Episcopal Diocese of Washington

To draw people to Jesus and embody his love
for the world by equipping faith communities,
promoting spiritual growth, and striving for justice

Bishop's Writings Author: The Rt. Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde

The Arc of Life

October 07, 2021

Teach us to number our days, that we might set our hearts to wisdom. 
Psalm 90:12

I’ve learned that one of the most important questions to consider in life and ministry is this: Where am I in the arc of my life, or in the arc of a particular phase of it?

In my senior year of college, I was befriended by a group of young adults, all in their early thirties. We met at a local Catholic Worker House that provided shelter and meals for people experiencing homelessness. Each Saturday we gathered for prayer. On  other days, we would go on outings or work together on a social justice initiative. I babysat their children. My older friends all had meaningful work, either professionally or as volunteer activists. I was in awe of them. They loved me, as they would a younger sibling. 

I wanted nothing more than to leapfrog over my twenties and join them as an equal. But I needed to live my life, not theirs, and to find my own way. After college, I took a job in another city. While I loved those friends dearly, we were on different arcs of life and our paths never crossed again.  

Where are you in the arc of your life? While age is not the only consideration, it is a big factor to take into account when pondering our place. 

I am now nearly 62 years old. On October 2nd, my sister and I hosted a party for our mother, in celebration of her 90th birthday. Several of our own adult children were there, and some of them have children of their own. Of the four generations still alive, I am now an elder. If our mother dies before me, I will take my place among the oldest generation. All this tells me a lot about where I am, what my responsibilities are and what they’re not.

I want to occupy this position of life well, which means loving those around me, but no longer being in charge. (My family will tell you that this is hard for me.) Developmental psychologists tell us that the most important thing to do in one’s elder years is to make room for rising generations and give priority to them. This is the age of generativity--the time to listen well, let go of a lot, delight in others’ accomplishments, and deal with grief. At the same time, I am caring for our mother who is increasingly frail, and spiritually preparing for death.

That’s a brief overview of my life. Again I ask, where are you in the arc of yours? And what does that say to you about what is yours to do now, in the all-too-short time you are given to walk this earth? 

Of course, we never know where we are, in the sense that anything could happen to us. My mother could outlive us all. But as best as we can see, where are we? And where might God be beckoning us as we look toward the horizon? 

These are also questions to ponder in the context of Christian community. I often ask congregational leaders where they are in the arc of their ministry, in general and in relationship to the community they serve. Having some sense of where they are in life and vocation helps discern what’s possible in a given season. It also helps avoid the unfortunate misalignment that can happen when a leader and congregation are in vastly different places in their respective arcs of life and ministry. Early in my time as rector, as we were contemplating a significant fund-raising and building project, the junior warden pointedly asked me “Will you be here to see this through?” He wasn’t willing to take a big risk without knowing where I was in the arc of my tenure. His question underscored the value of stable leadership when asking a congregation to do something brave. 

On November 12, I mark my tenth anniversary as your bishop. From the beginning, I’ve had the sense that I would have a long episcopate, and God willing, I still feel that way. In speaking with diocesan leaders and in my own prayerful discernment, I have committed to serve for five more years, and perhaps longer, depending on what we discern together at the fifteen year mark. All this suggests that I have most likely passed the half-way point, and that informs my thinking nearly everyday. It keeps me focused and lends a bit of urgency, as I hope to accomplish what I sensed God called me to do as your bishop. 

Next time I’ll write more about the arc of ministry as it pertains to the Diocese of Washington, where we are in the arc of our strategic plan, and what to look for in the coming year. 


El Arco de la Vida

October 07, 2021

¡Enséñanos a contar bien nuestros días, para que en el corazón acumulemos sabiduría!
Salmo 90:12

He aprendido que una de las preguntas más importantes a considerar en la vida y el ministerio es ésta: ¿Dónde estoy en el arco de mi vida, o en el arco de una fase particular de ella?

