Hearing the Message

Today's readings: Psalms 96; 149; Isaiah 12:1-6; Revelation 1:1-8; John 7:37-52 

When we receive a message, we evaluate it from different angles. We consider the source, the delivery style and the content. We may ask ourselves: Is the source reliable? Is the delivery sincere, sarcastic or something else entirely? Is the content believable? Communication is a complicated endeavor, but because it happens constantly we tend to take for granted that we handle this complexity efficiently. In most cases this may be true, but if we're not paying attention we can be manipulated - or unwittingly manipulate the message ourselves.

In John 7 Jesus delivers a message meant for both the uneducated crowds and the highly educated Pharisees, to varying effects. The crowd loves him; the pharisees want to find a reason to arrest him. At the very least they want to dismiss him because he comes from the backwater town of Galilee. When Nicodemus points out that Jewish "law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing" (v 51), they suggest Nicodemus must be from Galilee if he wants to defend Jesus. While the Pharisees fume and fuss, at this point they have no legitimate reason to discredit the message other than "I don't like it."

How do we react to messages we don't like? Does that reaction depend on the source? If we are told at work we have performed poorly, does our reaction depend on whether it comes from a co-worker, superior or subordinate? Should it? Certainly we need to be critical of messages we hear, but first we need to be willing to hear the content, regardless of the source. If our first response to a negative message or criticism is "Who do you think you are?" ... there's a good chance we are unfairly negating a source to avoid unpleasant content. It is a human and understandable reaction, but leaving it unexamined diminishes our integrity.

This effect pervades all levels of society - families, businesses, government, religion etc. Like Nicodemus when faced with it we should challenge it. In a just society, valid content is considered fairly regardless of the source. Let's welcome truth wherever it is found.

Evening readings: Psalms 132; 97

The Needs of the One are The Needs of the Many

Today's readings: Psalms 2, 148; Isaiah 49:13-23;  Isaiah 54:1-13; Matthew 18:1-14

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.”

 - Mr. Spock, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

"Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end... but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature ... And to found that edifice on its unavenged tears: would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell me the truth!"

- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“The needs of the one … outweighed the needs of the many.”

- Captain Kirk, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock

Humankind has always struggled to balance individual need against the need of the greater community. One modern tool to achieve this balance is our choice of economic system: capitalism, socialism, communism, etc. These models lie on a continuum from individualism to collectivism, and all have achieved various levels of success – if measured economically. Measured spiritually, all fall short because they are not ends, but means. How do we approach this struggle of knowing what and when to sacrifice?

Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice of his life, but sacrificial living need not be so extreme. In the parable of the lost sheep, the shepherd leaves behind ninety-nine sheep to find one. That’s great if we are the one, but most of the time we are among the ninety-nine left on the mountain. Do we pray for the shepherd and the lost one and hope to celebrate their return? Or do we grumble about being temporarily inconvenienced and blame the one’s misfortune on its own failure to keep up? Are we willing to sacrifice a little so the one may survive? Often our answer depends on whether we’ve made the choice freely or been coerced … but the shepherd doesn’t survey the sheep about whether he should go.

In our society, sacrifice is valued mostly via lip service. We “sacrifice” trips to the movies or Starbucks to keep our debt down or to pay for our children’s college. Rarely are we called on to make true sacrifices in the sacred sense, which benefit us not at all. Or maybe those opportunities only seem rare because we are more apt to find reasons people have failed themselves than reasons to help. Does the shepherd seem concerned with whether he is giving the lost sheep “a hand up or a handout?” Are we prepared to make the real sacrifices necessary to save the lost in our society? Because in the end, the hands up are more costly in time, money and comfort than are the handouts. If Jesus is our example, we should be willing to sacrifice ourselves, but unwilling to make excuses to sacrifice others for the sake of convenience.

Evening readings: Psalms 110, 111

The Details Are in the Devil

Today's readings: Psalms 34, 147:12-20; Proverbs 8:22-30; 1 John 5:1-12, John 13:20-35

In John's account of the last supper, after Jesus handed Judas a piece of bread, "Satan entered into [Judas]" and Jesus sent him on his way to advance his act of betrayal (John 13:27). What do we think of this idea of Satan entering him? Do we think Judas was set up? Not in control? A co-conspirator with the Devil himself? All these ideas and more have been proposed by theologians across the centuries. One of the reasons they appeal to some of us is that they suggest Judas was not wholly responsible for his actions, and the next logical step down that path of thinking is that perhaps we are not wholly responsible for our own wrongdoings. Even if we don't blame Satan directly, we are prone to pin our failings on others: parents who were too strict (or not strict enough), peers who pressure us into poor choices, employers who don't treat us fairly, spouses who disappoint us. The simple truth is we are responsible for our own actions. Period.


An earlier chapter in John tells us Judas, as treasurer of the group, stole from the money bag (John 12:6). Satan doesn't get the blame for that one, which implies something about Judas’ character. It may seem like a big leap from stealing petty cash to betraying the savior of the world, but is it really? Certainly we all fail and sin in ways big and small, so what’s the difference between us and Judas?

Nothing, that’s what. And admitting that unpleasant truth can keep us from falling into the same spiritual trap as Judas. Just as we let God into our lives a little at a time by opening a door in our hearts through acts and attitudes of love and charity, we let in evil – whatever we name it – through acts and attitudes of selfishness and betrayal. Evil didn’t force its way into Judas: it stepped through an opening pushed wide over time. The good news is we can control which doorway is wide and which is narrow. Facing up to that control may involve the difficult task of honestly reevaluating our accountability for our own choices, but doing so prepares us to make better ones that let Christ in further. And in Christ there are no victims, only victors.

