Day 30 Leviticus 11:1–14:57

For I am the LORD your God; sanctify yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy.

This morning, I continue the walk through Leviticus. Today, we hear about birth, and how long a woman must remain ritually unclean after birth – which of course, depends on whether it’s a boy child or girl. Then it goes on to talk a lot about leprosy. With the distance of thousands of years, I don’t have a lot of need to learn about various types of leprosy, baldness, hairs, and clothing. Some of the writing, I suspect was about what was important at the time, important to keep people healthy – their version of COVID protocols.

But using the leprosy of the time as an opportunity to remember how important sanctification and making oneself holy, that makes sense. Sanctify yourself, because you are holy, and God is holy.

Carrying that forward to today, we could be using COVID as an opportunity to double down on being holy. On sanctifying ourselves and our spaces and our lives.

It’s interesting how much time we spent as the church trying to logistically figure out how to handle what we knew as church before. How can we gather? How can we celebrate Eucharist? What about ordinations, baptisms and funerals? Now that the initial rush is over, perhaps we can settle in to what the people thousands of years ago did in the face of leprosy. What can we do, what should we do to sanctify ourselves, to reflect God’s holiness? It won’t look like what they did in the face of leprosy, nor should it.

Personally, I have spent much more time in my home. I’ve had the opportunity to adjust work hours so I worked when I needed to, and rested when I needed to. To be clear, it was no less work, just organized a little differently. And now that I’m back in the office more regularly, I have a new-found appreciation for weekends. Before, time just rolled together. Work from home Monday-Friday, and then Saturday – stay home! Ugh. Now weekends are more protected, more enjoyed, and hopefully more intentional. I love time to enjoy outside, and I enjoy getting my house in order for the next week, a more leisurely pace, time to worship and prepare a great meal or two. How can I use that pattern of living – either the memory of COVID times or whatever the next year is going to bring – how can I sanctify myself, my time my space?

I am a fan of space-based cues, or visual cues. Going to church is a different experience than worshipping online. Cathedrals make my soul soar. In my home space, I have done some things that help sanctify my space. I rearranged a book shelf and made a little altar, or at least organized some meaningful things with more intention and space. I have a lovely ceramic bust of Mary, albeit the fair skinned blue eyed Mary. When I was growing up, she was hauled out every Christmas and adorned with evergreen boughs. She’s on my altar. I have a tiny icon of St. Dymphna. She was killed by her mentally ill father, and is considered the patron saint of mental illness. No, I don’t pray to St. Dymphna, and I don’t think she is God, or can intervene on my behalf. But I do like to know that in the history of the church, there have been other stories of mental illness and faith. I also have a special votive candle that I occasionally light.

While I have the space, I must admit that I don’t sit and reflect there as much as I’d like to think I do. I do have to pass it frequently, so I’m reminded.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to use COVD-tide as cue or excuse to sanctify myself because God is holy. Today, I want to spend some time walking and thinking about just that.

Feb 27 2021 Day 29 Leviticus 8:1–10:20

Fire came out from the LORD and consumed the burnt offering and the fat on the altar; and when all the people saw it, they shouted and fell on their faces.

God, in these stories from Leviticus is very present, very visible. The people follow clouds of smoke and pillars of fire. God consumes the offerings on the altar with fire. The people, seeing this power, fall on their faces. The accompanying reflection for today’s reading asks what it would have been like, living at a time with such visible signs from God. What signs do we have now, and how do we respond?

Several years ago, I read a book, “What Should I Do with My Life?”, by Bo Bronson. It did not offer an answer to that question, but rather retold the stories of several people who’d had unique experiences in understanding the question and their answers. One woman decided she hated wearing pantyhose, and when an opportunity fell in her lap, she bought a big tree nursery. Now she drives big equipment, spends the days mostly outside, and uses her MBA to run a successful business.

One man heard a voice that he should go follow a religious life, as I recall it was a Buddhist monastery. He did, and eventually loved it and felt he’d landed where he was supposed to be. But before he loved it, he bristled. His reflection focused on the rugged individualism of Americans. Friends had told him he should be so grateful for getting such a clear message. But instead, he felt hemmed in. He wished he had not had such a clear directive, a directive that eventually was impossible to ignore, and later still, perfect.

Perhaps we still have clouds of smoke and pillars of fire. But we’re too stubborn to acknowledge, too busy to see, too independent to acquiesce. And maybe in the urban setting I find myself, a pillar of fire would be the wrong God-sign anyway. Looking out my window, perhaps God’s signs are more like beautiful street trees and road drainage systems, or the engineers and arborists who designed and maintain them. The beautiful carved furniture from Pakistan, a legacy from my in-laws, or their son I’ve been married to, for over 30 years. Or my Kindle, or the digital version of the NRSV year walk through the Bible.

I don’t need a pillar of fire so I can keep warm and see where I’m going at night. I need central heating, and electricity. Same purpose. Just as amazing, if not more. Why do I not see it like my own pillar of fire?

We’ve grown accustomed to it, I think. We attribute lighting to electricity’s inventor, or the power company, or the store we got the lamp. All of those however are the purveyors of something miraculous, if we stop to think about it. Far more miraculous than a pillar of fire.

This morning, I’m thinking about the miracles all round me, natural and manmade. About God’s modern day cloud of smoke and pillar of fire. I want to slow down enough to acknowledge God’s hand in everything I see, taste, hear and smell.

Feb 26 Day 28 Leviticus 5:1–7:38

When any of you sin and commit a trespass against the LORD by deceiving a neighbor . . .