En mi último año de universidad, me hice amiga de un grupo de adultos jóvenes, todos a inicios de sus treinta años de edad. Nos reunimos en una Casa Local de Trabajadores Católicos que proporcionaba refugio y comida para personas sin hogar. Cada sábado nos reuníamos para orar. En otras ocasiones, íbamos de excursión o trabajábamos juntos en una iniciativa de justicia social. Cuidé a sus hijos. Todos mis amigos mayores tenían un trabajo importante, ya fuera profesionalmente o como activistas voluntarios. Estaba asombrada de ellos. Me amaban, como si yo hubiese sido una hermana menor.

Yo solo quería que el tiempo pasara y pasar de mis veinte años de edad y unirme a ellos como una más del grupo. Pero necesitaba vivir mi vida, no la suya, y encontrar mi propio camino. Después de la universidad, comencé un trabajo en otra ciudad. Aunque amaba muchísimo a esos amigos, estábamos en diferentes arcos de la vida y nuestros caminos nunca se cruzaron otra vez.

¿Dónde estás en el arco de tu vida? Si bien la edad no es la única consideración, es un factor importante a tener en cuenta al reflexionar sobre nuestro lugar.

Ahora tengo casi 62 años. El 2 de octubre, mi hermana y yo organizamos una fiesta para nuestra madre, en celebración por su 90 cumpleaños. Varios de nuestros hijos adultos estaban allí, y algunos de ellos tienen ya sus propios hijos. De las cuatro generaciones todavía vivas, ahora soy anciana. Si nuestra madre muere antes que yo, tomaré mi lugar entre la generación más antigua. Todo esto me dice mucho sobre dónde estoy, cuáles son mis responsabilidades y cuáles no.

Quiero ocupar bien esta posición en mi vida, lo que significa amar a los que me rodean, pero ya no estar a cargo. (Mi familia les dirá que esto es difícil para mí.) Los psicólogos del desarrollo nos dicen que lo más importante que hay que hacer en los años mayores es dejar espacio para las nuevas generaciones y darles prioridad. Esta es la era de la generatividad, el momento de escuchar bien, soltar las cosas, deleitarse con los logros de los demás y lidiar con el dolor. Al mismo tiempo, estoy cuidando de nuestra madre, que es cada vez más frágil, y preparándose espiritualmente para la muerte. 

Es una breve descripción general de mi vida. Una vez más, pregunto: ¿dónde estás en el arco tuyo? ¿Y qué te dice eso sobre lo que debes hacer ahora, en el tiempo demasiado corto que se te da para caminar por esta tierra? 

Por supuesto, nunca sabemos dónde estamos, en el sentido de que algo podría pasarnos a nosotros. Mi madre podría sobrevivirnos a todos. Pero lo mejor que podemos ver es: ¿dónde estamos? ¿Y adónde puede Dios estar llamándonos cuando miramos hacia el horizonte?

Estas son también preguntas para reflexionar en el contexto de la comunidad cristiana. A menudo pregunto a los líderes congregacionales dónde están en el arco de su ministerio, en general y en relación con la comunidad a la que sirven. Tener algún sentido de dónde están en la vida y la vocación ayuda a discernir lo que es posible en una temporada dada. También ayuda a evitar la desconexión desafortunada que puede suceder cuando un líder y una congregación están en lugares muy diferentes en sus arcos de vida y ministerio. Al principio de mi tiempo como rectora, mientras contemplábamos un proyecto importante de recaudación de fondos y construcción, el guardián menor me preguntó: “¿Estarás aquí para ver esto?” No estaba dispuesto a asumir un gran riesgo sin saber dónde estaba en el arco de mi mandato. Su pregunta subrayó el valor de un liderazgo estable cuando le pedía a una congregación que hiciera algo valiente.

El 12 de noviembre, conmemoro mi décimo aniversario como su obispa. Desde el principio, he tenido la sensación de que tendría un episcopado largo, y Dios mediante, todavía me siento así. Al hablar con los líderes diocesanos y en mi propio discernimiento en oración, me he comprometido a servir durante cinco años más, y quizás más, dependiendo de lo que discernamos juntos cuando lleguemos a los quince años trabajando juntos. Todo esto sugiere que lo más probable es que haya pasado el punto de mitad de camino, y eso lo tengo presente en mi pensamiento casi todos los días. Me mantiene enfocada y provoca un poco de urgencia, ya que espero lograr lo que sentí que Dios me llamó a hacer como su obispa. 

