Mar 31 2019 Mark 8: 11-21

Mar 31 2019

Mark 8: 11-21



And he sighed deeply in his spirit. 


So Jesus and the disciples have just fed the 5000, with five loaves of bread. The Pharisees are arguing with Jesus, asking for a sign. In response, Jesus “sighed deeply in his spirit” and asked a rhetorical question about the argument. 


Boy, do I understand that sentiment, sighing deeply in his spirit. I understand it because it is not my go-to response when provoked. I’ve said before that there is no argument that’s not worth having. But with lots of examples and some reflection, I’m coming to realize that’s not true, especially if I’m arguing with loved ones.



After effectively ending the argument with his question, he once again gets into his boat and goes to the other side. One interesting thing about this is that going to the other side was a very radical, inclusive move. The other side was inhabited by the ‘other’ as far as the good religious folk thought. Jesus leaves the center of the religious leaders and goes to other side of the tracks with his disciples. It’s in his going there, and bring his disciples with him, that is radically inclusive.



Today, I want to let the peaceful spirit within me, guide my response towards that deep internal sigh, instead of an outward verbal response. I want to sense that spirit, and let it sigh.



Then I want to get in my boat and go to the other side.

Mar 30 2019 Collect – 3rd Sunday of Lent

Mar 30 2019

Collect – 3^rd Sunday of Lent



Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves



One of the things that happens in Morning Prayer is that every morning, we repeat the prayer that ‘collECTS’ (when spoken, emphasis on ECTS) all of the readings themes for the previous Sunday. We call the ‘COLLects’ (when spoken, emphasis on COLL). Experienced once on Sunday morning, the COLLect is brief, and frequently makes me think how succinct and precise the short prayer is in incorporating themes from the day’s readings, given that they’re  Old and New testament readings, written over the span of thousands of years.



When I read these brief prayers every day during the practice of Morning Prayer, they take on a different role. The words harken back to Sunday’s lessons and sermon. More important to me, parts of them begin to seep into my soul. I pray something Monday, and my soul takes note of one thing. Tuesday, the same thing. By the time Saturday rolls around, that nugget  jumps out at me, something that may have passed by without notice if I heard the Collect Sunday and that’s it.



This morning, I’m struck by the opening of the Collect from last Sunday. Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves. I know lots of people who cannot believe this is true, many competent, wealthy, prestigious, people. Even religious people. Maybe they don’t say they disagree, but it shows up as narcissism, self-aggrandizing, and pride.



Even excluding those folks, lots of normal well-intentioned followers of Christ stumble over the absoluteness of the statement. We have no power. It doesn’t say we sometimes need God, or we have some power. We have no power. That’s hard to fathom and sometimes hard to believe.



Except it’s when we come to believe that, that we can take our personal successes and failures in the right perspective. It’s then, that we can give up our expectations of the way we’re constructing things. It’s exhausting to think and act like I’m the author and savior of my world, and those around me. Turns out, I’m not.



To me, proof of this no power thing is that for me, there are loads of times when I think I know what I should do, and I despite my best intentions, training, purpose, I don’t. It could be something silly like avoiding the chocolate candy jar in the office, or something bigger like engaging in a stupid argument with people I love. Then it’s easy to see and sense that I have no power in myself. That’s not to say that a quick shout-out to God will automatically make me immune from the chocolate or that secretly God wants me to eat chocolate. This is just about me and what power I have in myself.



The Collect continues with the next line: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.



Today, I want to be mindful the power void in me, and pray that God can fill that void.

Mar 29 John Keble

The write ups about John Keble did little for me to pursue him further in morning prayer. But I was not moved by the prescribed morning prayer readings, so I looked a little further into John Keble, who died on March 29, 1866. 

It turns out he’s more interesting, particularly thinking about my work life in local and state government, executive and legislative branches, public and non-profit, law enforcement and social service. 

He wasn’t a famous bishop or martyr. He served as a small village parish for 30 years. So those who know his name are probably Anglican nerds, steeped in the history of Church. Yet again, I’m glad the Daily Office includes these lesser-known saints. 

In addition to writing a book of poems which corresponded to Sunday and major feast days, he is known for a particular sermon that kicked off a whole movement to return to the true roots of his Christian faith. While I care less about the origins of the Oxford Movement, parts of that sermon speak to me now, in this time and place. 

He begins by asking how we can reconcile our allegiance to God with our duty to country, especially when that country is “fast becoming hostile to the Church”. That question made me read more, as it seems we could be in a similar place. 

He continues that for people not working in the church, there  is a deep responsibility on those whose careers put them in the position of establishing and holding the boundaries which are needed in a civil society. This is the part I can imagine why this sermon is still used to address incoming judges and officers of the court in parts of England. 

He offers a simple remedy of what we should do:  “each of [us] anxious children, in [our] own place and station to resign [ourselves] more thoroughly to [our] God in those duties which are not affected by the emergencies of the moment. . . I mean, of piety, purity, charity, justice.”

So instead of saying that Church and State should be entirely separated, I hear in this sermon what I’ve always believed. As a person of faith in general, and Christian in particular, I bring those believes and values and trust in God into my daily life and work, including my jobs with the legislature, city management, non-profits, and police. After all, the Church isn’t a building. It isn’t the people we worship with Sunday morning. We, people of faith in the world, are the Church. If we bring our God-infused values into the world, as opposed to checking them at the door on Sunday when we leave the building, we would see a resurgence of the Church, because it would be everywhere, and in everything we do. 

To be clear, I’m not suggesting we need to proselytize; we don’t need to mention Christ or God at all. We just need to act in that way in the world, and people will see it, and lives will be changed. A great example is MLK. I’ve read that while he was a preacher, his most powerful public speeches were not steeped in God-talk. He didn’t need to hit people over the head with the source of his truth. He just spoke his truth, and people heard and lives were changed. 

John Keble concludes his sermon with the acknowledgment that to do this work, to be the Church in the world, is hard; sometimes it’s an uphill battle. It’s lonely; sometimes I feel like it’s me against the world. And any substantive change may be long after I’m gone. But even with these challenges, we are to persist. Because “[we are] calmly, soberly, demonstrably, SURE, that, sooner or later, HIS WILL BE THE WINNING SIDE, and that the victory will be complete, universal, eternal.”

Here’s to John Keble. Here’s to the universal and persistent problems of being human beings in the world, with worldly rulers, and a perceived division between Church and world. And here’s to John Keble’s throw down challenge – let’s lose our impotent view of the Church as a building or a Sunday thing, and let’s go out in to the world as people of Christ. Team Christ, let’s go!