Evening readings: Psalms 19, 121

To Serve and Respect

Today's readings: Psalms 116, 147:1-11; 2 Chronicles 24:17-22; Acts 6:1-7; Acts 7:59-8:8

Since the first Disiples tok to the road, Christians have maintained a long tradition of carrying the Gospel to cultures and peoples different from themselves. The earliest Jewish Christians were challenged when building community with people who did not observe the same spiritual practices. They wrestled with the question of whether non-Jews could even be Christians. In the end, inspired by Christ and the Spirit, they became more open and inclusive and did not require the Hellenists (those of Greek tradition) to declare allegiance to anything but Christ alone. Over the next two thousand plus years, Christians have continued to deliver the Good News to diverse people around the globe, with varying degrees of success and failure on the inclusion front.

For just as long, Christian communities have struggled with more mundane matters as well. When the Hellenists complained their widows were not receiving food like the Jewish widows, it was a practical, not religious need. Rather than "wait tables" the Apostles continued to focus on evangelism but appointed six people to see to the matter. These new servants were not second stringers - they were the next equally important piece of the puzzle. To this day churches work to balance the spiritual and practical concerns of Christian community. Many of us also struggle to keep them in perspective. If we are called to serve in mission work, we can be discouraged when others prioritize lawn maintenance or potlucks. And if we are called to serve by keeping the church in order, we may feel unappreciated when the worship team can't seem to put the hymnals away properly. Let's try to remember each calling is equally valuable and takes priority at different times.

When it's hard to do so, let's remember Stephen. In Acts 6 he is one of the newly appointed "waiters." Just one chapter later he becomes a martyr - the first Christian martyr, before any of the Apostles. In Stephen we see the mundane is inseparable from the spiritual. No matter our call, or the calls of others, let's be content the faithful are serving where needed.

Evening Psalms: 119:1-24; 27

"Turn and face the strange..."

Today's readings: Psalms 24, 150; Isaiah 33:17-22; Revelation 22:6-11, 18-20; Luke 1:57-66

One popular "definition" of insanity is to do something over and over and expect a different outcome. Maybe it's popular because almost all of us can relate to it in some manner: this time I'll stick to my diet; this time I'll quit smoking; this time my child will behave responsibly. An entire industry of books, videos and web sites has grown around the science of changing our behavior to achieve the results we tell ourselves we want. But before any techniques can be effective, we must first ask ourselves whether we truly want to change. And if we are honest, an uncomfortably high number of times the answer is ... "not really." Or perhaps more accurately, "not if I have to push my boundaries to get there." All to often we will consciously or unconsciously choose an unpleasant present over an uncertain future.

Even little changes can seem like major upheavals. When, in today's reading from Luke, Elizabeth decides to name her son John instead of naming him for his father Zechariah, as the tradition of family names dictates, the neighbors and friends reject the idea. They ask the father, who has been struck mute for a long time, to verify her choice. When he agrees to the choice in writing, his tongue is suddenly freed and he begins praising and preaching about the Lord. The neighbors are freaked out, but real change has occured, and in the person of John the Baptist will pave the way for greater change still.

Taking that first real step can be intimidating. If, for example, we are prone to gossip - or just listening to it when others share - it takes a lot of courage to break that pattern. When we finally decline to participate we might be called a hypocrite bcause of past participation. We also risk a loss in popularity or social standing. These possibilities provide powerful incentive and excuse not to change, even when we know we should. And there are countless similar situations with the same dynamic. But if we find the courage to make that change even when those around us are working against it, we - like Zechariah - may just find parts of ourselves freed to get about the work of the Lord.

Evening readings: Psalms 25, 110

(What Is) Love, Actually?

Today's readings:  Psalms 90,  149; Isaiah 8:1-15; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-18; Luke 22:31-38

If you didn't already know, or didn't pick it up over this past week, the traditional theme of the second week of Advent is love. We throw the word "love"around a lot, and tend to use it as if its meaning is consistent and apparent to all. We use just one word to describe feelings, actions and attitudes toward dissimilar things. "I love pizza." "I love God." "I love Blazing Saddles." "I love making love." Sophisticated, precise users of language may choose different words to better express nuance, but in the common vernacular, love is love is love.

As we've reflected on different types of love - romantic, divine, merciful, charitable, etc. - what questions has it raised for you? Through your own experiences and studies, how has your working definition of love changed? Do you experience love primarily as a feeling, an attitude or an action? A mix of all three? Or something else entirely? If we are actively engaged in the world, our understanding of love is endlessly evolving. Take marriage as an example. The passionate intensity of a new love can not sustain twenty, forty or sixty years of marriage; as the years pass, the landscape of the relationship changes. Self help books that teach us our relationship is floundering if we fail to hold onto or rekindle that early passion have it all wrong. Stubborn insistence that love must look and feel the same five, ten or thirty years down the road is deadly to a marriage. Movies, TV and books tell us a relationship that loses its youthful intensity is somehow lacking, but the opposite is often true: just as mature people gain depth, gravity and patience so do mature relationships.

Our love for God and people must be allowed to follow a similar path if it is to mature. Sometimes we need to let go of what we think love is before we can reach that next level of depth. That can be scary, or feel like a loss, especially when the letting go is forced on us. At the close of this second week of Advent, can we commit to bravely exploring a deeper understanding of love over the coming year? We might find God in the most surprising places!

Evening readings: Psalms 80, 72

Sometimes it's better to receive...