La próxima vez escribiré más sobre el arco del ministerio de la Diócesis de Washington, dónde estamos en el arco de nuestro plan estratégico, y qué buscamos en el próximo año.


Homily for Choral Evensong & Installation of Honorary Canons Virginia C. Mars and John H. Shenefield and New Members of Cathedral Chapter

September 25, 2021

Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit. Jeremiah 17:7-8

Jesus said, ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.‘The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!‘No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.
Matthew 6:19-24

Good afternoon. I am honored to be in your company today. 

Services like this one are an important reminder that the leadership roles we assume in the organizations we care about are part of our vocation, our life’s work. Though they are often voluntary, when we take on the tasks of leadership, we give something precious of ourselves. We share our talent and skill. We give financially from the wealth entrusted to us. We give our time, perhaps the most precious gift of all. In giving, we also receive, from others engaged in the work alongside us; from the work itself; and from the grace of God that finds expression in human creativity. In the work of our varied vocations, we are co-creators with God.

A religious leader that I admire, Andy Stanley, once took it upon himself to identify the means through which God seeks relationship with us. Think of that for a moment--God seeking a deeper relationship with us, using whatever means possible to draw us in. “Faith catalysts” are what Stanley called these means God uses to help us grow in faith. After interviewing hundreds of people over several years, he identified five such catalysts. One of the five he called “personal ministry,” when we choose to personally engage in acts of service, and in particular, the acts that stretch us beyond what we think we can do or offer. An example of this is when we say yes to something not fully understanding what’s being asked of us, only to discover later on how big a commitment is required. Or perhaps we sense from the beginning that whatever we said yes to is far more than we can possibly accomplish on our own. In either case, we are particularly open to God, precisely because of the vulnerability we feel. 

For it is in that gap between what's being asked of us and who we are and what we have to give that we can experience God in a powerful way. God shows up in our times of doubt or even despair, when we know that we’re in over our heads. God shows up in the collective striving of the group when we cross a threshold. God shows up in those graced moments when we feel--actually feel--the Holy Spirit working in and through us, as St. Paul writes, accomplishing far more than we can ask for or imagine. 

These are “loaves and fishes” moments, when what we have to offer pales in relationship to what’s needed, but like the disciples giving Jesus a few loaves of bread and some fish with which to feed a multitude of hungry people, we make our gift anyway, and through the grace of God our insufficient offering is part of a miracle through which others are blessed. Our faith in God can’t help but grow as a result, for we know, even if others want to give us all the credit, that it was God who filled the gap between our offering and what was needed, and accomplished what only God can do. 

When we give of ourselves in service, what we give becomes an expression of sacrificial love--the love God offers all of us, revealed most dramatically and completely in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. When we participate in that kind of love, no matter the cost to us, something in us shifts. In a mysterious process of spiritual alchemy, we become more of who we are at our best, more of the person God created us to be; indeed, a bit more like ones created in the image of God. 

Preparing for today, thinking of the Cathedral Chapter, and the new leaders we are here to install, and the two soon-to-be named honorary canons of this Cathedral, my mind went in two distinct directions. A good rule of preaching, by the way, is to pick one stream of thought and keep things simple. I’m breaking that rule, trusting that you are all smart people and can all stay with me for both. 

The first stream of thought has to do with the act of giving itself. 

Virginia and John are seasoned givers. They have been giving all their lives, sacrificially giving of their time, talent, and wealth. More than that, they are quick to invite others to join them in this over-the-top giving for the good of something big--like the mission and vision of this Cathedral--something worthy of the best we can give, and not just what we have left over.

It can be uncomfortable to be in the presence of ones so adept at giving that it looks easy for them, as if they had all the energy, creativity, wealth and time in the world to give, unlike the rest of us who much more rarely feel as if we have enough. But John and Ginny know, from experience, that when we give beyond what feels comfortable, we become like those trees planted that Jeremiah wrote of long ago--stronger inside, less anxious. As hard as it is at first, when we give beyond ourselves in a big way, we feel freer, for we are both grounded in our values and inspired by our highest aspirations. 

