Ideology or Idolatry?

Today's readings: Psalms 104, 149; Isaiah 43:1-13; Ephesians 3:14-21; Mark 2:23-3:6

Ideology is a sneaky devil. When we are born into one, we usually don't even think of it as an ideology, but simply as the way things are - or at least the way they should be. For example, free market capitalism is the dominant economic ideology of the western world. We talk about it as though it is an actual entity, but in truth it is a collective agreement to adhere to a set of principles. No one still living was party to the original "agreement," but centuries later we all (for the most part) continue to operate under its rules. As with any ideology, there has been a subtle but consistent shift of how we think about it: those who adopted the principles did so to serve society; today we treat them as part of our identity, and often act as though society exists to serve them.

In many Gospel stories, Jesus rejected the ideology of his culture in order to serve humanity. The pharisees started conspiring to destroy him after he plucked grain and healed a man on the sabbath, in violation of Hebrew ideology. His admonition that "the sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath" (Mark 2:27) did not move them, but Jesus knew that their ideology had become idolatry: they placed the letter of the scripture above the intent of God.

What ideologies have we let turn into idolatries? The pharisees were quite sure of their rigid interpretation of scripture. Should we be as sure of our own? Have we ever found ourselves defending or attacking a political idea simply because the "other side" criticizes or promotes it? The worst examples may be when we let political, religious and ethnic ideologies blend into an unexamined hodgepodge that leave us ready to take offense at the slightest provocation - or worse, to use ideology as an excuse to neglect or abuse our fellow human beings.

When we are most sure of our ideologies, we are least able to consider them wisely. Wisdom tells us mercy trumps idolatrous laws. By example Christ teachs us to examine them and use them to serve, not to blindly bend to them. God trusts us to think. Let's trust God enough to do so.

Evening readings: Psalms 138, 98

Forgiveness First

Today's readings: Psalms 97, 147:12-20; Isaiah 41:17-29; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 2:1-12

In today's Gospel reading, Jesus spoke  to a large crowd gathered in and around his home. As he did so, "some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. When Jesus saw their face, he said to the paralytic, 'Son, your sins are forgiven'" (Mark 2:3-5). The scribes present were offended that Jesus felt he had the authority to forgive sins. The man lowered through the roof may have been more than a litle disappointed his faith was rewarded with forgiveness and not healing. His friends were probably not looking forward to carrying him back.

As he always seems to do, Jesus turns the situation on its head. To demonstrate to the scribes the level of his authority, Jesus commands the man to pick up his mat and walk. What's a little forgiveness compared to a miracle? While we have a suspicion Jesus intended to heal the man all along, his decision to first emphasize forgiveness is a powerful statement. In the text leading to this moment, Jesus seems increasingly exasperated by the folks following him to receive and witness miracles. While these are signs of his authority, they are only signs - which exist to point to something more important.

The most important healing Jesus offers is not of our temporal bodies, but of our eternal relationship with God. Some of us are convinced we are unworthy, and live our whole lives as if that was true. Others place blame on everyone else and live lives of petty grudges. Both situations demonstrate a lack of faith in forgiveness. These mindsets can be nearly impossible to shake. When we can fully accept that love and forgiveness are at the core of our beings and the center of our relationship with God, well ... there's the miracle.

Healing is not the end of the story, but the beginning. Once we accept God's love and forgiveness, we can in turn love and forgive ourselves and each other. We heal the world. We are resurrected.

Evening readings: Psalms 16, 62

Gone Fishing

Today's readings: Psalms 42; 146; Isaiah 40:25-31; Ephesians 1:15-23; Mark 1:14-28

If you wanted to select a dozen people to help you carry out a radical new ministry, where would you look for them? The docks? Probably not, especially if everything you know about fishermen is from The Deadliest Catch or The Outdoor Channel. Not that fishermen aren't fine  and faithful people, but if we aren't from a fishing community, our understanding of them doesn't scream "evangelist." Yet fishermen are the people Jesus chose.

We tend to characterize them as humble and simple, but in Jesus' time fishing was a large, complex industry. Fishermen were likely to be savvy, multilingual, patient, persistent, strong, civilly and religiously conscientious, and community-oriented.* Not so different from today. Jesus didn't just pluck a few lucky guys from boats because they were handy; he picked the right people for the tough job ahead.