Today's readings: Psalms 102, 148; Isaiah 7:10-25; 2 Thessalonians 2:13-3:5; Luke 22:14-30

How do you feel about being loved? The answer may depend on the kind of love we are talking about. Romantic love? Most of us are happy to receive it. Love in the form of mercy? We are often surprised by it, but almost always welcome it. How about love in the form of charity? Ah! That's a tougher one. As Christians, we are usually happy to dispense it, but many (most?) of us are far less comfortable on the receiving end. But wait ... if we believe receiving charity somehow diminishes us, what does that say about our true feelings about others who accept it? Are we thinking of them as equals? How we receive tells us about the underpinnings of our giving.

Before Jesus broke bread and poured wine at the Last Supper, he stripped to the waist and washed the feet of everyone present. Later he told them "the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves" (Luke 22:26). This passage is usually used to teach the importance of being servants, but it contains another, often overlooked lesson: we must be willing to be served. How does this idea sit with us -- particularly us capitalist, by-our-own-bootstraps, modern Americans? Not very well, that's how. We are immersed in a secular culture based on a merit mentality with an implicit asumption the virtuous are rewarded and the lazy and other "sinners" are not. We have to be deliberate about disentangling ourselves from this notion, or we can't truly be givers in a Christian sense; nor can we get past the insecurity (masquerading as pride) which prevents us from receiving with a glad heart.

The requirements we have chosen to place on all the communion tables that are heirs to that Last Supper say more about the people making the rules than the people they exclude. The necessary flip side of believing some are not welcome at the table is the idea that the rest have somehow earned an invitation. Christ's gifts to us can never be earned but are given freely. Until we believe it is acceptable - necessary - for us to receive love from God or people without earning it, we can't truly believe it for others. Let's receive joyfully!

Evening readings: Psalms 130, 16

Oh, for the love of God...

Today's readings: Psalms 18:1-20; 147:12-20; Isaiah 7:1-9; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-12; Luke 22:1-13

How does one love God? It would seem obvious we are supposed to: today's first psalm opens with "I love you, o Lord, my strength" (Ps 18:1), and Jesus told us the greatest commandment was to love God with all one's soul, heart and mind (Matt 22:37). But what does that mean exactly? God is not present to us in the immediate way of a parent, child, spouse or friend. Yet it doesn't seem quite right to love God in a more abstract sense like we might love a book or a song or a favorite flavor of ice cream. Gratitude, wonder, fear and awe - these all seem likely responses to the creator of the universe ... but love? How does one love something that at times seems like little more than a hopeful idea?

Yet we find ways. Perhaps we respond to God's love for us as manifested in Christ. Perhaps a sense of awe infuses our exterior and interior landscapes, illuminated by the Holy Spirit. Perhaps some of us do experience God to be as close as a neighbor or relative ... or imaginary friend. There are as many ways to experience God as there are people to have the experience. Yet experience and/or belief do not necessarily translate into love. How do we, with all the limits of human existence, love a limitless and ultimately unknowable God? Especially when tragedy and injustice obscure God's love for us... Is it possible to love something simply because one is supposed to?

The truth is some of us do, and some of us do not, and some of us want and try to. Sometimes the best we can do is take our cue from the man who told Jesus "I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). "I love; help my lack of love!"

Fortunately, just as love for people can be expressed in actions and attitudes even when feelings aren't quite there, our love for God does not have to ebb and flow with our sense of God's nearness. When James tells us "faith without works is dead" (Jam 2:20), he is describing the inability of true faith not to manifest itself in loving works. Similarly our desire to express love to others is a sign that true love of God is within us, whether it burns brightly or flickers but dimly. Either way, it guides us through the dark times.

Evening readings: Psalms 126, 62

Justice or Just You?

Today's readings: Psalms 50, 147:1-11; Isaiah 6:1-13; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-12; John 7:53-8:11

Today's readings contain a lot of words about justice. In Psalm 50, God is portrayed as a devouring fire and a mighty tempest delivering judgment (v 3-4). Smack in the middle of the verses of praise from Psalm 147, God is casting down the wicked (v 6). In Isaiah's vision cities are laid to waste and the land made desolate and reduced to stumps as a result of God's wrath and justice (6:11-13). In his letter Paul tells the Thessalonian church that "it is indeed just of God to repay with affliction those who afflict you" (v 6).

Then we get to one of the most famous stories in the Bible, the story of the woman who is about to be stoned for adultery. She gets to walk away when Jesus challenges anyone without sin to cast the first stone. Before he speaks that famous line, he squats down and starts writing on the ground. The Bible does not explain what he wrote, but several theories are floating around: he was stalling to collect his thoughts; he was cataloging the sins of her accusers; he was writing their names as a subtle way of displaying his supernatural knowledge. There's an intriguing case to be made that, per the prophecies of Jeremiah, he was the only one present actually interested in delivering justice as prescribed by the laws of the temple (which also required the presence of her conspicuously absent male cohort) and writing in the dirt was part of the ritual.

Whether any or none of those speculations is true, there is a powerful message in the uncertainty. Any one of us could think of something we would prefer Jesus not know about, let alone write down for the world to see. Thinking about our own shortcomings shifts our focus from justice to mercy. Too often justice is what we want to happen to other people, while mercy is what we hope for ourselves. Of course justice is important, but without mercy it is only revenge. When we stoop to pick up a rock, we're in a perfect position to read what's written in the dirt at our feet. Justice may be blind, but Jesus restores sight.

Evening readings: Psalms 53, 17

Act Now, Love Later

Today's readings: Psalms 133, 46; Isaiah 5:18-25; 1 Thessalonians 5:12-28; Luke 21:29-38

Yesterday we looked at the relationship between God and humanity as a love story moving from estrangement to reunion. Today's espistle reading from Paul to the Thessalonians also addresses how we express love, but rather than from a romantic perspective, it looks at the practical sort of love we are called to implement in our community. This type of love, also known as agape or charitable love, is not about how we feel toward someone, but about how we act toward them. When Paul advises his audience not to repay evil with evil but to do kindness always (1 Thess 5:15), he does not add "and like each other."One of the hallmarks of Christian love is that we do right by others no matter how we feel in the moment.