Mar 28 2019 Psalm 83

They have said, "Come, let us wipe them out from among the nations’



I have never understood the trait of retribution, or at least of thinking that God’s on your side in your retribution. Here’s a classic illustration.



The psalmist is crying out to God, how horrible it is that his enemies are rising against him, plan to take secret counsel against his people. He believes they’re planning to wipe out this man’s people. All of these are perfectly good reasons to cry out to God. I would be too, and I have. Although not for these specific reasons. Dear God, protect me and those I love. God, give me strength and patience to address what’s before me.



But from there, the psalmist takes two steps I don’t understand. First, the psalmist cries out to God that the man’s enemies are actually enemies of God, are have conspired against God. For what? For rising against God’s protected people, and have made alliances against God, by virtue of making alliances against the psalmist’s people. The logic, as I see it, is something like, me and my people are God’s chosen and protected. Anyone against us is against God, clearly.



And since any enemy of mine is an enemy of God’s, God should cut down my enemies, not because they’re enemies of mine, but because by extension, they’re enemies of God’s. So after the anguished  petitions, the psalmist goes on about how God should make their leaders like swirling dust, terrify them with God’s storm, and ultimately be confused and perish.



I believe this is a human reaction, to get even – and even to call in one’s allies to assist. But I don’t believe God is on anyone’s side. And here’s the reason. We’re all human and fallible and subject to human reactions, like retribution. This includes people with whom I agree, with whom I disagree, and those who seem to be the personification of evil. I believe in a God of love to all. If that’s the case, what’s to stop my archenemy from appealing to God for my destruction?  



Wouldn’t it be plausible that those with whom I vehemently disagree are petitioning God to confound and terrify me, because in opposing them, I’m opposing God?  Same goes for people who claim to love and follow God, but I see as evil incarnate.



Through the teachings of Christ, and my sense of God’s radical inclusive Love, I do not believe God has favorites. I don’t believe I’ve got God on my side, more than my enemy. Or maybe more appropriately, God is on my side. And on theirs. God wants us all to succeed.



I’ve heard folks from opposite camps of religious fervor claim that they’re on the side with God. God agrees with their interpretation, and clearly the other side has it wrong, is against God, and therefore God is against them. It’s inherently internally inconsistent, to believe God is an all-loving God, as long as you believe what I believe. Stops being all, doesn’t it?



Today, let me always remember that retribution and anger are normal and predictible emotions held by humans. God has no favorites, and while my enemies can express a desire for retribution or anger, and while they can invoke God’s wrath because God’s on their side, that does not make it so. More importantly, let me remember that when I express retribution, or anger, or think that God’s on my side, that does not make it so.

Mar 27 2019 Psalm 119: 97-120

Your word is a lantern to my feet and a light upon my path.
This morning, I woke up at 2:40AM. As I lay in bed, thoughts of my busy day, busy weekend, unpredictable demands, ability to cope crowded the space for sleep. Laying in the darkness, I conjured up all sorts of worry and drama. Some of the things I worry about are real, today challenges. Some of the things are fabricated possibilities about the future. In both cases, laying in bed, in the dark, fretting, is stupid. 

Sleep evaded me until I finally got up at 4:00. It’s dark, and surprisingly still. I got my morning coffee, grabbed my computer, and headed for my prayer chair. I turned on the small table lamp from my grandparents house and settled in, as I do every morning. The darkness view out of my apartment window is a bustling city, a river, and interstate in the distance. It’s still, compared to commute hours. So as I sit in the dark stillness, I’m thinking about light. 

It’s the unknown in the darkness that frightens me. I can’t see where I’m going. I don’t know what’s out there. And in the still darkness, my crazy brain takes over and conjures up all sorts of narratives about my current situation, and worse – what’s to come.

As I sit here, I have faith that Mt. Hood is still beyond the city lights I can see, and with sunrise, I’ll be able to see the mountain in all its glory. The shadows will be brightened. The unknown alit. And for now, I sit with my small light, which is just enough, and sit with scripture, and all is well. 

I have been struggling with newly diagnosed vestibular problem. Sometime over a decade ago, I had damage to the nerve connecting one ear to my brain, resulting in years of faulty signals from one side of a finely tuned tw0-ear balance system. I don’t recall the illness or injury that caused it, but over the years, my balance has gone from bad to worse, with increasingly frequent bouts of vertigo. The interesting (and relevant) thing is that my balance was absolutely nonexistent in the dark. No chance of biking without falling over – it’s a thing – and I couldn’t walk without holding on to someone more stable. I’ve retrained my brain to disregard the faulty signals, and I’m mostly healed. 

I encounter darkness in three different ways. Darkness affects the stimulation and thoughts of my head. In the absence of other sights and inputs, darkness leaves my head to wander, both for good and not-so-good. God’s light can break that internal chatter that occurs in the dark. I have, with occasional success taken the opportunity to pray in those dark sleepless times. The limited success is due to my stick-with-it-ness, not with any perceived failure of prayer. 

I also interact with darkness as an observer. As I sit in the light, looking out at the dark night, I can’t see Mt. Hood. I worry about bad guys in the darkness. God’s word helps me see things I cannot see, helps me not worry about bad guys or anything else that the darkness hides. 

Finally, darkness affects my ability to walk a straight line without falling over. Or at least it did. Now, I might not fall over, but it’s still harder to walk and navigate in the dark. I do genuinely have a sense that God’s truth and love help me navigate better through this complicated world, sometimes so filled with darkness it’s hard to walk a straight line. But like the psalmist writes, God’s word is a light on my path. 

Today, I want to try to see all the places where God’s word does lighten my world, to see where there’s darkness, and to reflect God’s light in those dark places, to light the path of others.

Mar 26 2019 John 7:37-52

Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee.

The crowds are getting restless. Jesus is making quite a commotion, with all his crazy love, and inclusion. The authorities, who by the definition of authority, have drawn distinctions between themselves and those over whom they have power. The religious leaders, who by the definition, have drawn distinctions between themselves and those whom they lead.

And here comes this guy who’s challenging all their self-claimed power and specialness. But that’s too ugly of an argument against him, isn’t it?  They can’t really say, either to themselves or anyone else, that they are against Jesus because he’s taking away their pedestals. He’s no good because he makes me feel no better than everyone else, and I’m special!