God continues to choose servants in ways that may mystify us if we don't dive deeper than a surface understanding of them. Gifted servant leaders come from what seem the unlikeliest of circumstances - poverty, prison, privilege - because their life circumstances prepare them in ways we don't always expect. Look at Paul, formerly a jew-killing bounty hunter named Saul: God used his life experiences to create an unmatched evangelist prepared to spread the Gospel among the Gentiles. Like an expert burglar rehabilitated into a security consultant, The Paul who founded, supported and withstood persecution for the church in Ephesus (and others) would not have been possible without Saul the persecutor.

Right now your own experience in your business, trade, and relationships is preparing you to do God's work. Maybe you are already ready! Does thinking about life as apprenticeship to Jesus change how you approach it? Don't let anyone convince you that you don't have valuable gifts to contribute to the Kingdom. Don't tell yourself that either. The day before Jesus invited them to become fishers of people, neither the fishermen nor their friends and families would have been likely to believe they were apostle material. Luckily that's God's call to make.

Evening readings: Psalms 102; 133

* Elizabeth McNamer. "Cast Your Nets: Fishing at the Time of Jesus" www.AmericanCatholic.org. n.p., July 2004. Web. 14 January 2013.

Angels in the Wilderness

Today's readings: Psalms 5, 145; Isaiah 40:12-24; Ephesians 1:1-1; Mark 1:1-13

"Jesus in the Wilderness" Charles de la Fosse, 1690

Imagine that on your first day of work the boss introduces you to everyone by proclaiming how proud he is of you. Immediately, as a reward for whatever it was you did that earned such enthusiasm, you are assigned an extended gig at a remote branch to address a disgruntled former employee who now runs the competition. Per the opening chapter of Mark, that pretty much summed up Jesus' first day on the job: John baptized him, God announced his favor from the heavens, "and the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness" where he spent forty days grappling with Satan.

That's the way life goes though. Just as we finally screw up the courage to make that change, or earn that promotion, or have that baby, we discover it comes with a new set of problems we weren't anticipating. We may start asking if we weren't better off before we got what we wanted. It doesn't seem fair that doing everything right leads to more work. But if Jesus - in whom God was "well pleased" (Mark 1:11) - was sent to suffer temptation in the wilderness, maybe we need to realign our expectations and definition of success.

Doing good work - especially doing God's work - does not guarantee ease. To the contrary, the Jews as God's chosen people suffered tremendously, and Christian history is full of martyrs. Our own trials vary in difficulty, but all are real. Some say trials are tests from God, but God does not act to push us away. Accepting accountability - to our boss, our children, ourselves or God - enlightens us to the brokenness in the world, and how much of it we are called to heal, prevent or bear witness to. The Spirit didn't send Jesus into the wilderness alone: angels waited on him (Mark 1:13). We also have support available - our fellow Christians who share the same accountability. When times are tough, we remind each other why what we do is important. We help carry each other's burdens. We listen. We cry. We are angels to each other.

Faith doesn't bring on suffering. It does put us in touch with the suffering that already exists. We can count on our God - and our angels - to see us through it.

Evening readings: Psalms 82, 29 

Open wide and say "Awe!"

Today's readings: Psalms 104; 150; Isaiah 40:1-11; Hebrews 1:1-12; John 1:1-7, 19-20, 29-34

A sense of awe is a natural reaction to the miracle of creation. Non-theists, especially those involved in the sciences, frequently cite a sense of wonder as central to their own spirituality. People of faith, like the author of Psalm 104, go further and attribute the beauty and complexity of the universe to the divine intelligence behind it all. People who find time spent in nature helps them feel closer to God are closely attuned to this sense of wonder. If we spend a lot of time studying scripture and trying to wrap our brains around God, we may find it more difficult - or frivolous - to appreciate unexamined awe. Yet this is a legtimate way of apprehending God. As we deepen in our relationship with God - as we hope to continue doing our whole lives - let's take an occasional break from the "head" space we spend most of our time in to dwell in the "heart" space where that sense of awe can reach us best.