I can’t explain how it works; I just know that it’s true. Yes, there is a cost, a real, sacrificial cost. Ginny and John know that; returning chapter members know that, as do those joining you in the important ministry. But that’s precisely the point. Some things are so important in life that they deserve the gifts that cost us something, because where our treasure is, as Jesus said so well, our hearts are there also. What he doesn't say, that we learn on our own, is that our hearts grow bigger with each gift. 

The poet David Whyte tells of time when he mentioned to his good friend, the late John O'Donohue (one of the finest poets and priests of contemporary Ireland) that he was thinking about giving his father some money. David rarely speaks or writes about his father, unlike his late mother, about whom he speaks and writes all the time. We can surmise, then, that it wasn’t the easiest of relationships. But he was clearly worried about his father, living alone in England after his mother’s death. David himself had long since relocated to the Pacific Northwest.

“How much are you thinking of giving him?” John asked. David told him. “Very good!”  John replied, “Now go beyond yourself. Double it.” “Okay,” David said after a pause. “All right, I will.” “Very good!” said John. “Now go beyond yourself again, and double that.”  Taken aback, David said, “Well, with friends like you a man could go broke.” To which John replied, “You won’t regret it.”

Sometime after that conversation John died a sudden and early death. It’s been years now, but David Whyte still talks about John as if he were still here. This particular conversation stayed with him. He did what John suggested. He went beyond what he thought he could do, and gave enough money to change his father’s life forever and for the better. And John was right. He never regretted it. 

Ginny and John know something about that kind of “go beyond yourself” giving. When they invite us to join them, it may well feel impossible to us. “Good!” they would tell us. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel. Go beyond yourself anyway. You won’t regret it.”  

The second  thought I offer this afternoon in honor of John and Virginia and the new Chapter members, and as a reminder to all of us, is the spiritual courage required to go first, to be the one to take the first step in response to a call, a vision, or a dream. When we go first, we don’t know if others will join us. Nor do we know, in taking the first step, exactly where we’re going. We walk in the beginning more by faith than by sight. The poet Antonio Machado reminds us that often in life there is no road. “Pilgrim,” he says, “You make the road by walking.” 

How many times in the life of this cathedral has John Shenefield or Virginia Mars gone first--making the first gift, being the first to chair an important initiative, to go on the road, to be the first to say out loud, “We need to consider this, or do that.” Then after taking the first step, they went ahead and took another, and another after that, and so they forged a road for all of us by walking it first. 

The combination of courage and tenacity is a wonder to behold, especially in the beginning stages of anything important, because there is absolutely no guarantee that things will turn as they hope. Failure is always a possibility, but John and Virginia know that it is better to fail at something important than to succeed in mediocrity. Today we honor their willingness to go first, and then to persevere, making it possible for others to join in and bask in the glory of reaching the destination and accomplishing the task, when at first, and for a very long time, Virginia, John, and a few other stalwart leaders forged the path on their own. 

Looking back from the perspective of the destination or accomplishment, there is an air of inevitability about it all, as if the outcome was assured from the beginning. Those who went first will tell us otherwise, that nothing we celebrate now was inevitable when they started. What brings a dream or vision of what could be to its fulfillment are the steps taken toward it--the first, courageous step and all the other steps that follow. For a long time, it’s a lonely walk. For a long time, it doesn’t seem as if anything has or will ever change. But when it does change, when momentum kicks in and more people join the effort, all can bask in the collective joy of accomplishment. In retrospect, we all speak about the thing that we accomplished as if it were our idea in the first place, as if we had all gone first. People like John and Virginia are kind to smile and allow us all to share in the dream they held on our behalf for so long.

This is such an important moment in the life of our nation, in the world, and in the life of this Cathedral. We are all here for a reason. It matters that we show up. It matters that we say yes to causes of great importance. Thus far, I’ve been speaking of John and Virginia in the past tense, but they are very much here, still giving, still willing to go first if needed. The best way to honor them is, as Jesus often said, to go and do likewise, giving of ourselves in ways that both cost us and give back far more than we could ever hope to receive, and in forging our way toward the dreams God has placed in our hearts.