This section of Leviticus is all about sin and guilt offerings. In their times, the offerings involved oxen and doves. But although that is vastly different, the underlying offering is the same. We need to come to God acknowledging where we’ve sinned, and to try – yet again – to do better next time.

The accompanying reflection is from Frederick Buechner who writes, “We come here to acknowledge that in terms of the best we could be we are lost and that we are helpless to save ourselves. We come here to confess our sins”.

In my tradition, we include a collective confession of sin at every service including the daily morning and evening prayer offices. In the opening poignant line, it covers all of the ways I sin. I confess that I have sinned against you, in thought, word and deed; things done and things left undone.

In what I think, what I say and what I do. And not only what I do, but in what I don’t do that I should have. Every day, several times a day, I sin. Maybe they’re not huge sins, but they’re slights, or unkind thoughts. Or withheld love from others or myself.

This confession of sin is not designed to be like a scourge, or something to beat myself up with. Rather, it’s a way of constantly searching my thoughts, words and deeds, and acknowledging to myself and God that I get it wrong. But I’ve got no chance of ever getting it right if I don’t know what went wrong.

As it turns out, my little failings are pretty consistent over time. Apparently, I’m a slow learner, because although I’ve always had certain flaws, I’ve acknowledged them, I’ve confessed, I still do what I don’t want to do, or don’t do what I want to do. But God knows those flaws and loves me anyway.

Later today, I will be taking my loved one to a doctor’s appointment. The last time we went, they didn’t want to be in an elevator with anyone else, so it took a long time to get up to the ninth floor. And I’m never sure about their outward behaviors. One of my recurring challenges is to overlook snarky, rude or embarrassing comments to me or others. Without thinking, I react as if this were someone not dealing with a persistent, significant mental illness. Things never go well, when I do that.

Today, I’m thinking about being really intentionally careful during our outing. If I fall into my particular recurring sin, I’m thinking about adding in evening prayer into my daily discipline. I fear I’ll need another confession by 5:00.

Feb 25 2021 Day 27 Leviticus 1:1–4:35

Today, in my walk through the Bible in a year, I enter Leviticus. This is the book that I believe causes all sorts of trouble by literalists, Christians and Jews and non-believers. This morning’s portion is full of rules and regulations explicitly describing how to slaughter for sacrifice, what parts to offer, what parts not to offer, which animals and grains to offer.

Today, thousands of years later, people read Leviticus very very selectively, and then very literally. But only the parts they want to take literally. For example, it is very clear that if a whole congregation sins, it is to slaughter a bull as a sin offering. I don’t know the last time that happened in any faith tradition. My personal favorite that I read this morning is, “All fat is the Lord’s”. I’d like this to be true for me personally. God can have all my fat. Please.

I start Leviticus lightly because I think it’s so important to read it for what it is; a set of rules that the ancient Israelites understood to be God’s rules and expectations of them. Their obedience of these rules was their way to show obedience to their God, to make sacrifices to God. Read in today’s world, with the Living Word, Leviticus isn’t about bull sacrifices or wring the heads off pigeons. It’s about obedience and sacrifice, at least as I read it.

This morning, I’m thinking about where God is calling me to be obedient, and sacrificial. In my faith tradition, ordination creates a very apparent sense of obedience. I took vows to obey my bishop, to study scripture, to model my life on them. I committed to make known the needs of the world to the church, and to expose the church to the needs of the world. If I meant it, these are all meaningful examples of obedience in this vocation.

But I’m not sure about the sacrifice. Long before I was ordained but after I’d started to think about it, I felt that I was a deacon, as defined by my tradition. Making the needs of the world known to God’s people isn’t a sacrifice; it’s who I am. And when I stood before the Bishop and made these covenants, I did so with great conviction. I felt it in my bones.

Thinking about sacrifice, I have to go back to my baptismal covenant. Seek and serve Christ in ALL people. Respect the dignity of EVERY human being. Put my WHOLE trust in God’s grace and love. These are things that all baptized Christians commit to, that I committed to. These are the things where I feel a sacrifice. Every human being? All people? Whole trust?

To do that requires that I sacrifice a little bit of my wise judgment, of my discretion and discernment. Maybe not Every, or Whole, or All. But if I meant those covenants, I need to sacrifice my desire to be relative in my service, respect, love, trust. God does not call me to love some people, but not those on death row, or the 1%. I am not called to trust God when it’s easy, but doubt when my loved one is in crisis.

That’s the sacrifice I feel; it’s living like the Christian I want to be. Today, I will try to notice those times when I’m withholding my trust, love, respect. The call to me to be sacrificial is to really believe those absolute commitments I made. Every human being. All people. Whole trust.

Feb 24 2021 Day 26 Exodus 35:1–40:38

Moses did everything just as the LORD had commanded him.

More detailed description of the various components of Moses’ construction and compilation tasks. The ark, the tabernacle, the tent, the mercy seat, the lampstands, the basins, and the vestments. The detail is exquisite; I can only imagine the splendor. People did this work out of their love for God, everyone chipping in where they could, including the women who felt moved to make things out of goats’ hair. The ark contained all of the jewels and splendor of the temple, as now the people were taking the temple on the road.

The reflection accompanying this reading is from the Cloud of Unknowing, an anonymous mystic writing from the 1300’s. It reflects that God’s grace to us is something like the ark. The little bits of grace we receive contain all of the jewels and splendor of God’s infinite love. We, our human bodies, are our own kind of ark, a place for God to reside. We, the people, now are taking God on the road.

