Christ Evangelical Lutheran Church

09/23/2026

08/31/2026

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08/29/2026

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08/29/2026

Thank you to all of our donors who helped bring this event to the Strawberry Mansion community. We are so grateful for your generosity in making this resource fair a success!
You are all welcome to join us on Sundays at noon for a wonderful sermon and fellowship. We would love to see you there!
A big thanks to Philadelphia Rock Gyms, Helium Comedy Club, Herr's, ShopRite, Whole Foods Market, WAWA, Save-a-Lot Food Stores, Sweet Nina's Banana Pudding, Indego, The Strawberry Mansion Neighborhood Action Center, Miles of Cleaning LLC, and all the members of our church. for supporting the Back-to-School Giveaway & Resource Fair via .

A big thanks to Philadelphia Rock Gyms, Helium Comedy Club, Herr's, ShopRite, Whole Foods Market, WAWA, Save-a-Lot Food Stores, Sweet Nina's Banana Pudding, Indego, The Strawberry Mansion Neighborhood Action Center. and Miles of Cleaning LLC for supporting the Back-to-School Giveaway & Resource Fair via

08/23/2026

The little white church sits back on the bank with its steeple catching the light, and its reflection lies quiet on the water below. Above it, a long wooden trestle bridge carries the whole congregation out over the creek. Below, in the shallows, the minister stands, waiting with the candidates in white robes and white headwraps.

It is baptism Sunday. Ted Ellis paints parasols raised against the sun. He puts children on the bank and flowers blooming along the water's edge. The eye travels the way the day itself traveled, from the sanctuary on the hill to the bridge to the water where the work of the morning was done. The greens are deep and layered, the water holds every reflection, and the whole composition carries the hush that falls over a crowd right before somebody goes under.

"Take Me to the Water" is one of the few African American spirituals written directly about baptism itself. Its verses are plain and repeated: "Take me to the water to be baptized; none but the righteous shall see God." The text first appeared in print in a 1982 Church of God in Christ hymnal, though recordings and references in the narratives of formerly enslaved people place its roots much further back.

Scholars point out that river baptism carried layered meaning for enslaved Africans and their descendants, joining Christian practice to older African understandings of water as a source of life, a means of purification, and a place of spiritual regeneration. When a congregation walked down to the creek, they were doing something with a very long memory behind it.

"Take Me to the River II" by Ted Ellis.

08/23/2026

Healing is not a wish.

The woman in Edwin Lester's "If Only: The Hem of His Garment" understood something most of us miss. She did not stand at a distance and hope. She did not whisper a prayer and wait. She closed the gap. She made contact. And in that single moment of holy connection, power moved.

"And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes?" (Mark 5:30, KJV)

Read that again. Virtue, power, healing energy, left the body of Christ and entered hers.

Jesus felt it leave Him. This was not symbolic. This was not a metaphor. Something real was exchanged the moment her fingers brushed that fabric. Twelve years of suffering met one second of contact, and contact won.

This is the truth Lester paints with such reverence. Look at the woman's hand. Look at the certainty in her grip. She is not tentatively reaching. She is taking hold of what she came for. Her body is low, but her faith is vertical, climbing toward the only One who could restore what disease had stolen.

The lesson the church too often softens is this: Jesus does not heal from a distance when you refuse to draw near. Embrace requires movement. It requires risk. It requires you to push past the crowd of doubts, the crowd of past disappointments, the crowd of voices saying you have already tried everything.

Healing flows to those who close the distance.
She had bled for twelve years. Twelve years of being declared unclean. Twelve years of being told to stay back. And in one afternoon, one decision, one outstretched arm, all of it was reversed. Not because she prayed harder than anyone else. Because she touched Him.

What are you keeping at arm's length today? What healing are you hoping for from a safe distance? The hem is still within reach. But you have to close the gap.