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Blessed Lord, who caused all Holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and the comfort of your holy Word we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.

This second week of Advent, I want you to consider the idea of inheritance.

The Human Obsession with Inheritance

Inheritance is an important part of our human experience. It seems like from the beginning, the idea of who will inherit our money, lands, titles, and everything else we occupy ourselves with has been a fundamental concern for human beings. Wars have been waged, families split apart, marriages arranged all around this idea of inheritance.

As I considered our scripture lessons for today, that is the word that continued to emerge for me: Inheritance.

During this advent season, as we consider our faith and hope in the coming of Christ, we must consider our inheritance.

Two Kinds of Judgment

But before we talk about inheritance, we need to talk about judgment.

Human beings are obsessed with judgment, who’s right, who’s wrong, who deserves what. Yet our human judgment is always flawed. We judge by appearances, by wealth, by power. We judge based on our own interests and biases.

But Scripture speaks of a different kind of judgment: righteous judgment, divine judgment. And remarkably, in contrast to the judgement of man, this judgment isn’t something to fear. It’s the very foundation of our hope.

Isaiah’s Vision: Peace Through Righteous Judgment

The prophet Isaiah, as he tells about the coming of Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God, describes for us a wonderful scene that echoes our scripture lessons from last week.

He tells us that in the days to come, Godly order will be restored, that the wolf shall dwell with the lamb and the leopard with the young goat. He tells us of a world without killing and destruction, without death and fear. He describes the world as it was in Eden, he is describing God’s design for creation, that we might live in peace.

This is our true inheritance, not the brokenness we’re born into, but the restoration God promises. Isaiah paints a picture of what God intended from the beginning: peace, harmony, the lion lying down with the lamb. This is the world we inherit through Christ.

The Messiah Who Judges With Righteousness

But notice what Isaiah tells us about this coming Messiah: “He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide disputes by what his ears hear, but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.”

His judgment isn’t like ours—partial, influenced by appearances, swayed by power. His righteousness brings vindication to the poor and equity to the meek. When Isaiah describes the wolf dwelling with the lamb, he’s not just painting a pretty picture—he’s showing us what happens when perfect justice reigns. The strong no longer devour the weak.

This is why the Psalmist can sing, “He shall deliver the poor when he cries, the needy also, and him that has no helper.”

God’s judgment isn’t something to fear—it’s the hope of every person who’s ever suffered injustice, who’s ever been overlooked, who’s ever cried out for vindication. Every abuse survivor waiting for justice, every victim of oppression longing for rescue—they don’t fear God’s judgment. They pray for it. They sing “Amen. Come Lord Jesus!” because His coming means their vindication.

Why We Blame God

It is far too easy for human beings to blame God for the hurt and pain in this life. Most of us, if not all of us, have done it before. We question Him, we get angry, we throw fits. For some, it is the reason they give for their lack of faith or faithfulness. For many it becomes the excuse they need to disregard the teaching of Holy Scripture, to reject God, to even deny His existence.

The question has been around since there have been people to ask it: “Why does God let bad things happen to good people?”

It is a good question, albeit disordered. It is a good question because it speaks to the very heart of human experience: suffering, pain, death.

Adam’s Inheritance

To be human is to suffer, that is our reality, that is our inheritance. We are born into it, without choice, much like the Israelites in Egypt were born into slavery or how one might be born into royalty. Who you are, your character, your intellect, your natural talents are of little consequence.

We get angry with God because we perceive Him as the source of this misfortune, but the reality is, it is of our own doing.

Now, we as Americans have a rather difficult time with this one, as we are so enamored with the idea of individualism. “To each his own.” Unfortunately that is not the case in reality, which is why I bring up the concept of inheritance.

We have inherited from Adam the condition of mortality and the inclination toward sin—not personal guilt for Adam’s sin, but the consequences of human fallenness that affect us all. Like being born into a war-torn nation, we didn’t start the conflict, but we’re born into its reality. Much like our national debt, most of us had little to do with it directly, but born into it so we were.

I often get the question, is it wrong to be angry with God? I think it is human to get angry with God, and He is big enough and faithful enough to endure it. He loves us.