How do I envision myself as a place for God to dwell? How have I made that place bejeweled and splendorous?

This is a fascinating exercise for me, because I’m so concrete, I can absolutely imagine a room. It’s my own version of a Sim game. One of the rooms I’d design for God is very sparse and clean – think picturesque Amish prayer house. Pegs on the walls to hang up the chairs, worn wood floors, white walls. But in that room, I’d have a comfy chair, a prie-dieu (pronounced pray-do), which is a stand-alone kneeler, with something to rest your arms on as you pray, and maybe a mat on the floor. This would provide space for me to join God in whatever prayer posture I was feeling, sitting, kneeling, walking, laying down. I might add an altar, but I’d want it pretty simple. I need less stuff, not more.

I’d have a room full of windows and light, figuring God likes light. And I’d have a nap room. Maybe God needs a rest. Or I would. My image of my light, sparse interior space is probably a little bit of wishful thinking. I probably don’t have as much light and sparse space as I’d like. I need space and room, light and airy. And a nap room. This morning, I’m thinking about how to clear out some of the junk in my interior rooms, to make space for the airy and light space I imagine for God. And I’m thinking about naps.

Feb 22 2021 Day 25 Exodus 31:1–34:35

And the L ORD continued, “See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back 

Moses had some amazing theophanies, or visible experiences of God. I had one, that kicked off my understanding of my call to the diaconate, or my understanding of God’s pursuit of me as a deacon. That was 15 years ago, and it remains a vivid experience. What, since then has happened? Have I had a visible experience of God? A burning bush, a transfigured face like Moses?

My thoughts and imaginings tend to be far more concrete than I suspect I need to recognize God the creator in my midst, unless it really was an unconsumed burning bush. That, I’d recognize.

When we are baptized we make a covenant with God. Several times a year, we reaffirm that covenant, to remember what we’ve promised. Will you seek and serve Christ in all people? I will with God’s help.

This, I believe, and this I experience. Christ – the holy – in all people. That, I believe happens because I also believe in the Holy Spirit, which Jesus left as a permanent advocate after Jesus returned to heaven, bringing our humanity with him. God, through the Holy Spirit is present in others.

When I’m attentive and faith-filled, I see God in others. In family members, in coworkers, in addicts and the homeless. Most recently, I was handing out gloves to people living on the streets in downtown Portland. One man was sad because he’d lost his housing, and his young daughter was living with her mother. He desperately wanted to see his daughter, but he did not want her to see him on the streets. Without talking to him, he would have been another shuffling disheveled man on the streets. But I could see God in his eyes, and hear God in his voice. I couldn’t do anything about his situation, but I could sit with him, and share his pain. Even for the overly concrete like me, it is possible to see God pass by, to experience God in a tangible form. I need to be aware, and believe it will happen. Otherwise, those experiences just shuffle by, unnoticed.

Feb 21 Day 24 Exodus 28:1–30:38

I will dwell among the Israelites, and I will be their God.

An increasing awareness of this idea – that God is dwelling among the people – this is a great Lenten goal. I had the privilege of participating in a deacon formation event yesterday with a very wise priest from our diocese who talked about the ancient prayer/chant that the deacon prays at the beginning of the great vigil of easter, which is the night before easter Sunday. It’s an ancient hymn that’s designed to highlight the convergence of darkness into light, death into life. Frequently we use this day to train the newly or soon to be ordained deacons the logistics of the chant. Yesterday, we rested in the history and meaning of the words.

I couldn’t do it justice, but suffice it to say, I believe everyone had a new-found appreciation for the ‘why’ behind the chant, and the deacon’s role in the church both at the vigil and throughout the year. It was wonderful.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to increase my awareness of God’s presence in my life, by getting rid of things that get in the way of me seeing and understanding that. What is it that I’m doing, or not doing what’s interfering? What things help and what things get in the way? What practices have I cultivated that help, and what need to be let go.

One of the things I’ve gotten in the habit of is checking in on my sick loved one’s social media presence. They have over 60,000 followers on Instagram, and spend hours per day ‘live’, either talking to their fans, or just talking about life and their music. Two days ago, one of her ‘fans’ found me on social media and explained their concern about my loved one’s behavior, and their willingness to smoke, drink and talk about sex – a lot – with anyone who cares to watch. Some of the people our loved one is connecting with are not especially healthy, at least from the perspective of the ‘fan’ who connected with me. The fan was worried about the safety of our loved one and us, as our loved one shares personal identifying information about their residence.

In addition, our loved one has established an account where ‘fans’ can donate money. As I understand it from our loved one, they’ve accumulated approximately $100 from fans who’ve donated. Our loved one explains she has no food (not true) or money (not true), and that their fans should contribute. And they do.

I want my loved one to be happy, and I’m certain there are more dangerous behaviors on Instagram and more money being transacted for worse purposes. And those others aren’t living in my house. It’s quite a balance, between trying to monitor for safety, allowing my loved one the privacy and agency to make their own choices, and what feels good to my soul.

After serious reflection, it’s not good for my soul to monitor. I can do little about it, and even if I could, I’m not sure it would be worth the angst in the family. Limit internet access for a 24 year old? Monitor their ‘friends’ or ‘fans’? I’m not even sure that’s possible. So I spend much of my day checking the places I’m permitted to see (they’ve blocked much of our access), just so I can worry more.

In the midst of my worrying and checking and responding to their well-intentioned fans who reach out to us, I’m not very mindful of God’s presence. And if I were, it’s more of a grumble that I throw up towards God. Perhaps rather than the time spent sleuthing, I will turn to prayer.