So instead, they go to this ludicrous argument that he can’t be the Messiah because he’s from Galilee. No where was it written in their law that the Messiah would come from Galilee. Rather than what Jesus says and does, the authorities are concerned with which side of the tracks he was born and of his parental lineage. Their need to maintain their position of prominence clouds their ability to hear and see Love.

But before I dismiss them as the petty ones, creating false distinctions, think about the writer of John. John’s Gospel spends a lot of time, portraying the legal and religious leaders of the time as petty and wrong-headed. On the other hand, the specific band of Jesus followers that John’s affiliated are special. Makes me think of the pot calling the kettle black.

And it’s not just John, is it? I do this all the time. Things I believe in, things I work hard for, there are things that differentiate me from others. We all differentiate. Teens are great at it, identifying and claiming how they’re different from their parents. And quickly they conclude that their definitions and beliefs are better. It’s not just teens. I think we all do this, when we draw the boundaries and differentiate me from you. We need those distinctions.

The challenge is that deep down, we’re really all the same. We all breath. We all strive to love and be loved. Like the religious and political leaders of Jesus’ time, problems arise when we use those differences to create a hierarchy of human value. Yes, my skin may be a different color than my adopted daughter. Yes, my faith may be different than my husband. Yes, I was born in Illinois, and neither of them were. But none of that makes me better.

Whether it’s the nominal differences stated by the authorities that Jesus was born in the wrong area, or the undercurrent differences, that he threatened their position of power, or the author of John, and his sense that the other Jesus followers didn’t follow their way, all of these differences were real. There are differences between people, their looks, where they're from, what they believe.

But differences, inherently, don’t make one side better than the other. Just different. Today, I want to notice the differences between me and others. I want to celebrate that difference, appreciate the strength that comes from difference, and steer clear of the borders or pedestals that are so easy to create because of those differences.

Mar 25 2019 Feast of the Annunciation Luke 1: 26-38

Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.



If you believe in the events of the Bible, either literally or figuratively, and if you believe in averages, that’s why we celebrate the feast of the annunciation today. In the Gospel of Luke, we hear how the angel Gabriel went to Mary to announce (root of the word annunciation) Jesus birth. Gabriel said the Holy Spirit would come upon her, and she would conceive God’s son. Today, March 25 is nine months before December 25, so it’s as good a date as any to celebrate Mary’s ‘yes’.



To be clear, I’m not suggesting and not interested in debating what conception looked like, what Gabriel looked like, if the sprit was a big scary dove. I’m not concerned with the details of how. I’m grateful that we celebrate this day; it’s obscure and a little contrived, particularly for folks in less liturgical traditions. But it is one of my favorites.



Mary, the young teen girl, is met by an angel. Mary, the most unlikely mother. Most informed estimates put her around 14 years old. I’ve parented 14-year old girls. They’re not always someone that, unlike Mary, God would find favor with. Nor are they as agreeable as Mary.


To me, today isn’t a celebration of Mary’s greatness, but rather of God’s grace, and Mary’s normalness. It wasn’t Mary’s greatness that made her say yes, any more than it’s my greatness that does diddly. It’s God’s greatness. And having said that, Mary is pretty admirable, great or otherwise. With God’s grace, this normal teenager said yes. Here am I. Let it be with me according to your word.



In my experience, people who’ve felt called to ordained ministry or other church leadership take great joy in stories like this. We affectionately refer to them as “call stories”, where God speaks and some mere mortal responds. Samuel, Hannah, Mary, Paul. We love these stories. It makes us want to tell our own call story. When I felt called to ordained ministry, it felt so clearly from God, and I felt so clearly wiling to say, Let it be with me according to your word.



And I did not, and do not feel that sense of God’s call when I was married, had or adopted kids, took jobs, deal with current struggles. This morning, I’m thinking about how any child of God should spend time thinking about how they’ve been asked to say yes. How God has called them to their current ministry. Big or small. In the church or not. In the privacy of one’s home or in the world. If I believe in God’s ever-present mercy, I should be hearing and seeing the angel’s greeting “Greetings, favored one!”, in every invitation. And I should be contemplating Mary’s response, “Let it be with me according to your word” in every response.



Call stories are a gem of the Bible. It was only after nearly a decade of formation and study that I saw the relevance in my life. But the stories are so spectacular. I pray today that we can hear them in our lives all the time, and see ourselves as these normal people called by God to do exactly what God is seeking. Let it be with us, according to your word.

Mar 24 2019 Mark 5: 1-20

And the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine.

This is from the story where Jesus meets the man from Gerasenes with the unclean spirit. The man has lived, among the tombs, “howling and bruising himself”, unable to be contained by chains or to subdued.

I’ve never been a fan of the occult, of thinking about evil spirits. When friends would bring out the ouija board, I went the other way. I figured that if it didn’t work, it was a waste of time. If it did work, I wanted nothing to do with summoning spirits. 

This story creeps me out a little. Jesus meets this man, and asks him his name. First of all, if there was someone that disconnected, that out of his mind, would I have the courage to go to him and ask him his name? I hope so. In any case, the man responds that his name is Legion, “for we are many”, referring to the demonic spirits within the man. Rather than attributing this story to the devil, some have written off his possession as mental illness, perhaps schizophrenia.

I’ve recently been reading up on that horrible illness, and I came across something startling. One woman was talking about her son, who has paranoid schizophrenia and he has strong hallucinations that are something right out of a nightmare. 

One particular morning, this woman’s son awoken to find the devil sitting on the end of his bed, telling him how bad of a person he was, how no one loved him and they were trying to hurt him. He should lash out and hurt the people who pretended to love him, before they hurt him. If this was your reality, how horrible would that be?!  We are Legion. 

The young man’s response to this terrifying vision? He talked back to the devil, laughed at him, told him he was nothing, and should leave. And... the devil left. 

Was there someone or something on his bed?  I’ll never know. Could there have been or was it just that the man was out of his mind? I’m increasingly believing that yes, there could have something legitimately there. Maybe with his brain that’s wired differently, he sees things I don’t. Creepy, right?

For the man who encountered Jesus, his unclean spirits left him at Jesus’ command. Maybe in my current day, there are such things as unclean spirits as demoniacs. Maybe it’s all cruel tricks of the brain. Maybe the two are the same. I don’t know, but it’s all horrible. 

