Dear St. Augustine's 'ohana,
In this week's gospel, we meet Martha and Mary. Martha is busy, working hard, making sure everything gets done. Mary is sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening. We often read this story as a binary—work or worship, service or stillness. But perhaps this lesson is about balance.
Jesus isn’t scolding Martha for serving. He’s inviting her to stop just long enough to remember why it matters—to let her service be rooted in love, not resentment.

Martha says: If I don’t do it, it won’t get done. Maybe that’s true. But is it the only truth?

What if we stopped virtue signaling and started soul listening? What if we let joy into our work and made time to pause? What if we stopped framing life as either/or—and embraced it as both/and?

Spirit reminds us to live in balance: meeting ourselves where we are—with grace—while also staying open to how the Spirit wants to stretch us.
​Blessings,
Vicar Jennifer +

If you use any of the text in this or other reflections on this web site, please ensure proper attribution to the author. Mahalo!

July 3, 2025 - Rev. Jennifer Masada
Dear St. Augustine's 'ohana,
Last week, reflected on the courage it takes to let go—of fear, of control, of all the ways we try to manage or protect ourselves. We named the invitation to release whatever keeps us from love, and to trust that when we do, we make space for the Spirit to move. Letting go, we said, is not weakness. It’s how love flows.

This week, we continue that flow—not just in surrender, but in gracious presence. We’re invited to stay open even when we are not received or accepted as we are. We are to travel light, even when burdens arise, to be at peace, and to carry peace wherever we go. We read in Luke 10 that Jesus sends out his followers not as conquerors and not as judges, but as guests. What does Christ teach us about being loving guests in our communities? In our families? In our own minds and bodies?

“Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house.’” We are to receive what is given with grace and gratitude. To eat what is offered. To stay present—not flitting from house to house looking for better treatment. Jesus teaches spiritual humility, inviting us to be content, grounded, and open to what comes.

And if we are not welcomed? Don’t retaliate. Don’t argue. Just shake the dust off your feet—and move on. 

What would it look like in our lives if we stopped clinging to rejection? What if we released resentment like dust falling from our soles? If we trusted that the Spirit keeps flowing, even where we are not accepted or received with love and grace?

We are guests not only in others' homes, but in ourselves. The God-gifted temples we call our bodies and minds are temporary vessels—ours to care for as guests while we are here on the planet. What if each day, we treated our hearts and minds like a guest room for the Spirit? We wouldn’t invite someone into a house piled with dirty dishes and laundry and say, “Sorry, I haven’t cleaned up in a while. Hope you don’t mind the mess.” But we do this spiritually all the time. We rush into prayer or try to extend love without tending to the inner room first.

To be good houseguests of the Spirit, we need regular cleansing. Spiritual cleansing doesn't mean perfection; it is a daily process that facilitates flow. Allow Spirit to move through, clearing what clogs us up, so we can flow with grace, wisdom, and love.

Flow as the Spirit flows. Not rigid. Not reactive. Not clinging to the past or obsessed with results. Be present. Gentle. Open. Let the Spirit keep your heart soft. Let love keep you moving. And when you are not received or accepted as you are, when your peace is not welcomed— shake off the dust, but not your love. Keep flowing.
​
Because love never ends. And the Spirit never stops moving.
​
Blessings,
Vicar Jennifer +

If you use any of the text in this or other reflections on this web site, please ensure proper attribution to the author. Mahalo!

June 27, 2025 - Rev. Jennifer Masada
In a conversation this week, a friend was lamenting the state of the world. “I think I was born at the wrong time,” she said. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “Fear,” she answered.

As events continue to unfold across our nation and the world, the Executive Council of the Episcopal Church met this week in Maryland. In her opening remarks, House of Deputies President Julia Ayala Harris said, “This is not a moment of chaos. It is a moment of consequence. The tactics we are witnessing are not random. They are strategic: deliberate efforts to co-opt public institutions, erode the rule of law, and blur the boundaries between faith and state... These are hallmarks of what scholars call theocratic and state capture—the systematic merger of religious and political authority reshaping how power operates in our world.”

Amid this climate of fear and manipulation, we turn to scripture that grounds us in something deeper. On Sunday, we’ll hear of Jesus setting his face toward Jerusalem, knowing the cost of love yet moving forward with unwavering commitment. He invites his followers—then and now—to do the same: to let go of what gets in the way of love, and to trust the deeper current of the Spirit.

This story invites a question worth sitting with: What do we need to release to live more fully for love—not fear?

Sometimes the greatest obstacles to Divine love aren’t external forces, but what we grip inside:

• our expectations
• our assumptions
• our need to be right
• our judgment of others
• our fear of getting it wrong
• our clinging to what once made us feel safe

The Spirit calls us to let go—not into apathy, but into active, intentional love. Over the past few weeks, we’ve been reflecting on the image of the Water of Life—the water of our baptism that connects, nourishes, and teaches us how to live in the flow of grace. Like water, love flows in the present moment. It doesn’t cling to the past or force the future. It meets the moment fully, offering itself without fear. To live for love is to loosen our grip. To live with love is to let the Spirit guide our steps.

As Paul reminds the Galatians: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control… If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.”

So may we ask ourselves honestly: What needs to be released in me today, so I can live more freely in love—and not in fear?

June 20, 2025 - Rev. Jennifer Masada
This week’s scriptures invite us to explore pathways to unity through the inner healing of Christ's divine light. At first glance, the stories in Psalm 42 and Luke 8 can feel distant—one is ancient poetry about a soul thirsting for God, the other is a dramatic tale of demons and deliverance. How do these passages speak to our ordinary, modern lives?

The psalmist reminds us that our soul longs for us to connect with the Divine within. Through the wild tale in Luke 8 about a man possessed, we are shown that we can be inhabited by a legion of voices. In our increasingly chaotic world, systems of politics, money, and social status wield power and distract us from our soul's identity and purpose. Today, just as in Jesus' time, loud and relentless voices try to name us, shape us, and scatter our sense of self.

These stories invite us to a sacred practice of clearing. We can step away from the noise by:

• Taking a break from the stream of headlines and commentary. Not because we don't care, but because we do, and care needs space to breathe.
• Beginning the day with stillness rather than reaction. Even one deep breath, one moment of quiet, can return us to ourselves.
• Paying attention to the voices that live inside: Are they kind? Are they true? Are they yours?
• Allowing tears come when they need to. In Scripture, we see that longing and weeping are not weakness—they are sacred prayers that help us see the chaos inside ourselves and release it with compassion and love.
• Remembering you are not required to save the world on your own. You are not Legion. You are not the noise of the world. You are one soul surrounded by people ready to do the inner work alongside you. You carry God's love and you are carried by it. Call on the Christ consciousness that lives in you and all creation.

​The man in Luke is restored not by effort, but by encounter. The psalmist finds hope not in answers, but in trusting that presence will return. These stories speak to us still—calling us to clear the clutter, to name our longing, and to be met by the One who sees us clearly and calls us beloved.

Like the psalmist, we can name our longing. Like the man filled with "Legion," we can recognize the voices that distort our true selves. Jesus meets us in that place—not to condemn, but to restore. As we are healed and cleared, we become vessels of light, capable of love and unity not based on sameness, but in the unity of shared Divine presence.

 If you use any of the text in this or any sermon posted on this web site, please ensure proper attribution to the author.