It is more that it is misplaced to blame God for our human inheritance.

This is the world without Christ, surrounded by the pain, suffering and death of the human experience but with nothing more to hope in than themselves. This is why the Gospel is so important, this is why it must drive us beyond our comfort zone so that we may truly bear the light of Christ to the world around us.

Scripture: The Food That Sustains Hope

This is why our Collect today directs us to Holy Scripture, not merely to read it, but to “hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them.”

These readings from Isaiah, Romans, and Matthew aren’t abstract theology; they’re the very food that sustains our hope while we wait for Christ’s coming. Through “patience and the comfort of your holy Word,” we embrace and hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life.

Christ’s Inheritance: A World Being Restored

We have an entirely different inheritance in Christ, it is not free of pain and suffering, but it is full of hope.

As we heard in our lesson from the epistle to the Romans, we who are strong have an obligation to those who are weak. To shoulder the burdens of one another, to serve one another, to be in community. This represents a stark difference in inheritance.

The Choice Before Us

Two inheritances lie before each of us.

Adam’s inheritance: a world where the strong devour the weak, where death reigns, where every person ultimately stands alone in their suffering.

Or Christ’s inheritance: a world being restored to Eden’s peace, where death is conquered, where we bear one another’s burdens because we’re united in Him.

Which will you choose?

We have inherited a selfish, or at least self-focused attitude as human beings, but in Christ we are called to selfless love. God himself, through the incarnate Christ gave us the example of humble service, love and charity, and sacrifice.

This flies in the face of the indulgent human experience that defines so many lives, to continue to feed oneself to the point of gluttony at the expense of others. This furthers the pain and suffering in our world and gives fuel to the despair that claims so many lives.

We are called to a much higher standard as we have an entirely different inheritance.

The Kingdom Breaking In Now

And here’s what’s remarkable: this peace Isaiah describes is not just “someday, somewhere else.” Saint Paul shows us it’s breaking into reality now, in the Church.

When we who are strong bear the burdens of the weak, when we welcome one another as Christ welcomed us, when we worship together in one voice glorifying God, we are living into that Isaiah vision. The wolf and lamb are not just animals, they are us. The predator and prey learning to dwell together because we’ve been brought under the reign of the one the Psalmist calls “the poor man’s refuge.”

Every act of bearing another’s burden, every moment of choosing service over self-interest, is a foretaste of Isaiah’s restored Eden. The Kingdom is not just coming. it’s here, breaking forth wherever Christ is Lord.

How the Lessons Speak Together

Are you starting to see how these lessons from Holy Scripture speak to one another?

Isaiah promises a world restored to Eden’s peace.

Paul shows us that this restoration begins now, in the Church, as we bear one another’s burdens in Christ-like love.

And John the Baptist calls us to active preparation, not passive waiting, but the hard work of repentance that makes us fit vessels for this inheritance.

John’s Call: Bear Fruit in Keeping With Repentance

John the Baptist stands in the wilderness crying out, “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance!” He warns against being presumptuous about our inheritance, “We have Abraham as our father,” just as we might presume on our Christian inheritance without the transformation it demands.

The axe is laid to the root of the trees. Our inheritance in Christ isn’t a passive possession; it requires the active fruit of repentance, the ongoing turning away from our bondage to selfishness and toward the freedom of serving others.

What Repentance Really Means

But let’s be clear about what repentance truly means.

John is not just calling for regret over past sins, he is calling for a complete reorientation of life. The Greek word metanoia means a transformation of mind, a turning of our whole being toward God.

Repentance isn’t a feeling; it’s a direction. It’s not just confessing “I’ve done wrong,” but declaring “Christ is Lord” and then living as if that’s true.

When John baptizes with water for repentance, he’s preparing people to be baptized with the Holy Spirit and fire, to have their lives so consumed with God that everything else becomes secondary. This is the inheritance we’re called to: not a life occasionally punctuated by religious moments, but a life wholly oriented toward Christ, where every decision, every relationship, every ambition is brought under His lordship.

The question isn’t whether you’ll have an inheritance, you already have one. The question is: which inheritance will you claim? Will you live oriented toward self, or toward God?