Our pop psychology culture puts a lot of emphasis on exploring how we feel. Reality shows and bad therapy model a sort of emotional purging that may be cathartic for us, but which leaves those caught in our emotional wake to flounder. Acting contrary to our emotions may even earn us the title of "hypocrite." We should be careful not to buy into the notion that our emotions define us or should define our actions. Good therapists and wise spiritual leaders teach us there is a deeper self that lies beneath our emotions. When Paul asks us to repay evil with kindness (and he asks us this because Jesus asked first), he is encouraging us to engage that deeper, truer self. The love of God that is the foundation of the deeper self may sometimes be experienced through emotions, but it precedes and follows any emotional expression, and it never promotes the self at the expense of others.

We act in love toward others because they are beloved of God, not because we are fond of them, or because charitable actions "feel" good. Though we can reap a benefit from these actions, especially if our actions are loving when our gut is not. In a culture that encourages us to let feelings guide our actions, we tend to forget that our actions mold our feelings. Acting in love transforms us into loving people who reflect the love of God. What more could we aspire to?

Evening readings: Psalms 85, 94

Love Story

Today's readings: Psalms 122, 145; Isaiah 5:8-17; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Luke 21:20-28

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act I, Scene I

Every classic love story involves obstacles the lovers must overcome before finally reuniting. Whether it's warring houses a la Romeo and Juliet, or Heath Ledger's bad boy reputation in 10 Things I Hate About You (a modern take on Taming of the Shrew), problems both tragic and comedic arise. The basic storyline has become cliched if not outright hackneyed, yet its appeal endures.

Maybe that's because history's ultimate love story, that between God and humanity, has repeated this pattern over and over. In this case though the obstacles are all one-sided. We repeatedly abandon God, but God never abandons us. It may feel that way when the fallout of our actions leaves us in an unGodly place - whether metaphorically or in the case of Isaiah's exiled audience quite literally - but God never initiates the "breakup."

If today's readings about destruction were part of a dramatic plot, we'd be squarely in the middle of Act IV: the lovers who thought they were destined to be together forever have been torn apart by [insert plot point here], while the party who seems more in control - in this story, God - is actually the one more wounded by the split. Our story is tragic in the sense that we are undone by our own pride and foolishness and must suffer terrible consequences we were warned to avoid. We know that in the end love triumphs in the person of Jesus Christ, but during Advent - and all the Advent-like seasons of our lives - we live into the uncertain waiting.

Advent helps us focus on what aspects of our love affair with God need tending so we might avoid or bridge that separation. We are called to ever deeper levels of communion with God, and this season encourages us to examine the personal and communal obstacles we need to address before that can happen. As the cycle of obstacles continues, so does the cycle of reunion - at Christmas, at Easter, at Pentecost and at various points in our lives when we reach Act V, and are reunited with God all over again. Be sure to stick around until the credits roll!

Evening readings: Psalms 40; 67

Hope

Today's readings: Psalms 90, 149; Isaiah 4:2-6; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Luke 21:5-19

Now that it’s almost over, let’s consider the traditional theme of this first week of Advent: Hope. Does that seem inconsistent with the earlier posts of the week? We’ve spent a good chunk of time considering how not to be a Christian, and that doesn’t seem especially hopeful. But what is hope? It is the desire for, and possibly even the faith in, a better future. By definition, it implies at least some dissatisfaction with the present. There’s nothing wrong with being dissatisfied with our faith lives, with feeling that somehow they fall short of what they could be. Such feelings may even be essential to prodding us into deepening our relationship with God. It doesn’t mean our faith lives are not good and rich. Such dissatisfaction today, this week, this season, is an indicator that we hope they will be even better in days to come.

For hope to be more than a sentimental notion, we must face the things that we hope will change. Some of those things will be external, such as injustice, poverty and discrimination. Others like resentment, fear and hypocrisy will be internal. But being brutally honest about these things doesn’t mean we hand them power over our lives. Being able to name them takes that power away. The beauty of hope – a hope that is backed by the promises of Christ – is that it tells us we and the world are not defined by how we have failed, but by who God has created us to be. Many people – far too many, Christian and non-Christian – let mistakes and failures define how they see themselves and get trapped in those definitions. Hope is what we have when we can believe if only for an instant that God sees us as better than we see ourselves.

Isaiah had to show the Israelites their many failings and the inevitable consequences before he could show them the hope that lay beyond. Paul admitted the Thessalonians would have to confront danger head-on before finding the glory of God. Jesus told his listeners: “By your endurance you will gain your souls” ( Luke 21:19). Hope exists not because we are in denial about how bad things are today, but because God helps us see tomorrow.

Evening readings: Psalms 80, 72

Look at me!

Today's readings: Ps 102, 148; Isa 3:1-4:1;1 Thess 4:1-12; Luke 0:41-21:4

Beware the religious. At least (according to today's reading from Luke) those people who wear religion on their sleeves - or in the case of the case of the scribes, the sleeves of their excessively long robes. And those who make a public display of long prayers (v 20:46-47). Jesus is quick to point out the hypocrisy when outer forms of religion are counter to a person's inner state. Not everyone with a Jesus fish (ichthus) bumper sticker is devouring widows' houses (v 20:47), but if they do the disparity is all the more egregious for their display. The flip side is the martyr who just won't die - the person who abases him or herself unnecessarily (but quite obviously) in an insincere humility.

