantly, just as fiercely as God, through Jesus, loves us.”

—Rev. Dr. Brian Blount, from his commentary on Luke 7:36-50 and Matthew 25:35-40 | @sanctifiedart

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Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 18393155701157562

“Did not Jesus say in Matthew 25 that to welcome him is to welcome those whom the self-righteous have rejected? The hungry. The immigrant. The homeless. The convict. Jesus’ church can show Jesus’ fierce love by inviting into the intimacy of their faith fellowship those whom others are scandalized by.

By recalling Jesus’ journey to the cross, the season of Lent reminds us of God’s extravagant love. May this season inspire us to love others just as extravagantly, just as fiercely as God, through Jesus, loves us.”

—Rev. Dr. Brian Blount, from his commentary on Luke 7:36-50 and Matthew 25:35-40 | @sanctifiedart

If God lived next door,
I’d keep sugar on the shelf,
just in case they needed a cup.
I’d put a picnic table in the front yard
and begin taking my coffee there.
Whenever God passed by with their gaggle of rescue dogs,
I could say, Want to sit for a moment? Want to rest your legs?
I’d keep a jar of dog treats and water by the mailbox
and change my doormat to one that says:
All are welcome here.

—excerpt from the poem “If God Lived Next Door” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

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Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 18075560216526688

If God lived next door,
I’d keep sugar on the shelf,
just in case they needed a cup.
I’d put a picnic table in the front yard
and begin taking my coffee there.
Whenever God passed by with their gaggle of rescue dogs,
I could say, Want to sit for a moment? Want to rest your legs?
I’d keep a jar of dog treats and water by the mailbox
and change my doormat to one that says:
All are welcome here.

—excerpt from the poem “If God Lived Next Door” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

Other gardeners may struggle and pretend they have control
Over land that God created, but I’ll tell you what I know:
I am not the Master Gardener, just a steward of this place
God has seeded every acre with surprising, wild grace!
God has seeded every acre with surprising, wild grace!

—from the hymn “In a Neat and Tidy Garden” by Rev. Anna Strickland | @sanctifiedart

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Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 18082269329253177

Other gardeners may struggle and pretend they have control
Over land that God created, but I’ll tell you what I know:
I am not the Master Gardener, just a steward of this place
God has seeded every acre with surprising, wild grace!
God has seeded every acre with surprising, wild grace!

—from the hymn “In a Neat and Tidy Garden” by Rev. Anna Strickland | @sanctifiedart

“From the Corn Mother of Indigenous myth to African women braiding okra seeds into their hair as they were forced from their homelands, many of our ancestors understood the power of carrying life in its smallest form. Seed-carrying is an act of faith. These tiny, unassuming specks hold the audacious hope that wherever we go, we already have what we need to take root and flourish in strange and foreign soils. May our faith and our hopes be just as audacious, resilient, and uncontainable as the seeds which hold the fruits of our faith.”

—from the artist’s statement for “We Are Small, We Are Numerous, We Are Deep” by Carmelle Beaugelin Caldwell (@beaufoliostudio) | @sanctifiedart

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Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 18058808534377470

“From the Corn Mother of Indigenous myth to African women braiding okra seeds into their hair as they were forced from their homelands, many of our ancestors understood the power of carrying life in its smallest form. Seed-carrying is an act of faith. These tiny, unassuming specks hold the audacious hope that wherever we go, we already have what we need to take root and flourish in strange and foreign soils. May our faith and our hopes be just as audacious, resilient, and uncontainable as the seeds which hold the fruits of our faith.”

—from the artist’s statement for “We Are Small, We Are Numerous, We Are Deep” by Carmelle Beaugelin Caldwell (@beaufoliostudio) | @sanctifiedart

I wonder if Jesus stopped dancing when he heard the news.
I wonder if he looked out over the crowd of happy people.
I wonder if he could see their joy poking through their fragility.
And I wonder if he knew, in that moment, that joy was holy,
that joy would sustain them, that joy was a form of resurrection,
so he turned water into wine and the dancing did not stop.

—excerpt from the poem “They’re Out of Wine” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

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Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 18066277160288704

I wonder if Jesus stopped dancing when he heard the news.
I wonder if he looked out over the crowd of happy people.
I wonder if he could see their joy poking through their fragility.
And I wonder if he knew, in that moment, that joy was holy,
that joy would sustain them, that joy was a form of resurrection,
so he turned water into wine and the dancing did not stop.

—excerpt from the poem “They’re Out of Wine” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

I wonder if Jesus stopped dancing when he heard the news.
I wonder if he looked out over the crowd of happy people.
I wonder if he could see their joy poking through their fragility.
And I wonder if he knew, in that moment, that joy was holy,
that joy would sustain them, that joy was a form of resurrection,
so he turned water into wine and the dancing did not stop.

—excerpt from the poem “They’re Out of Wine” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

1 0

Open post by trinitymasoncity with ID 17916487356274079

I wonder if Jesus stopped dancing when he heard the news.
I wonder if he looked out over the crowd of happy people.
I wonder if he could see their joy poking through their fragility.
And I wonder if he knew, in that moment, that joy was holy,
that joy would sustain them, that joy was a form of resurrection,
so he turned water into wine and the dancing did not stop.

—excerpt from the poem “They’re Out of Wine” by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | @sanctifiedart

NorthEastern Iowa Synod

Servant Church in the of Mason City, IA

213 N Pennsylvania Ave, Mason City, IA 50401

trinity-mc.org