Preparing for His Coming

So, as we prayerfully examine our lives this season of advent, preparing our hearts and our minds to again consider the coming of our Lord—to ready ourselves, our hearts and our homes to celebrate the feast of his first coming and to prepare our hearts and homes to be ready for his second coming.

Why We Eagerly Await His Return

Why should we eagerly await His return? Because His coming means vindication.

Think of everyone who’s suffered injustice, everyone who’s been abused and never seen justice, everyone who’s watched the wicked prosper while they struggle. Isaiah’s Messiah comes to “strike the earth with the rod of his mouth” and “kill the wicked with the breath of his lips.” That’s not cruelty, but rather justice finally, fully realized. His return means every wrong will be made right, every tear will be wiped away, every abuse will be accounted for.

The same judgment that terrifies those who’ve built their inheritance on oppressing others is the hope of those who’ve been oppressed. This is why we can pray “Amen. Come Lord Jesus!” because His coming isn’t a threat to those who’ve oriented their lives toward Him; it’s our vindication, our rescue, our final homecoming.

The Hope of Our Inheritance

Let us not forget that ours is an inheritance of hope and that hope is the fruit of the Gospel. So may we not grow weary in fulfilling our calling, may we not get so distracted by the shiny things of this world that we become lost in ourselves and forget our Lord. May we each stand firm against the temptation to trade our inheritance of hope for an inheritance of bondage to the things of this world, to the ways of this world.

Advent: Hope and Anticipation

Advent isn’t meant to be dreary or burdensome. It’s like a child counting days until Christmas, yes, there’s discipline in the waiting, but it’s filled with hope and anticipation. We’re not just enduring until Christ comes; we’re actively preparing, making straight the paths, clearing away the obstacles of selfishness and indifference, so that when He comes, He finds us ready and rejoicing.

Just as Saint Paul affirms to the church in Rome, we serve a God of hope, may He indeed fill us with all joy and peace, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit, we may abound in hope this advent season and evermore.

A Challenge for This Week

So, this week, as we continue our journey through Advent, I challenge you: How will you bear the burdens of the weak?

Perhaps it’s as simple as calling someone who’s lonely, sharing groceries with someone struggling, or choosing to listen rather than speak. These aren’t dramatic gestures, but they’re the fruit John calls for, the evidence that our inheritance in Christ is changing us from the inside out.

Constant Reorientation

Remember, repentance is not just a one-time transaction; it is a constant reorientation.

Every morning we wake up, our hearts have drifted back toward self, that’s our inherited inclination. Every morning, we must turn again toward Christ. Every decision is an opportunity to either orient toward self or toward God. This is what John means by “bearing fruit” not one big dramatic conversion, but the daily, hourly choosing to live with Christ as Lord rather than self as lord.

It’s in the small moments: when you are cut off in traffic, when your spouse disappoints you, when anxiety rises about tomorrow, will you turn to self-protection and self-service, or will you turn to God and His kingdom?

That’s repentance. That’s the fruit. That’s how we “make straight the paths” for His coming.

Let us pray,

Almighty and gracious Lord, through You, our Lord of Hope, we have an inheritance of peace and of life everlasting. Give us the grace to serve you faithfully, to bear one another’s burdens, to serve the weak and to share the strength we have in You. Grant that we might not be lost to ourselves, distracted by indulgence and self-serving, but that our eyes might remain fixed on You as we prepare ourselves for your return. We ask this through Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and evermore. Amen.

Scripture Readings: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-15; Romans 15:1-13; Matthew 3:1-12

A Reflection for the Order of Saint Cuthbert and the Church

Advent calls us to watchfulness. “Watch therefore,” our Lord commands in the Gospel readings of this season, “for you know neither the day nor the hour” (Matthew 25:13). We are to be like servants awaiting their master’s return, like bridesmaids keeping their lamps trimmed, like the faithful steward who continues his work even when the master delays.

But what exactly are we watching for? And perhaps more importantly, what are we watching in?

The temptation of Advent is to make it only about watching the calendar, about external preparations for Christmas. We watch for the packages to arrive, for the liturgical progression from violet to rose to white, for the carols to begin and the feast to come. All good things, to be sure. But Advent’s deeper call is to watch our own hearts, to examine the interior movements that reveal whether we are truly preparing room for Christ or merely making room for religious sentiment.