What I do believe is that Love is a greater power. Love’s presence in me can give me the strength to go up to the modern-day demoniacs and ask their name. Love’s power through me can help them experience that greater power. Love’s grace for them and presence in them can break those terrifying bonds of fear and evil. Maybe it will be quite a struggle and take many years, but ultimately, Love wins.

Mar 23 2019

Suffrages

Give peace, O Lord, in all the world;

For only in you can we live in safety.

I have really come to enjoy my practice of Morning Prayer, reflection and writing. One of the great benefits I’ve found is some of the lesser known components of liturgical Morning Prayer, which is based on prayers established in the 1500’s. Repeated daily, these prayers could sound or feel old. But instead, I find they’re seeping into my soul, precisely because they are always with me.


I remember in college, talking to a non-religious friend who absolutely could not understand why I’d be involved in a tradition that said the same prayers. I’m still grateful for the question and the opportunity to ponder my why.


My why has to do with my active analytical brain. I have a very high-functioning – arguably overactive – left brain. That, coupled with a need for some certainty in my world means that I’m always plotting, or planning, or scripting, or considering. Someone once described liturgy to me as the verbal version of ritual. We say the same things regularly because they mean something. In any case, liturgical prayer – those prayers that we say in the same form at the same point in a larger structured prayer time – these prayers allow my overactive analytical head to relax, and just pray  My head knows what’s coming next. I can pray the words, because I don’t need to look them up, don’t need to fret with what’s next. And while my left brain is low-level occupied with liturgical prayer, my right brain prays. Freely. Without constraint, or worry, or planning. It’s sort of like knitting while I’m at a conference. Or doodling while listening to a lecture. My brain is just busy enough to stop its incessant activity.



The Suffrages are prayed every morning and come in the form of call and response. Give peace o Lord in all the world. Response?  For only in you can we live in safety.



This morning, I’m struck by the relationship to peace and safety.

Give peace O Lord feels like an incredibly personal petition these days. This doesn’t feel like a cry for the kind of peace that is the opposite of war. To be clear, I’m not trying to describe what it means empirically, or what it means to you. In my current place, this is what it means to me. Give peace to all of our insides – our souls and hearts. I’m not sure why it feels so internal and personal, rather than external. Maybe it’s the use of the phrase, “Only in you”. This feels like it’s about me and where I rest.



Or maybe this is about which comes  first – peace then safety or safety then peace. It’s not that I’m simply petitioning God for peace, and then reminding God and ourselves that when God gives us peace – then we can live in safety. I think I hear it the other way. When I live in God’s safety, then I am granted a deep peace. The peace comes as the result of my conscious and active and consistent choice to live in God’s safety. If all of us made that choice, to live in God’s safety, I do believe we would then see peace in the world.

Mar 22 2019 John 5:30-47

I can do nothing on my own.



This comes not from some lowly sinner, beggar, leper. This sentence, I can do nothing on my own, comes from Jesus himself. Jesus, who we believe to be both fully human and fully divine. If this is true for the God-man, how can we possibly think we can be more self-reliant?



We have a convenient way of being reliant on God, sometimes. When we do well or when we succeed, we are frequently proud of our accomplishments. Maybe this is hard to acknowledge in ourselves. But I see it a lot in myself when I’m talking about my kids doing well. Aren’t they grand?  Rarely do I attribute their success to God.



But when things aren’t going well either for me or my kids, it’s much easier to involve God in that equation. Somehow it’s God’s oversight or displeasure, that’s the root of my woes. In these instances, prayer is easier for me. It’s easier to involve God in the petitions for myself or others.



Yesterday, I had an exchange with a family member that, in hindsight, didn’t go as well as it could have. I wasn’t as non-anxious and patient as I should have been. I’ve played the conversation over repeatedly, and in hindsight, I asked God for awareness and the grace to handle these situations better in the future. Maybe I invoke God in the harder bits because it’s so clear that I cannot handle this all on my own.



But for some reason, it’s easier for me to step into the spotlight and feel the glow of the good things. This is especially absurd when it comes to my kids’ success. What, really, did I have to do with their current, adult successes?  But it’s easy to feel a sense of pride.



To be clear, I can pray in thanksgiving for myself or my family. But not as frequently, as easily or as spontaneously. I offer thanksgiving for the good things predictably when it’s  bidden. When someone else asks for prayers and thanksgivings, I can list off all the things I’m thankful for. But as they occur, I’m not as quick to go to God, other than the less-than-sincere, “Oh thank God…” 



I can do nothing on my own. Jesus cannot. I cannot. My kids cannot. And nothing includes the good and the not good. None of it occurs on our own, independent of the ever-present God in our midst. Today, I want to be at least a little more aware of God’s action in my world, of my action in the world and God’s action through me in my world. In the good and the not so good.

Mar 21 2019 Romans 2: 12-24

There is something deep within [outsiders] that echoes God’s yes and no, right and wrong. Their response to God’s yes and no will become public knowledge on the day God makes his final decision about every man and woman.

This translation from The Message speaks to me, as someone who’s surrounded by people with varying degrees of faith. 

This is from Paul’s letter to the Romans, and he’s basically telling the good Jews of the community that they cannot rely on simply saying they’re good Jews, or by hearing the word of God. To be clear, being a Jew at the time was what all good religious people were. Gentiles was a term used to describe all non-Jews, and this passage is one place where Paul’s trying to explain that it’s not whether you’re Jewish or not that matters, it’s whether God’s law is written on a person’s heart and as a result, whether they act in a way that reflects that. 

To good Jews of the time, Gentiles or outsiders, were doomed, as they weren’t part of the prevailing community of faith – they weren’t part of the community of good Jews. Paul isn’t condemning good Jews, but rather pointing out that that particular club is not the end-all. Even people with no faith can live according to God’s ‘right and wrong’, and that’s what matters. 

I’m surrounded by people of with varying degrees of faith. In my day job, I’m surrounded by people who profess and practice a deep religious faith. I live with people who don’t practice any religious faith. When my husband and I were working to get licensed as foster parents and ultimately adopt a child, we were using a nearby evangelical Christian adoption agency. After case histories and lots of time with the case worker, she asked me privately how I could be married to someone who didn’t profess Jesus Christ as his personal lord and savior. In hindsight, I wish I could have rattled off this section. 

But my answer then, as now, is that first of all, he’s more faithful to God’s right and wrong than many who make such professions of faith. Secondly, with my understanding of God’s power and action in the world, it’s not up to me singly to convert anyone. I walk through my life with the people in my life, as I am, a flawed and imperfect person of faith. God is the converter. And besides, it’s adherence to God’s law, God’s sense of right and wrong that matters. Not membership in my particular type of religion. 