And I’m not talking about the kind of prayer that is designed to change my loved one – heal them, change their interests, or perspectives. I’m talking about the prayer that is designed to change me. How can God lead me through this challenging time of caring for my sick loved one? Where can I find God’s peace and presence, or better, how can I get in touch with God’s peace and presence that’s already here. I just forget. The urge to check on my loved one is great. The urge to check my phone to do so is great. That is a convenient prompt to instead turn to God. Today, I’ll do that.

Feb 20 2021 Day 23  Exodus 25:1–27:21

And have them make me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.


This morning’s readings are chapters of detailed instructions the Lord gave Moses about the arc of the covenant, its overlaid gold, rings, clasps, fine linen curtains. Lots and lots of detail.

I have a friend who used to outline books by counting the paragraphs of the book, and basically making something that looked like a timeline, with each tick the mark of a new paragraph. Then below the tick marks, she’d note what that paragraph was about. Looking at this kind of outline, I could learn both what the overall story line is, as well as the relative importance of various parts of the story as indicated by the amount of text devoted to that part of the story. If I were to do that with this morning’s readings, there’s a little bit about God telling Moses to make a sanctuary, and a whole lot about the details of that sanctuary. A whole lot.

Why is that? Given that this was an oral tradition, was this level of detail an attempt to commit to permanent record the details of this important sanctuary? Or was this description the result of years of oral history finally committed to paper, and the story had changed and elaborated over time and telling, like a children’s game of telephone?

Either way, either the original arc or the oral tradition of the arc that morphed over time was indeed spectacular. No expense spared, no detail too small. In the understanding Israel, this was where God was to reside and be in their presence.

Our understanding has further morphed; God is present everywhere all the time. But we still like to have our sanctuaries, or the place where we are reminded of God’s presence. At their best, these places can be churches, temples or mosques. There’s a sense of God’s presence in places where people have prayed, and where there is great attention to detail, similar to the arc.

My tradition wears fancy historical vestments, and places of worship are decorated with stained glass, icons, crosses. To other faithful people, this may seem like too much. But there’s a reason, for me, that this helps create a space where God’s presence is more imminent. I was in the church and a homeless man came in, scruffy and unkempt. It was Sunday afternoon, and the smell of incense lingered. I sat with him and he had tears in his eyes. After a while, he finally said that he loved coming in churches. The vestments, the beauty, the incense, it was as close to heaven as he’d ever been.

I worship in that kind of setting because for a moment, it’s heaven to me.

I have also tried to create a sanctuary in my home, for the more mundane daily experiences and reminders of God. Currently, I have a specific chair where I read scripture and write. I have a shelf in my bedroom that’s got several things to help focus me – a candle, a small statue, an icon.

I like to have physical spaces that support my intent to remember God’s presence. Today, I’m thinking about one thing I might do to enhance the sanctuaries where I am reminded of God.

Feb 19 2021 Day 22 Exodus 22:1–24:18

You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.



I’m working my way through the more detailed commandments the Lord has handed down. This is one that is frequently cited in liberal-bent religious discussions, particularly around recent immigration travesties in the US. For you were aliens in the land of Egypt. Of course we should be kinder to aliens in our country. The Lord commands it, because we were once aliens. And this I fully believe.

But here’s my challenge this morning. This section goes on to say that I should not work on the seventh day. That I should celebrate 7 days of unleavened bread, and the festival of harvest and the festival of the ingathering – three major festivals I’m commanded to hold for God. We are not supposed to extract interest on lending to the poor. And there are all sorts of requirements about what to do with oxen, fields and virgins. These bits I conveniently dismiss is irrelevant or out of date, or in the case of the three festivals, commandments for Jewish faithful.

I have always felt that Scripture is living, that God’s voice to the people thousands of years ago would have been heard and should have been heard in the context they found themselves – with oxen and fields. They weren’t wrong in their understanding, and it was contextual. When I read that section of Scripture, I need to understand and appreciate the context in which they heard God’s commandments. But if I stop there, the Word stopped living with them. Rather, I need to hear it in my context.

My challenge is that we all look to Scripture to support our positions, finding the nuggets that endorse our beliefs, and conveniently dismissing the bits that are either deemed irrelevant or inconsistent with our perspective. Take care of the alien, because the Bible says. But that part about divorce, or slaves? That’s not relevant. Protect human life before birth, because the Bible says. But that protection does not extend to those on death row.

To be clear, I’m not advocating for looser immigration, or the outlawing of divorce. But it is a very dangerous path to cite a specific chapter or verse to defend a position. If the Bible is literally, inerrantly true, what about those inconvenient bits? Everyone does it. The left, the right, and me. And it just feels internally inconsistent.

So where does that leave me as a faith-filled person, who believes Scripture contains all things necessary for salvation? I need to refrain from specific references or citations, as proof. Rather, I think I’m safer using Jesus’ more simple and general guidelines. Love God. Love your neighbor. That leaves a lot of wiggle room or a lot of grey area. But maybe that’s good. Maybe that leaves us with the space to talk with each other, to figure out where Christ’s guidance might be. But more likely, that grey area leaves us room to acknowledge that there may be no right answer, as much as there is right dialogue.

This morning, I’m thinking about the living Word, and how my faith in Jesus can inform my understanding of God’s commandments to me.

Feb 18 2021 Day 21. Exodus 19:1–21:36

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Go down and warn the people not to break through to the LORD to look; otherwise many of them will perish.”