This is where the ancient practice of the Examen becomes not just helpful but essential, particularly for those of us navigating the troubled waters of contemporary Anglicanism.

Let me be direct: the Anglican crisis is not just “out there” in the institutions, the bishops, the synods and conventions. The crisis is also “in here,” in our own hearts, in our own motivations, in the hidden springs from which our responses flow.

When we hear of yet another bishop covering up abuse, of another diocese ordaining those who deny the Resurrection, of another abandonment of apostolic faith in favor of cultural accommodation, what rises up within us? Righteous anger rooted in love for Christ’s Church? Or self-righteous anger rooted in our need to be proven right? Grief that stems from genuine love for souls? Or cynicism that hardens into contempt for all institutional Christianity?

These are not easy questions. They require rigorous self-examination to explore our own motivations. In twenty years of ministry, I’ve learned that people rarely do things for the reasons they think they do. Our stated motivations and our actual motivations often diverge widely.

St. John Cassian understood this deeply. His Conferences are essentially a prolonged examination of the logismoi, the thought-patterns and interior movements that either lead us toward God or pull us into vice. Cassian knew that we can be doing the right thing for the wrong reason, and that such misalignment of motivation ultimately corrupts even our good works.

This is the genius of the Examen, it trains us to notice these interior movements, to distinguish consolation from desolation, to discern whether our activism flows from the Spirit of Christ or from our own wounded egos.

The Structure of the Examen

For those unfamiliar with the practice, the Examen consists of five movements, typically practiced twice daily:

First, Gratitude. We begin by recognizing God’s presence and gifts throughout the day. This immediately reorients us away from complaint and toward thanksgiving. It’s harder to maintain cynicism when you’re actively noticing grace.

Second, Petition for Light. We ask God for the grace to see clearly and honestly. This is essential. Without God’s illumination, we will inevitably justify ourselves, explain away our faults, and remain blind to our true motivations. “Search me, O God, and know my heart,” the Psalmist prays. “Try me and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me” (Psalm 139:23-24).

Third, Review. This is the heart of the practice. We review the day hour by hour, paying particular attention to the interior movements, what St. Ignatius called consolations and desolations. When did I feel drawn closer to faith, hope, and charity? When did I feel pulled toward fear, bitterness, or self-righteousness? What was I seeking in that conversation, that email, that moment of indignation?

Fourth, Sorrow. Having seen our misalignments clearly, we acknowledge them honestly before God. Not with self-flagellation or despair, but with the simple honesty that makes repentance possible. Perhaps I engaged in gossip disguised as “pastoral concern.” Perhaps I felt secret satisfaction in another’s failure. Perhaps I responded from anxiety rather than faith.

Fifth, Resolution. We turn toward amendment. We choose one specific commitment for the coming day, asking God for grace to keep it. This is where examination becomes formation.

Consider the four vows of our Order: Simplicity, Chastity, Obedience, and Compassion. These provide specific lenses for Advent self-examination.

Simplicity. When I engage with the crisis in Anglicanism, am I driven by genuine poverty of spirit, or by a desire to accumulate influence, allies, vindication? Do I seek the simplicity of the Gospel, or am I caught up in the complexity of ecclesiastical politics? When I write about episcopal failure, speak about institutional corruption, or advocate for reform, from what interior place does this engagement flow?

Chastity, that is, purity of heart. Can I examine my response to a bishop’s theological error or moral failure and honestly discern whether I desire his repentance or his humiliation? Do I pray for those with whom I disagree, or do I secretly hope they’ll be exposed and shamed? This is the most uncomfortable question, but also the most essential. Single-heartedness before God means that even in pursuing justice and truth, our motivation must remain love; love for Christ, love for His Church, even love for the one who has failed.

Obedience. Am I submitted to Christ and His revealed will in Scripture and the historic faith, or have I made my own judgment the final arbiter? Do I obey legitimate authority where it exists, or am I using the failure of some authorities to justify rejecting all authority? There’s a particular temptation here for those of us in the Anglican tradition: having rightly rejected false authorities, we can become so habituated to rejection that we struggle to recognize and submit to true authority anywhere.

