The danger of repetition in our liturgy is that even the most beautiful words can skip across our awareness like a pebble tossed on a calm lake.

When I was a child in the pews of our Episcopal parish, I was consistently struck by the “s” sound made when the whole congregation prayed “trespasses” during the Lord’s Prayer. For a moment, in a child’s imagination, it sounded like a nest of snakes had been set loose, slithering through the narthex.

This past Sunday, a phrase jumped out at me. Better yet, two words slipped between my ribs and into my heart - words we say each and every week.

The Post Communion Prayer on page 365 of the Book of Common Prayer begins, “Eternal God, you have graciously accepted us….”

Graciously accepted.

The whole Gospel summed up in two words. More than that, the deepest desire of our hearts proclaimed with disarming simplicity.

God has graciously accepted us.

God has graciously accepted me.

Not for our merits, but through Christ’s life, death, and resurrection.

Not by our own strength, but through his vulnerability, humility, and surrender.

We have been graciously accepted as we are – in our sin and regret, as the Apostle Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8.

We have been graciously accepted, despite all the ways we fail.

I want to invite you to let that truth settle for a moment. If possible, pause here and sit with God.

Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Put your hand on your heart. Say out loud, “I am graciously accepted.” Say it as many times as you need.

Notice there is nothing contingent here. It is not graciously accepted if, or graciously accepted as long as you act right.

God has graciously accepted me.

How might I graciously accept myself – just as I am?

How might I graciously accept others?

How might I graciously accept this very moment?

As we approach the Feast of the Incarnation, may you rest in the knowledge that God took on flesh for you. May you rejoice, trusting that you have been graciously accepted.