I have missed a few days reading and writing, and when I say ‘missed’, I mean I genuinely missed this morning ritual of mine. After nearly 48 hours of no power (lights, heat, ability to cook, phones, etc), we regained our electricity after 3 freak storms left Portland with 6” of snow on top of 2” of ice. Walking was treacherous, driving unthinkable, even if we could have gotten the car out of the garage or driveway. In any case, I’m sitting in my prayer chair, with a lovely cup of coffee, reading and writing. I hope to never take this for granted again!

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday in my tradition, the first day of the preparatory 40 days in advance of Easter. I find I have a more meaningful Easter, if I’ve spent at least some time thinking about why Jesus Christ means something to me. Otherwise, Easter is about pretty flowers, good music, and eggs benedict. All good stuff, to be sure, but I like having something with a little more depth to appreciate and marvel.

Today’s reading offers me something nice to kick off my Lenten discipline of intentional reflections. Moses has been told to warn the people that they cannot break through or look at the Lord lest they be killed. This goes for their livestock as well, and even priests. I’m not sure what I think about a time when the people understood God to be that distant, or that punitive.

That, for me is one of the gems of Christ. Through Jesus, God came face to face with humanity, and humanity came face to face with God. That impenetrable separation was breached. The curtain was torn, and humanity and God met.

Through Jesus’ life and teachings, I have a human model of what God wants me to do and be. More than words on a page or a stone tablet, I can model my life on the life of another human. Granted that human was also God, so living up to that model is impossible. But at least it’s a visible, relatable person I can aspire to be like. This morning, I’m thinking about God made man, and how grateful I am that rather than being warned away from God’s presence, I’m invited deeper into it, through the person of Jesus Christ.

Feb 14 2021 Day 20 Exodus 15:22–18:27

Now listen to me. I will give you counsel.

Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law has come to meet Moses after many years apart. Moses tells him everything that’s been happening, starting with the plagues, the Red Sea, the manna and the 40 years of desert wandering. He explains that men come to him with problems, and Moses basically acts as the adjudicator for everyone. Jethro tells him that Moses should take the people’s cases before God, while also appointing men to serve as officers over large groups. The appointed should fear God, be trustworthy, and hate dishonest gain. These men will handle smaller disputes, and bear that burden with Moses, along with God’s help.

The accompanying reflection is from Eugene Peterson, author of “The Message”, a very readable version of the Bible. In the reflection, Peterson recalls a relationship he had with a peer where they prayed together twice a week, and explored their faith together. Years later, he realized that there’s a name for that kind of relationship – spiritual director. My first spiritual director offered language that felt more accessible and usable to me – spiritual companion.

Who have been my spiritual companions, officially and informally? Do they know it? There were a couple of women in my church growing up who were very devout and always at church, praying. They seemed calm, and peaceful, and I remember thinking I wanted some of that. I didn’t learn much directly from them, but they did provide a model of something I wanted.

I have several clergy friends who have served as spiritual companions throughout the years. I believe I’ve shared with them what they mean, although I’m unsure. I think I’ll be a little more explicit about showing my appreciation and clear in my explanation for that appreciation for these dear people.

I’ve had friends through the years, one in particular, who’s offered great counsel. Whether it’s interpreting dreams, or offering advice and then reminding me of it years later, or calling BS when she sees it in my world, she’s always there. She has been my greatest companion – spiritually and in other ways. When I struggle with parenting my very sick loved one, she’s the first to point out how my personality might make things tougher, and also quick to point out that I’m married to a guy who can handle stuff I can’t. Between the two of them, my husband, and my companion, I’m set. If she didn’t know what she means to me, she does now.

My husband is not particularly religious. I’ve described him as ‘agnostic on a good day’. But he serves as an incredible spiritual companion too. He believes in me, and although he doesn’t understand my ‘why’, he wouldn’t dare refute it. It’s true for me, and that’s good enough for him. His support and conversation has served as a faithful companion all these years.

This morning, I’m thinking about the ways I can show gratitude for the people who’ve helped form me spiritually. I’m also thinking about ways that I might serve as a spiritual companion for others.

Feb 13 2021 Day 19 Exodus 12:31–15:21

Israel saw the great work the Lord did

Moses has led the Israelites through the Red Sea on dry land, only to have Pharaoh and his armies ‘hurled into the sea’. The accompanying reflection today is from Teresa of Avila, and asks if I have seen the great works of the Lord today, and how did I respond?

We have had a snow storm in the Portland area. They don’t happen often, but with the temperatures hovering around freezing, when we do, it’s an icy mess. There is about an inch of ice on windshields, and on the ground, under the light dusting of snow. In this mess, my husband and I walked to the grocery store, with my handy little grocery trolly.

We went to a nice grocery store with beautiful produce, and lots of unique sauces and cheeses. It was a delight. Then we packed the little trolly, and walked back home.

I don’t think I stopped on the walk to marvel at the beauty of God’s great works. But in hindsight, God’s handiwork was all around. The shimmery ice covered branches, the crunch of the snow, the perfectly balanced trolly that rolled like a dream, and the beautiful items at the store.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I don’t always stop to wonder at God’s works, but I am pretty good at recognizing it after the fact. I wonder how much more wonder-full my days would be if I could see God’s handiwork as I was walking through my day.

To be sure, I enjoyed the walk. But I didn’t have that awe-struck sense of God’s majesty as I was walking. If I cannot always be fully aware in the moment, the next best thing is to build in times in my day, or at least at the end of the day, when I can stop and reflect. Whenever I do that, without fail, I am able to find something to be grateful for, or find awe filled. Today, I’m going to see if I can schedule in some regular time for reflection during my day.