Busy people may need to intentionally slow down to notice everyday wonders. The sky is always above, but do we ever think of it as being stretched out as the tent of God's dwelling place, or of the winds as God's messengers (Ps 104:2, 4)? These poetic images do not need to be literal to reveal truth to us. The psalmist finds wonder in springs gushing forth to give drink to every wild animal, in food brought forth from the earth, in trees and mountains, darkness and light, predator and prey. If we ever have trouble feeling our connection to a sense of wonder, Psalm 104 is an amazing resource for reestablishing it.

Let's commit to being aware of the sources of awe in our own lives. The diverse beauty of a garden or a wild meadow. The complexity of our own  bodies, even when they can no longer serve us well. The grace of a flock of hundreds of birds swooping in unison. The power of a storm that extends farther than we can comprehend. Awe can be inspiring and terrifying at the same time. What it can not be is analyzed, for then it ceases to be awe. Let us simply dwell in the presence of the Lord and for a while let awe crowd out everything else. It blesses a soul.

Evening reading: Psalm 29

Spit It Out!

Today's readings: Psalms 46 or 97, 149; Isaiah 66:1-2, 22-23; Revelation 3:14-22; John 9:1-12, 35-38

Is mainstream Christianity too wishy-washy? Media hype about the "Culture War" between the faithful and the secular wouldn't lead us to believe so. Conservative religious voices speaking out against abortion and same sex marriage are frequent, loud and shrill. But in a time and place where Christianity is by far the dominant religion and Christian businesses from dating services to investment firms flourish, are Christians really suffering from any threats or dangers we don't fabricate ourselves? The only "persecution" we face in the USA is that people are free to speak against us if they so choose. Someone refuting our beliefs or calling us out for behavior they disagree with is in no way equivalent to oppression. Yet somehow we manage to convince ourselves we are victims, perhaps because on some level we know truly living one's faith does invite persecution, but we don't have the stomachs for the real thing.

The progressive church is not off the hook. Yes it frowns upon and occasionally speaks out against the more egregious activities of its conservative counterpart, but rarely since the civil rights movement of the 1960s does it insert itself in any meaningful way. Instead, content simply to disclaim the follies of its less sophsticated cousin, it leaves the secular culture to do the heavy lifting on progressive issues. Paralyzed by political correctness, it operates from a generic humanism wherein faith is at best charming. Church as therapy.

Neither camp, though opinionated, is bold. Mostly they preach to their respective choirs. They are the lukewarm spit out by Christ (Rev 3:15-16). Passionate Christians cling to neither of these labels (nor a moderate one) because they are too busy feeding the poor, praying for their enemies, spreading the Gospel, and visiting the sick and imprisoned to worry about any politics that don't hinder those efforts. Dedicating oneself to these works is still considered radical in all quarters because it is an implicit indictment of anyone not doing them. Christianity is the opposite of a cultural affiliation or confirmation (even its own): it is a light and fire that burns them away.

Evening readings: Psalms 27; 93 or 114

401K. IRA. WWJD?

The story of the loaves and fishes is known even to many non-Christians because it works on several levels. It foreshadows communion as an example of Jesus welcoming everyone to the table (even if the table is a grassy hill). It speaks to our basic need to be fed both physically and spiritually. It challenges our reflex to respond to the world as a place of scarcity and need. That last idea, where we wrestle with faith versus practicality, can be especially difficult for us in a culture where terms like "Christian Financial Planning" and "prosperity gospel" abound.

Whether Jesus performed a supernatural act, or the crowd was moved to share what was hidden amongst them, the point is the same: when we dedicate our resources to God's purposes, there will be more than enough. When the crowd dispersed, there were enough fragments of the original five loaves left to fill twelve baskets! When we have a fish or loaf and others don't, the gospel calls us to act in faith. Sometimes that means releasing what we have and trusting that it will serve a higher purpose. For an individual that loaf might be time, money and/or talent. For a church community the fish might be other assets; for example, if our attachment to owning and maintaining a particular piece of real estate erodes our time and ability to do mission, we need to ask whether a fear of scarcity causes us to grip that fish more tightly.