The bottom line: religious and pious efforts should be inwardly directed. Incidentally, the irony of that last statement coming from the creator of a devotional blog is not lost... There's nothing wrong with outward symbols of our faith as long as we're not using them to impress others with how holy we are. Having the fanciest Bible cover in Sunday school or sporting an "In God We Trust" license plate only invites scrutiny, and does little if anything to spread the Gospel. Neither does telling anyone who will listen the story of how we got stuck in the kitchen during the potluck because no one else would lift a finger to do all those dishes.

About the worst message we can send to non-believers is that Christians are somehow perfected by our faith. First it obviously isn't true (compare divorce rates between Christians and non-Christians for a start), and more importantly it's exactly counter to the message of the Gospel. We are not nor do we need to be (or appear to be) perfect: even better, we are forgiven! One way we can respond to God's forgiveness is to readily forgive ourselves and others. When we falter, any resulting distance between us and God is entirely of our own making. It takes more time than putting on a "Jesus Saves" t-shirt in the morning, but showing people that we remain in God's love despite our imperfections is about the best testimony we can give!

Evening Readings: Ps 130, 16

Puzzling It Out

Today's readings: Ps 18:1-20, 147:12-20; Isaiah 2:5-22; 1 Thessalonians 3:1-13; Luke 20:27-40

Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.
- Luke 20:38

When Jesus describes the Lord as a "God of the living" what are the implications? On one level he is specifically addressing the Sadducees who do not believe in resurrection and are trying to trip him up. On another (and when is the meaning of anything Jesus says not multi-layered?) he - or at least the author of Luke - is pointing out the futility of trying to cram God and God's kingdom into the countless tiny human-made fragments that describe and limit our faith. If we treat them like they are pieces of a coherent puzzle and try to force them into a single picture, we soon learn that not only are we missing countless pieces, but the ones we have didn't come out of the same box. The only way we can make them fit inside the frame is to tear off the inconvenient bits and pound them flat.

No wonder the picture of Christianity can often make so little sense, especially to outsiders. Because not knowing can be uncomfortable or even scary, we can waste a lot of time playing with those pieces; dollars to donuts the Sadducees had wrestled with the "which husband in heaven" question before. Spending our time this way does not engage us with the "God of the living" - instead it pulls away from life and all its messiness.

An insistence on theological tidiness, especially about unknowable things like the afterlife, doesn't make us better believers. Mystics of any faith, to a person, describe the moment of divine revelation as a moment of surrender to mystery. The wisest people admit to knowing nothing.

Getting stuck in "head" religion ultimately leads to frustration. Thinking you lack spiritual wisdom because you don't know the right terms or scripture quotes is just not true. God is in living hearts, not dead pages. Christ is called the Living Word because he informs and moves through the world, not because we can read about him.

Rather than "bow down to the work of [our] own hands" (Isa 2:8) by trying to stuff God into the ideas we've created, let's trust that God is present with us in the glorious chaos of life.

Evening readings: Psalms 126, 62

No apologies. Sort of.

Today's readings: Psalms 50, 147:1-11; Isaiah 2:1-4; 1 Thessalonians 2:13-20; Luke 20:19-26

When someone criticizes your faith or religious beliefs, what is your first reaction? What about other beliefs, such as politics or favorite band or best shortstop of all time? If you're like most of us, your first instinct is to defend your position. This isn't by default a bad response, but it should never be our only response. Eager as we might be to "enlighten" the person who disagreees with us by exposing them to a torrent of facts and ideas, such a defensive reaction does not send the the message that we are confident. To the contrary, it often comes acoss as desperate, or even self-delusional.

This need to convince others (or is it really ourselves?) that we are right keeps Christian bookstores in business. Their shelves are stocked with volume after volume of apologetics, or defenses of and arguments for the Christian faith supposedly meant to intellectually arm the well-meaning Christian against non-believers, especially smart ones. Careful study of these books on creationism, biblical inerrancy and gospel reliability instead reveals they are mostly meant to help Christians convince ourselves we haven't backed the wrong horse. Being knowledgeable about our faith and its history is a good thing, but too much "head" religion tears our focus away from the real fruits of the spirit. And if our faith balances on an intricate and delicate house of Bible flash cards, its eventual fall is only ever one firmly slammed door away.

When our faith is challenged, the best thing we can do is listen to that challenge with an open mind. Listening doesn't mean admitting we are wrong; it means the foundation of our faith is firm enough to withstand a little rough weather. If the scribes and priests in today's passage from Luke 20 had been willing to hear the criticisms Jesus gave in his parables, they might have appeared less foolish and actually learned something. When God speaks to us through others, it's rarely to say "Keep on doing what you're doing." Rather, it's to show us something new. Trusting God enough to risk being wrong will help us learn what's right.

Evening readings: Psalms 53, 17

But why ...?

Today's readings: Palms 122, 145; Isaiah 1:10-20; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Luke 20:1-8

Sometimes the biggest barrier between us and God is religion itself. Hardly an original thought, but we need to hear it periodically. The problem is most "religious" activity at one time had a spirit-filled purpose behind it that slowly faded from memory until the ritual became a substitute for the underlying purpose. Take the animal sacrifices mentioned today in Isaiah. We consider animal sacrifice barbaric, but among the Israelites the practice was a step away from barbarism: the surrounding cultures were sacrificing humans. The author of Isaiah tells us the sacrifices themselves have become offensive to God, reeking of the hypocrisy of their practitioners. Instead of continuing on a path toward God's ever expanding justice and compassion, the Israelites settled for ritual over the mercy God would have them act upon the poor, the orphaned and the widowed. When ritual is stripped of relationship, it is no longer of God.

