I learned to hand sew and machine sew when I was around the age of 11.  The first things that  made were pajama shorts, puppets and small quilts for the Linus Project.  While I can sew, and can even enjoy it, I dare not say that I am great at it and often not patient enough for it.  There is something humbling about watching a true master sew. Often, I can barely thread the needle! A steady hand and the quiet rhythm of repair. In. Through. Pull. Again. Each individual stitch seems small and vulnerable – how could this possibly hold things together? But over time, through patience, precision and repetition, something that was torn begins to hold. 

This week in our Mended journey, we turn toward Stitch by Stitch. After the tearing. After the gathering. Now comes the patient work. 

In Luke’s Gospel, the disciples on the road to Emmaus are not experiencing fireworks. They are walking with confusion. Talking through disappointment. Trying to understand what has happened. Jesus walks beside them, but they do not recognize him at first. Step. Talk. Step. Talk. Step. Talk. Understanding comes slowly—through conversation, through scripture opened, through bread broken at a table. It is steady companionship that mends their despair. 

I find comfort in that. Healing rarely arrives all at once. More often, it looks like small faithfulness practiced over time. 

John Wesley spoke of the “means of grace”—ordinary, repeatable practices through which God shapes and strengthens us. Prayer. Scripture. Worship. Communion. Acts of mercy. Christian conversation. These are not dramatic spiritual performances. They are stitches. Each time we pray when we do not feel especially inspired—stitch. Each time we show up for worship when life feels busy or complicated—stitch. Each time we receive Communion with open hands—stitch. Each act of kindness offered quietly—stitch. 

None of them seems decisive in isolation. But over time, they reinforce the worn places. They strengthen what once felt fragile. 

When you mend fabric, you have to hold the edges steady. You cannot rush the needle. The tension has to be just right—firm enough to secure, gentle enough not to pucker the cloth. It requires patience. And often, the mended place becomes stronger than it was before. This is often true also when our bones mend after they break. 

Perhaps that is what Lent is offering us in this third week. Not a dramatic breakthrough. Not instant clarity. But companionship on the road. Bread at the table. Words that light just the next step. A rhythm of grace that slowly binds what has come apart. 

If you feel like your healing is slower than you hoped, take heart. The disciples did not recognize resurrection right away. They simply kept walking. And Christ kept walking with them. 

We do not mend all at once. 

We mend, by grace, stitch by stitch, 

Pastor M@