It is difficult for me to stand before you.  Yes, partly because public speaking always makes me nervous.  But, also because I feel so vulnerable standing here in front of you, talking about my spirituality.  Some of you who know me well may realize that I often have a hard time expressing how I really feel-often using sarcasm and cynicism to prevent the conversation from becoming too serious.  But today, I stand before you without reservation to explain how important today's scripture is to me and my journey.

It's not easy to say where I am on my journey.  I have a long road ahead of me, feeling comfortable with my relationship with God.  I grew up in the Methodist Church and as a young boy felt a great devotion to God.  But, life as a child was hard for me.  The emotional stress of growing up with addict parents pushed me further and further from His folds.  Not only did it make me scared to have a relationship with God, but it made me scared to have a relationship with anyone-always waiting for the next person to hurt me.

I came to St. Thomas over three years ago with a friend.  I came because my friend wanted me to, not necessarily because I was looking to deepen my relationship with God.  Not being very familiar with the Episcopal service, I spent a great deal of the time flipping back and forth between the Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal, trying to follow along.  Then the sermon came.  Nancy Lee took to the pulpit and began delivering her sermon.  I relaxed, concentrating on the beautiful words coming out of her mouth.

I still remember what she said that morning that woke me up and made me want to come back for more.  She asked a simple question in the closing portion of her sermon.  "Who will write the words of your life?"  I sat in silence after the sermon, realizing how little control I allowed myself to have over my life.  I spent most of my college years being a slave to the pain I endured as a child.  I also realized that I was not allowing myself to love or be loved by God.

Fear.  I had let my life be consumed by fear.  Fear to love others.  Fear to allow myself to be loved.  I still struggle with this, as I'm sure many of you do as well.

Over the past few years, I forgave my parents and tried to love them for who they are.  Keeping a comfortable distance from their ongoing drug problems, I allowed myself to love them.  And with a very skeptical heart, I tried to accept their love in return without letting myself close enough to get hurt.

Last summer, I caught a cab at the airport after returning from Florida.  I struck up a friendly conversation with the cab driver, telling him the details of my vacation.  He asked me if I was ready to return to work Monday, and I told him that I would be taking an additional week off to spend time with my mother who was coming into town.  His face turned to sadness.  He took a deep breath and said, "I loved my mother.  There is no one else like your mother."  He explained to me that his mother died of cancer a decade earlier, but he thought of her daily.  He told me to enjoy every minute of my mother's visit.

In hindsight, I feel like God sent this man to deliver an important message to me.

My mother arrived the next day.  It was the first time she had ever visited me since I left for college 9 years ago.  We did all the touristy stuff in DC and then went to New York to see a show with Matt and his mother.  There was the usual distance between us, although I could tell that she wanted me to love her more than ever.

The last day she was here, she had a seizure, which was not abnormal since she suffered from epilepsy.  Afterwards, all of my walls came down.  I was scared.  She was unconscious for a long time as I watched her recover.  When she came back around, I was there, standing over her, asking her what I could do for her.  She did not even remember having the seizure.  I could tell that she was immensely happy that I was taking care of her.  I brought her food in bed and gave her medicine and watched over her through the night.