If we think we only need to learn this lesson once, Luke disabuses of that notion pretty quickly. When the Jewish authorities are faced with the question of whether John's baptism (and by implication the nature of Jesus) was heavenly or earthly, their concerns are misplaced. These people would have been familiar with Isaiah. Still their focus is on which answer might make them look foolish or rile the people. The status quo is more important to them than truth itself!

Like it or not, we all have some tendency to let unexamined preferences calcify into dogma. Things like language choices and personal causes can slant our thinking and actions in ways we don't notice. The familiar tempts us even when it no longer serves us. The Israelites - in Isaiah's or Jesus' time - surely did not set out to create traditions and habits that separated them from God, and neither do we. Let's be cautious not to let imperceptible drift over long periods of time move us away from the intentions behind our actions. "What Would Jesus Do" may seem trite ... but pairing it with "Why Would Jesus Do It?" might just sweeten the scent of our sacrifices.

Evening readings: Psalms 40, 67

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year? Not so fast...

Readings: Ps 63, 149; Zechariah 14:12-21; Philipians 2:1-11; Luke 19:41-48

Happy New Year! "What?" you might say, "Aren't Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving bad enough? Do we have to get an early jump on this holiday too? Am I already behind for Valentine's Day?" While the answer to that last question depends on your loved one, New Year's greetings are in order because today is the first day of Advent, the beginning of the Christian liturgical year. That must be why we start celebrating Christmas so early, right?

Wrong. Today's scriptures are anything but celebratory. In Zechariah 14 we read about "panic from the Lord" (v 13) and plagues on camels, donkeys and other innocent creatures (v 15). In Luke 19 Jesus weeps over the city and drives the merchants from the temple. How do plagues and weeping jibe with tinsel, wrapping paper and a baby in a manger? Well... they don't. And that's the point of Advent.

Thinking as a Christian almost always means upending cultural expectations. While the world twinkles and parties, we are called to deeper considerations. Advent is a season of reflection on why we need Christ to enter the world in the first place. Jumping right to the tidy manger on the mantel is tempting, but it's the preceding journey that gives it meaning. Not just the difficult journey of Mary and Joseph. Not just the tumultuous history of the Jewish people. The journey that led to the plagues of poverty, conflict and injustice Christ weeps over today. Taking time to mourn the world puts Christmas into context and transforms it from a secular holiday to a true holy day. If, as greeting card companies suggest, we keep Christmas in our hearts every day, we may not have room for Advent, which helps us discover where Christmas needs to happen next.

We don't have to eschew trees and parties as some sign of external piety. But maybe for this short season we can let excess remind us there is poverty, feasting remind us there is hunger, and festivity remind us there is suffering. Christmas truly begins when we invite Christ to enter the world through us so all these things may be transformed.

Evening readings: Ps 125, 90

The Lenten Journey: Listen like an Ambassador

Today's readings: Ps 5, 147:1-11; Gen 37:25-36; 1 Cor 2:1-13; Mk 1:29-45

A few days ago, we entertained the idea of Christ as the ambassador of God’s realm in this world. No embassy is a one-person operation. Usually the ambassador is supported by a staff of cultural, legal, press, military and other diplomatic attachés. If we are citizens of heaven traveling in a foreign land, we need to determine whether we are tourists or representatives of a higher authority. If we are public about our faith, we have chosen to serve as representatives. Is that thought intimidating? It doesn’t need to be, if we are observant of those who have served successfully before us.

One of the most important diplomatic skills – arguably the most important – is the ability to listen. When Paul first visited the Corinthians, he did not pretend to have all the answers to their problems. Instead he “decided to know nothing among [them] except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2). Paul knew that the mission of diplomacy is not to dominate and to impose, but to understand and relate. He didn’t even attempt to impress the Corinthians, but approached them “in weakness and in fear and in much trembling.” This may not sound like an auspicious beginning, but in the end he delivered his message successfully and established the church in Corinth.

Paul succeeded because he lived his core mission with integrity. People perceived no difference between his words and his life. Because Paul’s message was one of salvation through redemption rather than perfection, his flaws did not undermine that message. As Christian “attachés”, we should find two important lessons here. First, we should never present ourselves as perfected or somehow better than non-Christians. Otherwise, the first time we cut someone off in traffic while sporting a Jesus-fish bumper sticker, our message becomes one of hypocrisy. Second, we need to be serious about living lives that reflect the Spirit within us. Again this doesn’t mean unattainable perfection, but a heart full of the love, peace, mercy and humility of Christ. An humble example is worth more than a million lofty instructions.

Comfort: Perfection is the enemy of progress.

Challenge: Each day, reflect on how your example could be better.

Prayer: God of the journey, give me ears to hear and words of love.

Evening readings: Ps 27, 51

Discussion question:
How have you been successful sharing your faith?

The Lenten Journey: Avoiding the Primrose Path

Today's readings: Ps 34, 146; Gen 37:12-24; 1 Cor 1:20-31; Mark 1:14-28

We spend a lot of time and effort training children not to trust strangers, especially ones promising treats. That training endures well into adulthood. We don’t believe offers that sound “too good to be true.” Most of us don’t hitchhike or pick up hitchhikers. We lock up our homes, cars and birth certificates. Given the nature of the world, all these precautions are wise.

On the other hand, we are a people who like quick fixes and easy assurances. Proof lies in the bank accounts and hypocrisy of televangelists, politicians, Wall Street executives, and home shopping gurus. Headline after headline tells us we entrust them with far too much of our faith and money.

Then what are we to make of fishermen who “immediately” dropped what they were doing to follow Jesus, as Mark tell us, simply because he asked them to? In hindsight we support the decision, but what about someone who abandoned her or his life today to follow someone promising to make them “day traders of men?” Would the words “cult” or “deprogram” come to mind? Were the first disciples wise people or lucky fools?