Starting, then Persevering

September 23, 2021

See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.
Isaiah 43:19

I’ve been thinking about what it feels like when we start down a path toward something new--be it an idea, a destination or dream. Sometimes we begin with a clear vision of where we’re headed; other times, all we know is that it’s time to take the first step toward what lies beyond our sight. In either case, deciding to start is an act of faithfulness, a willingness to trust that the Spirit of God is, indeed, doing something new. 

From the vantage point of arrival or accomplishment, it’s easy for others to imagine that we had complete certainty when we first set out, or that the outcome was the logical conclusion of that first step. We know better. We rarely, if ever, felt that level of confidence, nor was the path as linear when we walked it as it seems to have been in retrospect. 

If there is anything we’ve learned in the last two years, surely it is the art of improvisation. We’ve done so much experimenting and adapting. We’ve faced realities that we didn’t know were coming or had been there all along, but we didn’t see them until now. We’ve been tried, tested and stretched beyond what many of us thought was possible. More than once, we’ve been blown off course or forced to stop what we were doing in order to deal with yet another crisis. Many of us have grieved, and prayed, like never before. 

We’ve also learned the importance of perseverance, not giving up on those God-inspired visions that got us moving in the first place. Yes, there have been setbacks, detours, and entirely new contexts in which to live our lives, do our work, and walk in Jesus’ way of love. But God is still God. We are still here. And while it doesn’t feel like much, there is something to be gained in taking one faithful step at a time toward the dreams God has placed on our hearts. 

Last Saturday, clergy and lay leaders from 12 EDOW congregations gathered for the official start of a three-year journey toward greater vitality through the Tending Our Soil thriving congregations initiative. Looking ahead three years at a time when we don’t know how to plan for tomorrow is surely an expression of audacious hope, born of the conviction that our faith communities still have a place in God’s mission of reconciling love. Those of us who first dreamed of such an initiative three years ago are in awe that by grace and perseverance we have made it to this day. It was anything but inevitable when we began.

At a virtual gathering of Episcopal bishops this week, Presiding Bishop Michael Curry suggested that we were in what he called “a narthex moment.” The narthex, in Episcopal-speak, refers to that area in a church where people enter and exit. It is an apt metaphor, he said, for this time of uncertainty, “between the world we knew and whatever is being born.” Yet the picture he painted of what God might be doing now is, in fact, an ancient dream of a church “not formed in the ways of this world but formed in the ways of Jesus and his love.” Some aspects of the world being born resonate with our spiritual forebears’ vision of what it meant to follow Jesus; others are unique to our time. 

Given the magnitude of suffering and uncertainty we face each day, persevering in hope can be a challenging spiritual practice. More than once, I have succumbed to despair and cynicism. But then days like Saturday happen, when I feel the power of God’s steady inspiration and the fruits of small, faithful steps over time. I’ve experienced similar moments in our labors for justice, and the work to build resources to help our people grow in faith and our leaders to lead well. They give me hope that our diocesan strategic plan--prayerfully discerned in the three years before COVID-19--can still be our guide even as we must adapt, sometimes daily, to new challenges. 

Maybe we are always living in the tension between the world as we know it and the new world being born. I am persuaded that the seeds of new life have already been planted, for some have begun to sprout and grow. We’ve already begun the journey from where we are now to where God is calling us. Today, and every day, our task is to take the next faithful step.  


Comenzando, y luego perseverando

September 23, 2021

Fíjense en que yo hago algo nuevo, que pronto saldrá a la luz. ¿Acaso no lo saben? Volveré a abrir un camino en el desierto, y haré que corran ríos en el páramo.
Isaías 43:19

He estado pensando en lo que se siente cuando empezamos por un camino hacia algo nuevo, ya sea una idea, un destino o un sueño. A veces comenzamos con una visión clara de hacia dónde nos dirigimos; otras veces, todo lo que sabemos es que es hora de dar el primer paso hacia lo que está más allá de nuestra vista. En cualquier caso, decidir comenzar es un acto de fidelidad, una voluntad de confiar en que el Espíritu de Dios está, de hecho, haciendo algo nuevo.