Compassion. Do I bear with patience the failings of others as Christ bears with mine? Do I see those with whom I disagree as souls for whom Christ died, or merely as obstacles to overcome? When I encounter theological error, moral failure, institutional corruption, does my heart break with Christ’s grief over Jerusalem, or does it harden with pharisaic contempt?

These are the questions the Examen trains us to ask. Not once, in a moment of spiritual intensity, but twice daily, every day, until the practice rewires our hearts.

A Practice for This Advent

Let me propose something specific. During this Advent season, as we prepare for Christ’s coming, I encourage members of our Order and affiliated parishes to practice what we might call the “Advent Examen of Ecclesial Engagement.”

This could be incorporated into our practice of the Daily Office. It takes only fifteen to twenty minutes, but the cumulative effect over four weeks will be profound.

Gratitude (5 minutes). Begin by thanking God for three specific gifts from the day. Deliberately include at least one related to the Church, however broken it appears. Perhaps a faithful sermon you heard. Perhaps a moment of genuine fellowship. Perhaps a prayer answered. Perhaps simply the grace that you remain in the faith at all, that you have not abandoned ship, that Christ has kept you when others have fallen away. This is not vain optimism, it is training ourselves to see with the eyes of hope rather than the eyes of cynicism.

Petition (2 minutes). Pray the words of Psalm 139 slowly: “Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts. And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Ask specifically for insight into your motivations regarding the current challenges facing the Anglican witness. Ask for the grace to see yourself as you truly are, not as you imagine yourself to be.

Review (10 minutes). Go through your day chronologically. Recall every moment when you engaged with the Anglican crisis—whether through reading, conversation, writing, social media, or internal thoughts. For each moment, ask:

– What did I think, say, or do?

– What interior movement preceded this action?

– Was I experiencing consolation (movement toward God) or desolation (movement away from God)?

– What was I actually seeking in this moment?

– Did this engagement draw me closer to Christ-like love, truth, and hope?

Be specific. If you read an article about episcopal misconduct, what were you feeling as you read? Relief that “your side” was vindicated? Genuine grief over souls harmed? Satisfaction that someone was finally being exposed? Anxiety about the Church’s future? Notice the movement, name it, and trace it to its source.

Sorrow (3 minutes). Acknowledge specific misalignments. Perhaps you engaged in gossip under the guise of “keeping people informed.” Perhaps you felt a flash of satisfaction when you heard of an opponent’s failure. Perhaps you responded to someone’s question from impatience rather than charity. Perhaps you allowed fear of institutional collapse to eclipse your trust in Christ’s promise that the gates of hell will not prevail against His Church.

Confess these to God honestly. “Against You, You only, have I sinned, and done what is evil in Your sight” (Psalm 51:4). The goal is not self-condemnation but honest acknowledgment that makes transformation possible.

Resolution (2 minutes). Choose one specific commitment for tomorrow. Make it concrete and achievable. Perhaps: “I will not discuss Bishop X’s situation without first praying for him.” Perhaps: “I will wait twenty-four hours before responding to inflammatory emails.” Perhaps: “I will read one page of Scripture for every page of ecclesial controversy I read.” Perhaps: “When I speak about the crisis, I will first state one thing I’m grateful for in the Church.”

Ask God for grace to keep this commitment. You will likely fail. When you do, bring that failure to the next Examen. The point is not perfection but progressive sanctification—the slow work of the Spirit conforming us to the image of Christ.

The Theological Foundation

Consider: St. Cuthbert himself practiced exactly this kind of rigorous self-examination. The Life of St. Cuthbert records how he would spend entire nights in prayer, standing in the cold North Sea, examining his conscience and battling his inner demons. The Desert Fathers, whom both Cuthbert and Ignatius drew upon, called this nepsis, or watchfulness and vigilance over the heart’s movements.

St. Augustine’s Confessions is nothing less than an extended Examen, mining his past for the movements of grace and sin, examining motivations rather than merely cataloging actions. “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You,” Augustine writes—and that restlessness can manifest as destructive activism in ecclesial politics if it’s not examined and redirected toward its true object.