In the book, the Count of Monte Cristo, this is summed up well. Edmond Dantes, framed and in prison meets Abbe Faria, an Italian priest also imprisoned. Faria teaches him and eventually leads him to great riches, and near his death, gives Dantes directions to hidden treasure. Dantes, in talking to his dying friend says, “I don’t believe in God”. And his priest friend responds, “That doesn’t matter. God believes in you”. 

It’s not up to me. I’m not the personal savior of anyone. I love seeing how God’s sense of order, God’s right and wrong, shows up in the hearts and actions of people I love. Regardless of their professed faith. I love to see God’s faith in all of humanity appear – God’s law and God’s sense of love for neighbor – especially when it’s a one-sided relationship. That’s some loving faith in us, for people to act on God’s law and because of God’s love, regardless of whether they’re religious insiders or outsiders.
 

Mar 20 2019 Romans 1:28 – 2:11

They were filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, covetousness, malice. Full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, craftiness, they are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, rebellious toward parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless.


Here’s a great list of what not to, of who not to be. Paul is describing every kind of wickedness, and comes up with this eternal list of bad traits. I’d like to think that I’m not described in Paul’s run down.

I find it interesting this morning that while the list is full of things I hope never to be in my list of accomplishments – murder, inventors of evil, heartless, ruthless – the vast majority of things on this list are things I can imagine doing, or have actually done. There are these ugly, human traits – accessible and known by me – on a list alongside murder. 


Covetousness and envy. I’d love to say I’ve never been these things, or that if I have, it’s all in the past. But it’s so tricky to steer clear of the need to compare oneself to the Jones’. These comparisons immediately feel wrong and definitely not helpful, but that doesn’t stop me from going there. 


Haughty, boastful. For me, these are more imminent  evils. When I succeed at something, or when I’m in my element doing something I’ve done well in the past, it’s hard not to feel successful, to be boastful. It’s not that I run around crowing like a peacock, but that sense of pride that creeps in, that sense of better-than, is no less problematic. 


Slanderers and gossipers. These may be the most dangerous and insidious.. I’m in a position where I need to share information that I gather with people who need to know. Yesterday, I shared that one co-worker has entered hospice, and another is being bad-mouthed on social media for some less-than-ideal behavior. It’s a hard thin line, to share needed information versus gossiping. 


And outside my work life, gossip is a hard thing to walk by. But to gossip is to share someone else’s misfortune or circumstances for no other reason than to share. There’s a sense of better-ness, when you share information about someone else. Isn’t it awful that he . . . Secretly what we’re saying is, Aren’t you glad we aren’t like him?   Which takes us back to covetousness, envy, and boastful. 


Gossip is almost a social norm, almost expected. Certainly excused. And yet, it seems like it’s the acceptable front man for a host of uglier wickedness, if we think about why we gossip. Today, before I share any information, at work or at home, I want to brutally assess my motives. If I can catch that urge to gossip, even little gossips, I hope I can name the boastful, envy, covetousness, or slanderous undercurrents, and nip them all in the bud.

Mar 19 2019 Luke 2:41-52 Feast of St. Joseph

 “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”



Like good Jews, Jesus’ family went to Jerusalem for the Passover festival. When he was 12 years old, Jesus got lost. Or at least that’s what his parents thought. They prepared to return home, and realized they didn’t have little Jesus with them. I’ve seen some thoughts that millions of people from around the scattered Jewish people returned to Jerusalem for this great festival; it was a time to reconnect to their religious and historical roots.



I’m not a huge fan of huge crowds. Too many people pressing in, and it’s hard to even see where you are in the sea of people. I can imagine Joseph and Mary panicking as they realize they don’t have Jesus with them. I could get a little heart-racy just thinking about their anxiety. Anyone who’s temporarily lost a child can. They figure Jesus is with another familial group of travelers returning to Nazareth, over 90 miles from Jerusalem, so they head out on a day’s journey without Jesus with the massive migration back to their homes. They didn’t find him, so they returned back to Jerusalem, going against the sea of people exiting the town. This is now two days without Jesus, the precocious 12 year old. They search all over and I’m assuming the massive crowds have thinned. We hear that after three days, they find him, calmly sitting with the teachers.



After this anxious-filled multiple day hunt, the account tells us Mary says, “Child why have you treated us like this?”  Whatever translation, I don’t believe it gives justice to what any mother might have said or thought.



This morning, I’m struck by the second sentence. “Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you”. After the whole being-visited-by-the-Holy-Spirit-to-conceive-a-son incident, I’m quite sure Mary knew that Joseph wasn’t Jesus’ “real father”. She could have said, “Joseph and I”, or “My husband and I”, but Mary acknowledges in this very anxious time that Joseph is Jesus father.


As someone with both a step-child and adopted child, I relate and love this. I’ve raised two children who, like Joseph and Jesus, were not biologically related. But that doesn’t matter to me or to the children – except when they’re really mad at me.



Joseph, while not biologically Jesus’ dad, was his father in all ways that matter. He worried and panicked when Jesus was lost. He taught him his trade as a carpenter. He loved and provided for Jesus and Mary. He took them out of Israel to Egypt when Herod was after the newborn Jesus.



While Joseph didn’t have quite as dramatic a role in Jesus’ life as Mary, I love that the church calendar provides a day to think about Joseph and his role. As our morning prayer commemoration says, “Give us grace to imitate his uprightness of life and his obedience to your commands”. Today, I pray to have that grace, to take the lesser-known roles in carrying out God’s command.

Mar 18 2019 John 4:27-42

 Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman's testimony.



After Jesus drank from the well tended by the Samaritan woman, she returned to her people and told them of his great deeds -how he knew everything about her, and drank from her well. The people believed her, and welcomed him to stay with them. For two days, he stayed, and taught them. After he left, they told the woman that it is no longer because of what she’d said but because they’d heard his teachings directly from him. As a result, many more believed he was the Savior.



What a difference in a few paragraphs, or perhaps what a difference as a result of the human witness of the Samaritan woman. Immediately before this part of John, the woman was surprised because Jesus asked for a drink from her well. She was aghast because Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans, never mind that they were all children of the same God. Jesus broke down that barrier with human interaction. She was changed forever. She went and talked to her people, and they were changed forever. Changed enough that they invited Jesus back, never mind that Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans.