Feb 12 2021 Day 18 Exodus 7:14–12:30

Do forgive my sin just this once.


Moses is doing his best to extract himself and the Israelites from Pharaoh’s grip, but God has ‘hardened Pharaoh’s heart’, and for ten different, increasingly icky plagues, Aaron and Moses have shown God’s might, in hopes that Pharaoh will let the Israelites go. Nearly every time, Pharaoh acts repentant, explaining that yes, this time, he’ll let them go. Ha. Not this time.

At the eighth plague, Pharaoh tips his hand in his understanding of God and himself. Seven previous times, Pharaoh has agreed, and then changed his mind. Each time he shows no acknowledgment of the previous times this same story has been played out. And on the eight plague, he says something that I’d never caught before. Do forgive my sin, just this once. Hmm.

It’s as if he doesn’t realize he’s done this several times before. Or that perhaps he’ll sin again. Just this once.

This morning, I’m thinking about whether I approach God with that same amnesia about the past, or denial of my future. Just this once God, forgive. Just this once God, heal. I am stunned by Pharaoh’s myopic view of himself and of God, and of the repetitions we go through in our lives.

I don’t think that I pray like that. Just this once. Our practice of daily confessions helps me realize that today I need forgiveness, just as I did yesterday, and just as I will tomorrow.

But I do think that humans bargain with God all the time, just like toddlers try to do with their parents. Just this once mommy, read me an extra book. We see it with toddlers, when were the one being petitioned. But do we see it when we’re the ones doing the bargaining?

God, just this once, heal my loved one. Forgive my sharp tongue or my petty thoughts. I’m certain I do that. And I’m certain God hears it for the bargaining it is. I swear, I won’t ask again, or I won’t sin again, or I won’t be needy again. And maybe I believe it. But honestly, it’s no more true for me, than it is for the toddler or Pharaoh. Today, I hope to acknowledge the rerun nature of my foibles, and never try to bargain that I need something from God, just this once.

Feb 11 2021 Day 17 Exodus 5:1–7:13

You have brought us into bad odor with Pharaoh.




The Israelites are slaves under Pharaoh. They’re multiplying, despite Pharaoh’s best attempts to cull the herd. Now, they want to be set free so they can worship God. Pharaoh feels that they’re lazy and just trying to get out of work. Besides, they have the audacity to worship a God other than Pharaoh himself. So Pharaoh makes their work intentionally harder by refusing to give them the supplies needed to make the bricks. Instead, they have to gather the straw and then make the bricks – but no adjustment has been made to their quota. So they fail to meet their goals. They’ve appealed to Pharaoh to make this right, and he’s refused. On their return, they encounter Moses and Aaron and blame them for their mistreatment.

The reflection for the day revolves around God initiated setbacks, and how I respond. I think the biggest problem for me is that sometimes it seems like God isn’t involved in the setbacks, which, if I truly believe God is omni-present, is dumb. But did God really give me a flat tire when I needed to be somewhere? Did God really subject my loved one to a persistent significant mental illness?

If God is everywhere and can do everything, what is God’s hand in the setbacks? Sometimes, I genuinely believe the setbacks are from God. We were headed down a bad path, or had yet to learn some lesson, and God – yet again – has to create a roadblock in hopes that we turn back. And I guess I think that there are some setbacks that are of human origin, or nature. God created a world full of natural laws like gravity, and pathogens, like the coronavirus. God didn’t create coronavirus, but rather the world and systems within which its origin was possible. God didn’t create schizophrenia, but created humanity with free will, and brains that are an incredibly complex machine, that sometimes break.

I try to deal with these setbacks as if God’s present as I’m facing them. Maybe I can’t pray my way to my loved one’s health. Maybe I can’t pray for the perfect parking spot, or an unanticipated financial windfall. But as I’m dealing with the bad parking spot, the illness, and the resources I have, God is present. As I’m dealing with the world as were heading into the second Lenten season with covid, God is with me, and with those around me.

I can’t say I’m gleeful for roadblocks, or that I thank God for the setbacks. But I do try to remember that as of today, I’ve lived through them all, with God’s help. Nothing has been insurmountable, and that I believe is due to God’s presence.

Feb 10 2021 Day 16 Exodus 1:1–4:31



Then he said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”


Just like that, we’ve exited Genesis and begun Exodus (witty, huh?). We move from Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph’s drama into Moses. This morning’s reading was 4 chapters, but in the classic movie, The Exodus, this bit probably took hours! It’s rich and deep with images, in my mind, many of which include Yul Brenner.

The reflection starts with the bit where God tells Moses to remove his shoes because he’s on holy ground, and leaps into thinking about our incarnational theology – God became human. The ground beneath Moses’ feet was holy because God was present there. In our incarnational way of thinking, God walked the earth, had parents, had peers, had a job, was betrayed, tortured and executed. If the ground beneath Moses’ feet was holy because of God’s presence, so are our entire lives, because of God’s incarnation. Frederick Buechner posits that God’s incarnation is human, and messy, unsophisticated and undignified. Sometimes just like our lives.

I’d carry that further and suggest that the things we believe are sacramental – water in baptism, bread and wine in Eucharist, are all equally unsophisticated. These are very mundane human things we encounter daily, and our theology believes that they can carry the spiritual grace of God, sure and certainly.

I love my tradition’s rich liturgy, beautiful spaces and splendid vestments. They remind me of God’s holiness, and the richness of what could be. And I love that God was born to a homeless refugee, and we celebrate with water, bread and wine. That’s the epitome of both/and, rather than either/or.