The difference between wisdom and foolishness is a tough call. Because God’s values are upside down compared to the world’s values, we are constantly called to evaluate our decisions, and sometimes to act in ways others would consider foolish. For example, how many of use are willing to decrease our standard of living – move into a smaller house, drive a cheaper car, or take a lower paying job – to spend more money or time on the poor? Very few, and they are often judged with humor at best and suspicion at worst. The world tells us this is foolishness, yet it is freedom.

In 1 Corinthians, Paul tells us God makes the foolish wise and the wise foolish. Let’s not get cocky about which side of that equation we land on. Determining whether a path is right or merely attractive can take serious discernment. We want to follow Jesus quickly, but we want to be sure the path we choose truly leads to him. Let’s choose our guides with Godly wisdom and worldly foolishness.

Comfort: Your choices are between you and God.

Challenge: “Foolishly” critique your own opinion on a controversial issue.

Prayer: God of the journey, make your paths clear to me.

Evening readings: Ps 25, 91

Discussion Question:

Have you ever thought you were doing something right and it turned out wrong?

The Lenten Journey: A Well Lit Path

Today's readings: Ps 119:73-80, 145; Gen 37:1-11; 1 Cor 1:1-19; Mark 1:1-13

I remember watching a television documentary about newly discovered caves in Russia. The only entrance to them was deep underwater. The narrator made great fanfare of how the divers we watched would be the first humans to ever see the sights within. I couldn’t help thinking: “Except for the lighting and camera crew that set up this shot...”

When we plumb the depths of faith, there’s a good chance someone has prepared the way ahead of us. The “spontaneous” civil disobedience of Rosa Parks was no accident, but is no less important for being deliberate. The latest “overnight sensation” in the entertainment industry almost always has a hero or mentor. Even Jesus had John the Baptist to “make his paths straight” (Mark 1:3) and warm up the crowds.

So who has prepared our way? Christ has. As the incarnation of the divine (whatever that may mean to you), Christ lived out the full human experience, full of love and pain and death and triumph, without straying from the path God had laid out for him. Our path is never exactly his, but Christ has gone before us and set the lights and markers for us to follow. Because of Christ’s example, we have faith the journey of a human life is more than the thorny path of mere existence.

Like the lighting crew in the caves, it is Christ who has done the truly dangerous work, stepping into the darkness without certainty about what lay ahead. Because he was fully human, he was susceptible to doubt and fear. As his death approached, even he felt God had forsaken him (Mk 15:34, Matt 27:46). But because he has gone before us, we can trust God’s light will be present to greet us in the darkest places.

Are we preparing the way for anyone? Do we know who might be searching for a light we could provide or a bridge we could build? Every so often, as we progress on our Lenten and life journeys, let’s take a look behind us to see whether we add to or extinguish the light in our wake.

Comfort: Wherever you go, Christ was there first.

Challenge: Thank someone whose has helped guide you, especially if they may not be aware of it..

Prayer: God of the journey, you are my light in dark places.

Evening readings: Ps 121, 6

Discussion Question:
Other than Jesus, who has been a light on your faith journey?

The Lenten Journey: V Formation

Today's readings: Ps 43, 149; Ez 39:21-29; Phil 4:10-20; John 17:20-26

When geese and other migratory birds travel long distances together, they do it in what is called a “V Formation.” Each bird relies on the updraft created by the bird in front of it to travel more easily and for further distances. As the lead bird – the tip of the “V” – tires, others rotate into the lead position. No one is in the front or the back for too long. Pilots flying in groups imitate this behavior not just for the increased efficiency, but also because it allows them to keep other members of the group in sight.

During our own Lenten journey - and our entire life journey – we can’t be Christians while flying solo. Any single goose can fly, but staying safe and ahead of the encroaching winter requires a group effort. Any single Christian can believe all the “right” things, but justice, love and mercy require meaningful interaction with others. Can one person address the needs of the hungry or the poor? A little maybe. But the synergy of a group food pantry can accomplish far more than the self-contained efforts of individual kitchens. And a group speaking in unison to change the injustices that create hunger in the first place has a louder impact than a cacophony of disjointed if well-intended messages. And a community of people preparing meals for a person or family in crisis provides not just food, but the invaluable assurance of a community in solidarity with the suffering.

Many such efforts may begin with the idea or drive of a single person. If we are that leader, we need to recognize when it is time to rest and let someone else lead the “V” for a while, or risk tumbling from the sky in exhaustion. If we are on the tips or in the middle of the effort, we must be prepared to step up when our time comes, knowing we will not be called to lead forever. Giving and receiving are both part of the faith experience.

When Jesus prayed to prepare his disciples for his death, he asked God that they would be made as one (John 17:22), knowing how much of their strength and grace resided in their ability to act together to bring about God’s realm. Let’s find the formation that helps us lift and be lifted.

Comfort: Dependence on community is a strength, not a weakness.

Challenge: Before Lent is over, ask someone for help.

Prayer: God of the journey, connect me to the people on my path.

Evening readings: Ps 31, 143



Discussion Question:
Do you find it more to difficult to offer help, or to ask for it? Why?

The Lenten Journey: Choose Your Own Adventure

Today's readings: Ps 22, 148; Ez 18:1-4, 25-32; Phil 4:1-9; John 17:9-19

In the days before GPS and MapQuest, it was common for people embarking on a long car trip to visit AAA or another travel agent to get customized route maps (AAA still calls them TripTiks). An atlas could only get you so far before you needed additional city and street maps for the local details. Today we just click on “zoom.” But past or present, we need to know the end point of our journey to get directions. Our Lenten journey doesn’t work quite that way.