All this started with the simple act of asking for water. A close friend, who’s not religious has taken this on in downtown Portland. When they see a street person begging, they stop and do the equivalent of asking for water – the well-heeled do not associate with beggars. After asking the person’s name, they share their name, talk about how things are going. Then they offer a hug. They were thinking about systematically offering to buy a hug from people on the street. Not in a creepy way, but in a genuine way of offering what we have - money, for what they truly want – to be seen and treated as a fellow child of God. Yesterday, such an exchange left the beggar changed, smiling and crying. More important, it left my friend changed forever, with empathetic tears to prove it.



We so desperately need to connect with each other. We need to share God’s love with each other in real, physical and meaningful ways. This will humanize all of us – particularly the ‘other’. Whether it’s working with criminals, street thugs, supremacists, or street beggars. Human connection between me and someone else will change us both. Forever.

Mar 17 2019 I Corinthians 3:11-23

So let no one boast about human leaders.



This pithy little statement comes after a lengthy story about Christ. Christ is the foundation, or as I’ve sung dozens of times, “The Church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ he Lord”. After this simple opening, the writer goes on to talk about all of the things humans might use to build on that foundation – gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay and straw. All of these things will be tested with fire and some things may survive, but all will be tested.



For some, their works built on the foundation will be lost, but in all cases, the builder who builds on the sure foundation will themselves be saved. From this, I hear that even if I’m the one who thinks of building with straw, if I’m building on the foundation of Christ, I’ll be ok even if my straw building is not.



Paul goes on to say that we, the people, are the temple built on that sure foundation, and that the temple is holy, so are very selves are holy.



The last bit of this writing really speaks to me. The writer continues that we should not deceive ourselves with our self-perceived wisdom. “The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile”, and “If you think you are wise in this age, you should become fools”. Hmm. Guilty.



After this whole stream of consciousness – Christ is the foundation – some build with gold, wood, hay – all buildings will be tested with fire – some buildings will be destroyed but the builders will be ok – our bodies are holy temples – don’t trust in your own wisdom – become fools – After all of that, Paul says, “So let no one boast of human leaders”. Because all belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.



What to make of this? This morning, I hear that I need to turn it all over to the sure foundation, to not worry about the materials I find to build. That I shouldn’t feel smug or wise because I know that straw is a dumb thing to build with. That I myself am a holy temple, built by the ultimate Builder, and that I shouldn’t put stock in other human wise leaders. Finally, I should not and can not achieve greatness by outsmarting others. I can achieve greatness solely by being humbly and wholly reliant on the foundation on which I’m built. Today, help me remember that.

Mar 16 2019 John 4:1-26

The Samaritan woman said to him, 'How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?' (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)



This is John’s recounting of the Samaritan woman at the well, who Jesus meets and seeks water from. John goes on to talk about living water and multiple husbands. But like all other parts of John that are peppered with language and allusions I struggle to understand, there are nuggets I grab. Or maybe there are nuggets God illumines more than others.


This morning, I’m struck that this has been going on for centuries, hasn’t it? This sense that we are somehow inherently different than others. That we don’t share some common humanity. This Samaritan woman was going to the well that she claimed her ancestor Jacob had given his son Joseph. Samaritan is sometimes translated “keeper of the Torah”. This is was a woman from a faithful particular Jewish tradition. This child of God has been trained that Jews don’t ask things from Samaritans, and the author of the story parenthetically adds that Jews don’t share things in common with Samaritans.



Where does this come from? This sense that we are somehow not all connected? How do we defend and perpetrate these beliefs? As people of faith, I have no idea how it’s even possible to hold that belief. And how can there be enough hatred in the world for anyone, for any reason to kill people during worship?  There’s a compelling conversation happening on Twitter (#49lives) and elsewhere about why would we humanize the sole supremacist shooter. Why should we care about his name or his story?  Shouldn’t we care about the lives of the 49 who’ve died?  In looking through this material, I got a chill to learn that there were 49 victims in the Orlando shooting in 2016. By now, we’ve forgotten about them.

The stories from the Christchurch victims are heartbreaking in their normalcy, in how much it could be my story of faith, family, life. I urge us all to take a moment to humanize the victims. Many moments, as it takes some time to get through 49 stories. We owe it to them. https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=12213358


Jesus’ response to the Samaritan woman was to break down the barriers, to invite her in to God’s love.


I feel numb, with tinges of deep grief. Today, I pray, and I grieve. I pray that this hits as hard as it should. That the families and friends of the victims in New Zealand can find some comfort in the God we share.

Mar 15 2019 Louise de Marillac Matthew 25:31-46

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.



This is one of my favorite sections of scripture. Jesus is telling a story about the king who separates people, the good and kindly, from the not so good. To the group he says that when I was hungry you gave me food. In confusion, they all protest, questioning when they’d seen him hungry, thirsty, naked, sick or in prison? To the good and kindly people he said whenever they did these things to the least of his family, they did for him. And likewise to the not-so-good, he said that when they saw the hungry, thirsty, stranger, naked, sick, and imprisoned and did nothing, they did the same for him.



In our tradition, our baptismal covenant echoes these words. Will you seek and serve Christ in all people?  I absolutely believe God is in all of us; the Holy Spirit connects us all and Christ is fully human in all. So when we feed, clothe, visit, heal the least, we do this to Christ himself.



Louise de Marillac was a lesser-known companion of St. Vincent de Paul, champion and servant of the poor. She assisted de Paul in his charitable missions for the desolate and poor. Eventually, she realized she needed more help and sought that help from the very people she was serving. She invited four country girls who, because they themselves were weighed down by destitution and suffering, they had the right attitude and constitution to work with others. This was the beginning of the Daughters of Charity. Louise de Marillac would urge the sisters “Love the poor and honor them as you would honor Christ Himself.”  This was the foundation of their order.



Shouldn’t this be the foundation of our lives?  As Christ says, "for just as you did to the least these, you did it to me."  I pray that I see Christ in all people today, affording the compassion deserving of all.

Mar 14 2019 John 3:16-21

For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.



Dark alleys, cover of darkness, shadow of night. There are a lot of ways we talk about the dark places that harbor dark things and dark thoughts. Everyone’s done that thing, darkness-finding. We do something we don’t love, know we shouldn’t have and we hide it. We hide it from ourselves, from others, from God.



Likewise, we know about lightness. About daylighting. About bringing the shiny nice bits out for everyone to see, especially God. Oh, and our Instagram friends.