This morning I’m thinking about the unsophisticated and yet holy world within which I live. I’m thinking about how every thing I see and touch is both mundane and holy. My vestments, the magnificent church buildings, my kitchen table, the homeless person I see downtown. Both/And.

Feb 9 2020 Day 15 Genesis 46:1–50:26

Even though you intended to do me harm, God intended it for good.

Yesterday’s reflection focused on this same section of scripture, a foreshadowing of this incredible grace and forgiveness shown by Joseph. Regardless of what his brothers did, which I’d argue was not God’s plan, God turned it into good. God redeemed and renewed the mess humans had made, and turned it into good.

I have a priest friend who was a Vietnam veteran. He was an interrogator, and by his own account did bad things as a result of the war, and his role in it. Upon the end of the war, he entered seminary and became a priest. He spent years trying to quash that part of himself, the ugly, unkind and evil parts. He tried to bring to God his best self, and hide these bits. But those bits were a part of him too. So he was bringing to God his incomplete self, despite his deep faith and intention to live right by God.

A spiritual director helped him see that he was bringing only the shiny bits to God, as if God wouldn’t really love him – all of him. This meant that his faith in God was incomplete, or at least that he doubted its full extent. Could he be loved by God if God knew of his ugly bits?

Of course, God already knew about his ugly bits. God was with him in Vietnam. But by hiding them away, God couldn’t work with him to redeem and renew those parts. When my friend was finally able to bring those parts to God, he realized a few things. First, God really did love him. All of him. Even the ugly bits. And more important, God was able to renew and redeem those bits into something good. What humanity had done that had caused harm, God turned into good.

My friend became a nationally known speaker on PTSD and spirituality. He was able to draw on his first hand account of the evil he’d done, and the evil done on his behalf, and then talk about God’s love, and how spirituality was a key healing component for veterans dealing with PTSD, which nearly all combat veterans do. He was able to work with psychiatrists and round out the story of healing for veterans for whom God was perceived as missing.

What we do for ill, God turns to good.

This morning, I’m thinking about any parts of me I withhold from God. Are there parts I think will make me unlovable? More important, how might God redeem those parts? One thing that I have been increasingly experiencing is that as the caregiver of someone with a significant persistent mental illness, it’s the kind of thing that’s hard to talk about. When people ask how I am, do they really want to hear about the murderous note we received from our loved one, or the incessant foul language and substances? Maybe not. But it is absolutely a part of who I am, and certainly plays into my response to “how are you”?

But with prayer and reflection and sharing in the right places, God is able to turn my experience to good. I’ve been able to be a part of conversations about mental health and spirituality. I’ve been able to direct other caregivers to resources I’d previously never needed. I can share truths about this illness that people need to hear. And my loved one is reaching hundreds of people each day with their social media outreach, speaking their truth. God can redeem even schizophrenia.

I need to remember that there is no part of me, of my past, of my thoughts – nothing – that God cannot redeem, if I am willing to be vulnerable enough to bring it to God and ask.

Feb 8 2021 Day 14 Genesis 42:1–45:28

For God sent me before you to save life.

Joseph has finally been reunited with his conniving brothers. The famine Joseph predicted from Pharaoh’s dreams has reached his homeland and his brothers go to get grain. Unbeknownst to them, it’s Joseph who doles out the grain. After reuniting with his youngest brother Benjamin, and testing his brothers’ loyalty, he reveals himself to them. They are very remorseful, and rightly so. But Joseph assured them, do not be distressed or angry with yourself. Joseph attributes his perilous journey – being sold by his brothers, betrayed by his boss’s wife, jailed, and eventually freed – to God. God sent him before the brothers to save life.

Wow. That’s some faith and forgiveness. The accompanying reflection from Fredrick Buechner points out that this story is about more than how Israel was saved from famine and starvation. It’s about the how Joseph was saved. And not just his body. Yes, his body was unscathed, but so was his soul. After this horrible experience, he was left with a deep and abiding faith in God, and God’s ultimate goodness.

This morning, I’m thinking about faith, and how to walk through trials, without anger, or bitterness, but with a stronger sense of God’s faith-fullness. As a society, there’s all sorts of trials we’re going through right now: pandemic, racial and social tensions, unemployment, illness. Is this God’s plan? Was it God’s plan to send Joseph through his trials?

While I know God is all powerful, I also know God is a hands-off God, allowing humans to get into all sorts of scrapes. I’m not sure where I heard the analogy, but whoever it was likened God’s hands-off love to a mother allowing a child to practice riding a bike. There may be falls, and the mother grieves. But she allows that level of freedom.

I don’t think God’s plan was for Joseph to go through his hell, or for us to go through ours. But I guess I do believe that God had a plan for the saving of Israel, and when Joseph turned up in Egypt, the logistics of God’s plan came together.

In my life, I don’t think that God has smited my loved one with a persistent significant mental illness, because of anything she did or didn’t do. Or because of anything I did or didn’t do. But on my faith-filled days, I believe there’s something good that will come. On my less faith filled days, I wonder.

In my case, I don’t have a group of errant brothers to blame for my loved one’s troubles. I don’t have anyone to blame. I suppose I could go back far enough and find someone to blame. Extended family that behaved badly that could have created a predisposition for this illness. Friends or peers who behaved badly that could have accelerated the illness. But what good would that do? We are where we are, and at this point, I’d really like to understand the plan. But I suspect that won’t happen in the near future. And in the meantime, I hope that I have enough faith-filled days to hold out hope that God’s providential plan will happen.