Desde el punto de vista de la llegada o el logro, es fácil para otros imaginar que teníamos una certeza completa cuando nos fijamos por primera vez, o que el resultado era la conclusión lógica de ese primer paso. Lo sabemos mejor. Rara vez, si es alguna vez, sentimos ese nivel de confianza, ni el camino era tan lineal cuando lo recorrimos como parece haber sido en retrospectiva.

Si hay algo que hemos aprendido en los últimos dos años, seguramente es el arte de la improvisación. Hemos hecho tanta experimentación y adaptación. Nos hemos enfrentado a realidades que no sabíamos que venían o que habían estado allí todo el tiempo, pero no las vimos hasta ahora. Hemos sido probados, probados y estirados más allá de lo que muchos de nosotros pensamos que era posible. Más de una vez, nos hemos desviado del rumbo o nos hemos visto forzados a detener lo que estábamos haciendo para enfrentar otra crisis. Muchos de nosotros hemos llorado y orado, como nunca antes.

También hemos aprendido la importancia de la perseverancia, sin renunciar a esas visiones inspiradas por Dios que nos han llevado a movernos en primer lugar. Sí, ha habido retrocesos, desvíos y contextos completamente nuevos en los que vivir nuestras vidas, hacer nuestro trabajo y caminar en el camino del amor de Jesús. Pero Dios sigue siendo Dios. Todavía estamos aquí. Y aunque no parece mucho, hay algo que ganar al dar un paso fiel a la vez hacia los sueños que Dios ha puesto en nuestros corazones.

El sábado pasado, el clero y los líderes laicos de 12 congregaciones de EDOW se reunieron para el inicio oficial de un viaje de tres años hacia una mayor vitalidad a través de la iniciativa Cuidando Nuestra Tierra promoviendo congregaciones prósperas. Mirar hacia delante tres años en un momento en que no sabemos cómo planear para el mañana es sin duda una expresión  audaz de esperanza, nacida de la convicción que en nuestras comunidades de fe todavía tienen un lugar en la misión de Dios de reconciliar el amor. Aquellos de nosotros que soñamos por primera vez con tal iniciativa hace tres años, nos asombramos de que por gracia y perseverancia lo hayamos hecho hasta hoy. Era algo menos inevitable cuando empezamos.

En una reunión virtual de obispos episcopales esta semana, el obispo presidente Michael Curry sugirió que estábamos en lo que él llamó “un momento nártex”. El nártex, en habla episcopal, se refiere a esa área en una iglesia donde la gente entra y sale. Es una metáfora adecuada, dijo, para este tiempo de incertidumbre, “entre el mundo que conocíamos y el que está naciendo”. Sin embargo, la imagen que pintó de lo que Dios podría estar haciendo ahora es, de hecho, es un antiguo sueño de una iglesia “no formada en los caminos de este mundo sino formada en los caminos de Jesús y su amor”. Algunos aspectos del mundo que nace resuenan con la visión de nuestros antepasados espirituales de lo que significaba seguir a Jesús; otros son únicos de nuestro tiempo.

Dada la magnitud del sufrimiento y la incertidumbre que enfrentamos cada día, perseverar en la esperanza puede ser una práctica espiritual desafiante. Más de una vez, he sucumbido a la desesperación y al cinismo. Pero luego pasan días como el sábado pasado, cuando siento el poder de la inspiración constante de Dios y los frutos de pequeños y fieles pasos con el tiempo. He vivido momentos similares en nuestro trabajo por la justicia, y el trabajo para construir recursos para ayudar a nuestro pueblo a crecer en fe y a nuestros líderes a liderar bien. Me dan la esperanza de que nuestro plan estratégico diocesano, discernido en oración en los tres años anteriores a COVID-19, todavía puede ser nuestra guía, incluso cuando debemos adaptarnos, a veces diariamente, a los nuevos desafíos.

Tal vez siempre estamos viviendo en la tensión entre el mundo como lo conocemos y el nuevo mundo que nace. Estoy convencida de que las semillas de la nueva vida ya han sido plantadas, ya que algunos han comenzado a brotar y crecer. Ya hemos comenzado el viaje: desde donde estamos ahora, hasta donde Dios nos está llamando. Hoy, y todos los días, nuestra tarea es dar el siguiente paso fiel.


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