Speaking of social media, there’s a lot of trash talking that it only spotlights our nice parts. Personally, I’m ok with that. I don’t believe it’s designed or used to spotlight our whole selves. I wouldn’t look at it and be jealous of the perfect lives others are leading. Rather, I look at to be inspired by the best of others. I don’t need to see about trials, tribulations, stupid quarrels and life’s problems. I tend to unfollow all of those feeds. But I’m all about positive affirmations, great ideas, and inspiration.



Back to light and darkness. We hide the dark bits from others, ourselves and God. This is one reason I really appreciate the Morning Prayer practice of a daily confession of sin. If I spend 45 seconds every day talking about what I’ve done that I wouldn’t want to put on social media, I’ve effectively daylighted my darkness. I bring the shiny and dark bits to God, every day. Not because I do horrible things every day, but every bit of me that I try to suppress or hide from God doesn’t have the opportunity of being illumined, transformed, and renewed.



Some times, there are things that are ugly enough I cannot name them; I want them to remain hidden. And in the darkness, those bits fester and either get inherently worse, or I feel increasingly bad about them. Bringing them to the open, shining a light on them is the only way I know to end that drama.



This reminds me of a matchstick. Before the match is lit, you can see none of it in the dark. It remains completely hidden. In the light, you can see the whole match. And once it’s lit, it is not only visible in the dark, but it also lights up part of the world around it. Today, I pray that I let God’s light in, to lighten my dark bits, and hopefully that light in me can illumine others’ darkness.

Mar 13 2019 John 2:23-3:15

 Nicodemus said to him, 'How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?'

Nicodemus, a man after my own heart. How can anyone be born again?  This goes right to my challenges with the Gospel of John. I’m glad there were people who encountered the human Jesus, even in John’s rendering of the story, that thought so very differently.

Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to spend time with some personality testing models, most recently, Meyers-Briggs. I think tools like that can tell us about ourselves, others we work and live with, and most importantly, it gives us a framework to think and talk about who we tend to be – about those personality differences that show up. 

Here’s one of them, I suspect Nicodemus and I have much in common. There are two traits in Meyers Briggs – the middle two in the four pairs of letters. The first pair is S or N, sensing or intuitive. If you want to know what it officially means, go look it up. As I understand it (just like as I muse about scripture), it has to do with how you get information. Some get it through their senses- things you can see, feel, touch. Others get information from intuition, through their gut or unknowable sense. Me? I’m squarely an S. The next set I’m intrigued with this morning is either T or F. This has to do with how we process information – either primarily with our thinking or feeling, head or heart. I’m a T. I’m thinking that Nicodemus was an ST – got his information through his senses, and processed with his head. 

Reading the Gospel of John or the other book written by the same author, Revelation, I suspect he was a NF. Intuitive feeler. He got his information from his gut, from a great sense of intuition. And processed with his heart, not head. Poets, I suspect like John. 

And in my world, the vast majority of clergy are NFs. And because Meyers Briggs provide a framework to understand these nuanced personality differences, in a field full of personalities and serving, clergy frequently talk in terms of these initials. I am an anomaly in that world. The vast majority are NFs. I was discussing this at a clergy gal dinner last night, and one woman who travels a lot and knows a lot of clergy chimed in that yes, she knew of another ST. They lived in Indianapolis. 

So here’s this morning’s thought. The NF clergy I know swoon over John; it’s how they think. I stumble. And many, many in the church who in the pews are STs. I offer my best muses about scripture, squarely from my ST perspective, and that’s why sometimes I stumble over the more woo-woo language, as beautiful and rich in images as it is.

I really cannot wrap my head around being “born again”, like Nicodemus. Over time, I’ve come to understand it’s figurative, not literal. But am I abdicating my brain? Checking it at the door?  How am I, and all of the other STs in the world like Nicodemus, to wrestle with this? Thomas is another. I can’t believe unless I see the holes in his hands. Both these guys are treated by the NFs in the room – whether they’re disciples or the writers – as doubters, or people without faith. But I believe they just think differently. And the great news about that, is that Jesus was kind, understanding and patient of the way they thought. STs have a great gift to the church, especially when most on the other side of the altar rail are NFs. I need to keep asking my ST questions, and see things in my ST way. God can use that.  Go team Nicodemus. 

Mar 12 2019 John 2:13-22

Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle.



I must admit that I frequently struggle with the Gospel of John, from which I pulled this morning’s musing. Before I’d studied it much, I struggled because the language is so poetic and there’s imagery and fancy comparisons that are harder for me to understand. Thank my incredibly analytical engineer dad for that. As I learned more about John, it’s a challenging account because of the exclusionary and anti-Semite sentiments throughout. Our way is the only way. And woe to you Jews.  Hmm. Never mind that Jesus was a Jew, and of anyone, he was the least exclusionary human around.  Hmm.



So what to make of this scene with the money changers and the temple? I don’t think I get to systematically decide which portions of scripture I’m going to ‘believe’. But I do think I’m allowed, even encouraged, to wrestle, ponder, muse. 



Jesus has come into the temple, and it’s full of supporting industries. I think of my time in Seattle near Boeing. There were hundreds of businesses there whose sole purpose was to provide needed services and supplies for this ginormous business. A special Boeing employees bank, Boeing sponsored conferences for the supply chain, which Boeing admits is ‘vital for us to meet the needs of our customers’.  



People came to the Temple from all over the Jewish world, with different types of money, and from distances too far to bring their animals for slaughter. So what’s wrong with services and supplies on-site?  If they’d set up just outside the Temple, would it have been acceptable? Or is it that sacrifice had become a commodity?  Was the money exchange itself problematic? If so, what about the widow who put her copper coins in the big container and was praised?



Maybe there is a definitive answer about the cause of this whip of cords. I’ve not heard it, at least not in a way that’s consistent with what sacrifices I’m asked to make, what practices I’ve taken on, and other stories in the Gospels about who Jesus was.



That leaves me to ponder. To muse. To see where the story compels me to linger.  Maybe for me, now, this story is about Jesus’ full humanity. Everyone has days that are hard, where you want to get out your own whip of cords.  Getting all poetic, maybe this is saying something about what was happening inside Jesus, fully human. He says stop making my father’s house a marketplace, and then says that he’ll tear down the temple, that very house, and rebuild it in three days. With that three day comparison, he’s substituting his own self for the temple.  Is he saying that they’re turning that body into a marketplace? He’s angered because there are pulls on him to make salvation something that’s like a financial exchange?  Or is it really as simple as disliking the monetizing that’s occurring inside the temple, even though the services provided are part of the supply chain?