Our Lenten journey ends with resurrection – Easter – and we know the annual stories and readings that act as signposts throughout the season. But if our end point is a living, contemporary, present Christ, simply retracing 2000 year old steps – no matter how sacred – won’t get us there. Plenty of us are intimately familiar with Christ’s journey, yet stuck spinning our wheels. Without knowing direction resurrection may take in our own lives, how can we know in what direction to start our journey?

Ezekiel knows. The prophet advises his listeners the way forward is to repent – literally, to “turn around” their lives. A journey can begin because we have somewhere to go to – or somewhere to leave from. Even if we don’t know where we will end up, we generally know what in our lives we need to walk away from. Of course knowing is much easier than doing. Abuse, addiction, anger – if these things were easy to leave, Ezekiel could have kept his day job. It’s easier to stay in a bad or even dangerous yet familiar situation than to walk the unknown road. Rather than following a prescribed map, we find ourselves in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” scenario, where each choice leads us down an unknown path. We hope for a happy ending, but if things don’t work out, we can retrace our steps and begin again. And God will travel with us every time.

No matter how much we might like it to be so, faith is not a matter of following someone else’s maps, no matter how beautifully they’ve been drawn. God calls us to the uncharted territory of broken places – our own and others – and to the kingdom of wholeness waiting beyond.

Comfort: All steps taken in faith are in the right direction.

Challenge: Start a “travel journal” to map your Lenten adventures.

Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for trusting me to go new places.

Evening readings: Ps 105, 130

Discussion question:
Is there anywhere you both desire and fear to go?

The Lenten Journey: Citizenship in Heaven

Today's readings: Ps 27; 147:12-20, Hab 3:1-18, Phil 3:12-21; John 17:1-8

Have you ever heard someone described as a “citizen of the world?” Such people are usually considered well-traveled, sophisticated and fluent in diverse cultures. We perceive them as feeling at home in almost any setting. Though we may sense in them a bit of restlessness, we generally admire their ease and poise.

In Paul’s letter to the Phillipians, he claims their citizenship is in heaven. What does it mean to be a citizen of a place you can’t physically visit? First, we must recognize that in Paul’s Roman Empire, where slaves outnumbered citizens, the term “citizen” carried significant meaning. When Paul told people – regardless of legal class – they were citizens of heaven, he was telling them they had full rights and protections bestowed by God. Today’s strife over illegal immigration gives us only a small taste of the feelings that must have arisen - in citizens and non-citizens alike – when Paul announced all people were on equal footing under God.

As we progress in our Lenten journey, what will be the implications of our citizenship? Certainly it adds perspective to any form of nationalism; the borders of heaven are limitless, after all. How will we conduct ourselves in non-native lands, among people of different or no belief? How can we avoid becoming the Christian equivalent of the “ugly American” who treats other cultures with disregard? In many physical countries, we might rely on an ambassador or embassy to coach us in diplomacy and respect. Fortunately, we have Christ as our ambassador. His example of moving among all peoples with a strength born of peace and love is our example.

One last component of citizenship is responsibility. While citizens of the world have a responsibility to comply with local laws and customs, citizens of heaven are responsible to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly (Micah 6:8), even when doing so conflicts with expectations. Simultaneously loving and confounding is quite the balancing act. We can expect that not everyone will admire or even like us. We may even be outright rejected. But our true home and Lord will never abandon us.

Comfort: No one can revoke the citizenship God grants us.

Challenge: Try composing a Christian “Bill of Rights.”

Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for my rights and responsibilities.

Evening readings: Ps 126, 102

Discussion question:
Has there ever been a conflict between your national and heavenly citizenships?

Ash Wednesday: Preparing for the Lenten Journey

Today's readings: Ps 5, 147:1-11; Amos 5:6-15; Heb. 12:1-14; Luke 18:9–14

Today is the day Christians all over the world begin the annual Lenten pilgrimage. Most of us won’t travel physically but spiritually, and we hope in a direction moving us closer to God in Christ. Our modes of transportation vary: prayer, fasting, giving something up, taking something extra on – the possibilities are limitless. And like physical pilgrims, we may find we need to carefully select which belongings will travel well to a destination we may not know much about.

Today’s parable from Luke illustrates one of the things we might be better leaving behind: ego. When we read about the Pharisee who thanks God he is not the tax collector praying nearby, we aren’t surprised Jesus says the tax collector (who is humbling praying for mercy) is more justified before God. Most of us – even religious leaders – identify more with the character of the tax collector than the Pharisee. But should we? Is it truth or ego that tells us we are righteous?

The moment we thank God we are not the Pharisee, we may be guilty of his sin: pride and judgment. In Jesus’ time, the message of beloved sinners was revolutionary. People needed to hear it. Twenty centuries on, as a faith community comfortable with Jesus’ MO, we need to be careful we don’t wear the tax collector’s humility as the latest fashion of outward righteousness. Letting go of the idea that we are righteous (or sinful!) can be scary, because it erodes our comfortable, self-defined identity.

As we prepare for our Lenten journey, let’s unpack the thick cloak of ego to make room for uncertainty. And let’s not make the mistake of defining uncertainty as the lack of something; rather, let’s recognize it as necessary space for the new things God wants us to carry. If we cling too tightly to who we are, we are closed to who God would have us be.

Sometimes we are the Pharisee. Sometimes we are the tax collector. Most often we are a mix of both. God will help us find the balance.

Comfort: Letting go is sometimes the only way to hold something new.

Challenge: Meditate on today’s passage from Luke.

Prayer: God of the journey, help me know what to keep, and what to leave behind.

Evening readings: Ps 27, 51

Discussion question:
When have you had cause to question your assumptions about your identity?