In God's economy, resources hoarded are resources wasted. As loath as we Americans are to admit it, our obsession with 401K and IRA runs counter to WWJD. It only makes sense to us to plan for our financial future, but that is never the future Jesus teaches about unless he says to stop worrying and trust nothing but God. If we are "responsible" people, that message can be a real punch to the gut, but if we are faithful people we need to hear it and wrestle with what it means for us, especially when it puts our feet to the fire. We spend our whole lives learning to loosen our grip on what we know we possess to free our hands for God.

Ineffable

Today's readings: Psalms 46 or 47; 146; 59:15b-21; Revelation 2:8-17; John 4:46-54

in-ef-fa-ble *
adjective
1. incapable of being expressed or described in words
2. not to be spoken because of its sacredness; unutterable

Applying words to God is a tricky business. Since God is infinite, any definition we construct insufficient. We write and speak about God, and around God, but the words we use are not God. Some of the most powerful writing about God is not expository but poetic. The psalmists and prophets were particularly gifted at painting their experience of God in vivid metaphors, some so strange as to be dreamlike. When discussing God as a saving force, Isaiah described a warrior with a breastplate of righteousness, a helmet of salvation, garments of vengeance and a mantle of fury (Is 59:17). God is infinitely more than a warrior, but for Isaiah this was an image that addressed the needs of the time. When we contrast that with God as portrayed as a mother hen gathering her chicks (Matt 23:37), it is apparent different metaphors for God serve different purposes.

One danger of metaphors is that we allow them to become definitions. For example, God as “Father” is one of the most common metaphors, so common that many people take is as a firm definition. Many find this image strong and comforting, but to others who have not had good paternal experience it can be jarring, even alienating. While we should welcome the potential for growth that exists in grappling with challenging notions of God, when we insist on our own image of God as the defining one, we do a disservice to the God who is present for all people in all times and places. Furthermore, we hamper our opportunity to experience God in ever richer ways.

The good news is that if no words are sufficient – all words are on the table. We may not be able to define God, but we can express our understanding of God in words and images that reflect our own experiences. We are not limited to existing, traditional terms that alienate or offend us. To some people – people who feel the need to control the uncontrollable experience that is God – this notion is dangerous and heretical. But if our goal is truly to better understand God and not just to create a God in an image that is convenient for us, the work of doing so is holy.

Evening readings: Psalms 27; 93 or 114   * ineffable. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged. Retrieved January 08, 2013, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/ineffable

Polly-animated

Today's readings: Psalms 48; 147:1-11; Genesis 12:1-7; Hebrews 11:1-12; John 6:35-42, 48-51

In the decades since the book Pollyanna was first published and popular, references to the title character have devolved from implying a spirit of tireless optimism into a perjorative with connotations of naivete or even simple-mindedness. In some circles, the word "faith" has similarly fallen out of favor. Anti-religious social critics have used the description of faith in Hebrews 11:1 as "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" to characterize Christians as weak-minded and even willfully ignorant. Some of these critics go so far as to say faith brings out the worst in people and that without it our better nature is free to shine through. To the contrary, history demonstrates both the faithful and the faithless are capable of goodness and horror in equal measure. Could anything be more naive than an insistence that people left to their own devices are basically decent?

The story of Abraham and Sarah's faith, as told in Genesis and recounted in Hebrews, is not one of denial of life's harsh realities. Nor is it one of the shoddy philosophy of Voltaire's Candide who declared this creation the best of all possible worlds (and was more of a "Pollyanna" than Pollyanna ever was). It is a story of faith as a call to anchor ourselves to God's presence in the brokenness of the real world, and to allow that presence to work through us to heal the brokenness. Such faith is not a simple, mindless optimism; it demands hard work and a willingness to face the challenges of life head on. Faith did not simplify life for Abraham and Sarah. It did not provide easy answers. It did use them to transform the world. Faith is not something we posess. Rather, faith posesses us, in every sense of the word.

In a world of increasing cynicism and materialism, faith like that of Abraham and the Disciples may be ridiculed but it is not a sign of naivete or intellectual surrender. It is bold. It is revolutionary. It gives us courage to shed the armor of ego which has done nothing but conceal the light. It is a call not to arms, but to loving action.

Evening readings: Psalms 9; 29

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