Did I mention I struggle with John?  This morning I don’t have any pithy reflection, just a lot of questions. Many mornings, many days, I’m left with similar unclear unresolved ponderings. As much as I dislike that, that’s part of my growth. So today, I’ll sit with this big, holy, “Huh?””

Mar 11 2019 Hebrews 2:11-18

…through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death.



As a 21^st century Anglican American, I am not a fan of talking about  or naming the devil. I believe that tradition has it that the devil used to be one of the angels, in the court of God. This particular angel decided that he was no longer interested in being in God’s court, following God’s will, so he was cast out or maybe he left on his own accord. In any case, he set up a competing court and deity. Where God values peace, justice and love, this cast-out angel values power and fear.



I’m not sure where I stand on the idea of a single horned guy being the source of all that is ugly. But I do believe that there are forces, either external or internal, that woo us with false promises of all that will result from us exerting our power and will rather than handing over our power and will to God. As opposed to calling it ‘that-force-either-external-or-internal-that-woos-us-away-from-God”, I’ll use the shorthand of ‘the devil’.



The one who has the power of death, that is the devil. The logical conclusion of the exertion of power and fear and self, is in fact, death. Wars. Corruption. Violence. When we are wooed from God, maybe we think we’ll be the victors, and that other guy, our enemy will be the one who’s powerless, fearful, or dies. But when we chose those rules of life, we cannot help but steep ourselves in thoughts of power or powerlessness, fear, death, violence. Even if we start down that road because of someone else – the person of vastly different political or economic beliefs – we are choosing to go down that path.



So Jesus was the ultimate anti-fear, anti-power guy. He let those who were walking the way of  power, and corruption, and fear have their way, and they tortured and executed him. He could have avoided that whole messy scene. But instead, he let them carry out their way. And it appeared to everyone around that they won. The forces of fear, self, power and death. Jesus died and was buried.



But as we know, that’s not the end of the story. They did their best. He died, but returned. I don’t know what the resurrected Christ was like and am not sure what I believe about it, but I absolutely believe God has the power to win over a battle with sin, fear, and self, or to beat the devil.



We are held in slavery by the fear of that death, the fear that we will die. But why should we fear? Of course we’ll die. Everyone one we love will die. I do not want to live now ascribing to rules of the game of power, fear and self; I do not want to live in fear of death. Rather, I want to ascribe to the rules of this life that lovingkindness by God towards me, and my lovingkindness towards others will let me walk without fear and the accompanying sense of slavery. 


Faith and action in the God's rules of love and the power of good over evil. That's what will free me during this, the only life I know.

Mar 10 2019 Psalm 63:1-8

For your loving-kindness is better than life itself;





This morning, I’m struck again by the word lovingkindness. Yesterday, I went on about how lovingkindness is better than kindness by itself because kindness ascribes no motive or intention. Clearly kindness is good, but I’d argue that lovingkindness implies that active, compelling verb – love – is the reason behind the kindness. That deep sense that your wellbeing is connected to mine. That’s the difference, as I see it, between kindness and lovingkindness.


So this morning there’s another aspect of lovingkindness. Today it’s used to describe God’s kindness to us. Hmm. Does that mean that there’s a sense of my wellbeing that’s tied up with God’s wellbeing? And while  I understand that God isn’t a human which has the same senses as we do. After all, God created the heavens and the earth. And God is everywhere, and everything. God is before all and endures forever.



Hmm. This makes that image even more compelling, actually. What if all that is and all that was, and all that is to come is really concerned with my wellbeing? Not just God’s’ kindness, but God’s lovingkindness towards me. That’s hard to wrap my head around. I’ve heard the platitudes and sung the songs that Jesus loves me, this I know. But God’s lovingkindness?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about lovingkindness. How it demands that I acknowledge the mutual interconnectedness between me and my neighbor. But I’m truly dumbstruck to think that I have that interconnectedness and mutual wellbeing with God.



Maybe it’s catching on – my idea that lovingkindness should become a real word used more frequently. It caught my eye in yesterday morning’s reading from Titus, and today, it shows up again. Hey, I have an idea. Lovingkindness in 2020! I can see the yard signs and bumper stickers now.

Mar 9 2019 Titus 3:1-15

But when the goodness and lovingkindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy. 


But avoid stupid controversies, genealogies, dissensions, and quarrels about the law, for they are unprofitable and worthless



I’m drawn to this writing of Paul to Titus, partly because I will never take the easy path, and I like the challenge laid down to try. This morning, I’m thinking about two different sentiments from this brief reading of Paul.



First, we get another great underused churchy word, “lovingkindness”. I’d like to see an uptick in the usage of this word. Wouldn’t that be good for us collectively?  If we could actually see that kindness is good but lovingkindness is spectacular? It brings the active verb ‘to love’ into our acts of kindness. It’s not about being kind because of warm, fuzzy feelings or greeting card emotions. Lovingkindness is about that deep, empathetic, certainty that the other person’s well being is directly tied to mine. That’s why we should be kind. Not because they’re family, or nice, or cute. But because their wellbeing is directly tied to mine. Lovingkindness.



From this same section, I’m struck by the clarity of Paul’s admonition that it’s not what we do – however good our doing is – that saves us. I can’t serve my way or even love my way into being saved. I am saved solely because of God’s grace. This is humbling, as a strong advocate of lovingkindness and action. And it’s not that the love or lovingkindness or action aren’t important. They are, I believe because my wellbeing is so tied up in that of others. But it’s still only God’s grace that matters.



And now onto something entirely different. I love this second bit from Titus. Avoid stupid controversies, dissensions and quarrels. Personally, I have a strong stomach for controversy; it’s almost a sporting event. But clearly not all are. So perhaps I should avoid such sport. Sounds ridiculous to admit.



Today, I head to a glorious day of leading a formation day with yet-unordained and recently ordained deacons. We’re talking about personality types. I love the group, and I love my role with them. I’m especially aware of different types of personalities as I read this passage from Titus, and imagine it would be perceived very differently by people with different personality characteristics. If I hadn’t recently immersed myself in all those differences, I’d probably be reading this scripture from my perspective, assuming that everyone has the same impression. Oh, to remain mindful of the beautiful differences between us all, even on days when I’m not talking about personality types!