St. Gregory the Great, in his Pastoral Rule, insists that those who would govern or reform the Church must first govern themselves. Self-examination precedes and enables effective ministry. Without it, even our pursuit of justice becomes unjust, even our defense of truth becomes distorted by pride.

This is thoroughly patristic, thoroughly Anglican, thoroughly compatible with the charism of our Order.

The Integration of Contemplation and Action

The Rule of the Order of Saint Cuthbert calls us to “contemplation in action,” the integration of deep prayer with active ministry that characterized Cuthbert himself. He could not remain on Farne Island when the people needed him, yet he could not minister effectively without his times of withdrawal for prayer and self-examination.

The Examen serves this integration perfectly. It prevents our activism from becoming mere reactivity. It prevents our contemplation from becoming escapism. It ensures that when we engage with ecclesial crisis, we do so from a centered place, from examined motivations, from hearts that have been regularly brought before God for cleansing and realignment.

Without this practice, we risk becoming what we oppose. We risk fighting institutional corruption with our own corruption of spirit. We risk defending apostolic truth with un-apostolic attitudes. We risk pursuing church discipline while remaining undisciplined in our own hearts.

The Goal: Prepared for Right Action

Let me be clear: the goal of this Advent Examen practice is not paralysis through endless self-questioning. The goal is clarity for faithful action.

By examining our motivations daily, we prepare ourselves to respond to Anglican crisis not from our wounds, our anxieties, or our pride, but from the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).

We need people who will speak truth in love, who will pursue discipline with humility, who will work for reform as those who know themselves desperately in need of reformation. We need people who can distinguish between righteous anger and self-righteous anger, between holy grief and cynical despair, between hope and presumption.

The Examen trains us to be such people. It doesn’t guarantee we’ll always get it right, but it substantially increases the odds. It creates the interior space for the Spirit to work, convicting us of our mixed motives, revealing our blind spots, redirecting our energies from ego-protection to genuine service.

A Word to the Weary

I know many of you are tired. My years in ministry and counseling have taught me to recognize compassion fatigue, vicarious trauma, and burnout. Many of us who care deeply about Anglican orthodoxy, who’ve fought for years to maintain apostolic faith in hostile institutions, who’ve watched diocese after diocese abandon the truth, many of us are running on fumes.

The Examen is not another burden to add to your load. It’s actually rest for the weary. By bringing our hearts regularly before God for examination, we’re relieved of the exhausting work of self-justification. We’re freed from the crushing weight of always needing to be right. We’re released from the anxiety that our entire identity is wrapped up in ecclesial outcomes beyond our control.

When we practice the Examen faithfully, we discover that God’s grace really is sufficient for our weakness. We discover that Christ really does bear our burdens. We discover that the Spirit really does pray for us with groanings too deep for words when we don’t know what to pray.

And we discover that being faithful is more important than being vindicated, that love is more powerful than correct analysis, and that the One who holds the seven stars in His right hand will not abandon His Church, however dark the present moment appears.

The Advent Invitation

So, this is the invitation for Advent: Watch. Not just the calendar, not just the liturgical progression, not just the external signs of Christ’s coming. Watch your heart.

Watch the movements within you when you read about episcopal failure. Watch what rises up when you encounter theological error. Watch where your thoughts go when you pray for the Church. Watch, and ask God to show you the truth about your own motivations.

This is the work of Advent. This is how we prepare room for Christ, not just in our schedules or our sanctuaries, but in the hidden depths of our hearts where our truest motivations dwell.

“By your endurance you will gain your lives,” Jesus tells us in Luke 21:19. That endurance is not gritted-teeth survival. It’s the patient, persistent work of allowing God to search us and know us, to try us and know our thoughts, to see if there be any wicked way in us, and to lead us in the way everlasting.

May this Advent be for all of us a season of holy watching, of honest self-examination, of hearts prepared not for Christmas sentimentality but for the coming of the King who searches minds and hearts, who sees in secret, and who will reward each according to their deeds.

Come, Lord Jesus. And while we wait, by Your Spirit, prepare us to receive You rightly, in our worship, in our work, and in the examined depths of our hearts.

– Abbot Kenneth