Feb 7 2021 Day 13 Genesis 37:1–41:57

Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. ~Henri Nouwen



This morning, we hear of Joseph, Jacob’s son, who dreams, is favored by his father, sold by his brothers, betrayed by his boss’s wife, jailed, forgotten by his fellow prisoner, and eventually freed. Each of Joseph’s moments were both imperfect, and as perfect as they could be, in that moment. It’s all about how we view where we are, versus dreaming about where we aren’t. It’s about patience. The reflection is written by Henri Nouwen and focuses on patience.

Patience is more than just waiting for a bus. He explains that it’s about living fully in the present moment. About skipping the impatience that sometimes accompanies waiting. Impatience, he argues, causes us to falsely believe that the good thing will happen later, or somewhere else. When I read this, I found some convicting truths!

He argues that the present is full of treasures, although sometimes the treasures are buried in the ground. But it’s the ground on which we stand. Yes!

In the past, I’ve had times where I was incredibly impatient about circumstances in my life. At one time, I had a dead-end, under-appreciated job. I was incredibly impatient for the next opportunity, which never seemed to come. But as Nouwen points out, I was blind to the beauty that was, instead waiting for the perfect job that had yet to materialize. Not only was I blind to the beauty at the time, now looking back, all I remember is the impatience, and discontent of being in the wrong place and wrong job. I’ve forever lost the treasure that was held in that place in time. I was too busy looking for treasure somewhere else.

It is very easy for me to fall into that impatience trap again. In my current world, I now serve as guardian for a loved one with a persistent, significant mental illness. It will be with them always, and always impede their ability for the life they’d imagined. Or that I’d imagined.

Additionally, the illness is capricious in its symptoms, which could rear into behavior that requires the police, mental health professionals, and hospitalization. This means that my ability to plan my world, my vacations, my house guests, is entirely shot. Nonetheless, I try. Let’s plan a vacation. Then I’ll be at peace, when I can get away. Not only is that idea impossible to execute, it plants that seed of discontent that makes today’s treasures really difficult to see.

This morning, I’m thinking about patience and the present time. Right now, I’m sitting in a really comfortable chair, writing on a nice laptop, with a perfect cup of coffee. I’ve read Scripture, written a little, will shortly go for a walk and talk to a friend, and then return for online worship. Later, I’ll settle in to watching some football, knitting, and eating popcorn. These things, barring any mental health crisis today, are all within my reach. And all spectacular.

Patience is about realizing this moment is as perfect as it will be, and that I’m not missing anything. And if it’s true when I’m out on my walk, it’s also true when I’m dealing with the unanticipated crisis. I will deal with the present, as if it is chock-full of awe inspiring moments. All present moments are, if we only are present to them.

Feb 6 2021 Day 12 Genesis 31:1 – 36:43



Then the LORD said to Jacob, “Return to the land of your ancestors and to your kindred, and I will be with you.” 

Jacob, his wives and his children by them, his wives’ slaves and his children by them, and his flocks and herds are on the move. He wrestles with God overnight, he meets Esau, his daughter Dinah is raped, his brothers avenge their sister, and kill the offending men after having them circumcised. Whew. A lot of drama in poor Jacob’s life, on this journey God sent him on. But don’t worry, God was with him.

This morning, I’m thinking about what it means to have God with Jacob, during all of this drama. Of what it means that God is with us, during our drama. This is, to me, proof that God does not promise a rose garden, or an easy time. Rather, God promises presence. Of course, as his daughter is raped, and sons murder others, I can imagine that God’s presence felt far away, or impotent. I have felt that too.

The meditation accompanying this reading asks why it’s sometimes hard to focus on God’s presence, day to day. For one thing, it’s hard because I’m busy. I’ve got lots to do, dinner to cook, groceries to buy. I forget. More apparent from this reading is the fact that it’s hard to care sometimes about God’s presence, when terrible things are happening. If God sits by and watches Jacob’s family drama, watches my family drama, it’s hard to care about God’s presence.

To be clear, I’m not doubting it’s there. I know God is present. And sometimes I wish God would intervene and make things not quite so crappy.

If it sounds like I’m a little testy, I am. My loved one is making increasingly dumb choices, that affect the household. I want this to be easier. Actually, I want God, ominipresent God, to jump in and fix something.

I believe what I need is to go for a walk, do some yoga, cook some good food. I need to get out of my head and my funk. I need to look at the baby crocus flowers just beginning to come up, have a wonderful cup of coffee on the porch. Take a walk with my little grocery trolly cart to the grocery store and listen to some beautiful music, be grateful for the ability to walk, buy, listen, cook.

When I get out of my rut, it’s easy again to remember and be grateful for God’s presence. I can take that sense of gratitude and wonder at the flowers and bring it back into my house. And just maybe, through me, God’s presence will jump in and fix something.

Feb 5 2021 Day 11 Genesis 28:10 – 30:43

If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go . . . then the Lord shall be my God. . .

Jacob is making his own covenant with God. At the time, many gods were in the scene, so in addition to explaining what Jacob seeks out of the relationship, it is a way to dispense with the other gods. You, Lord, will be my God. Jacob is pledging his allegiance to the one true God, in a tangible way.

The reflection accompanying this morning’s reading asks me to consider how my faith is (or is not) bigger than simply acknowledging God’s existence. Do I genuinely believe that my future is in God’s hands? Yes, I genuinely believe that. And I don’t always act like it.

When things are good, I don’t doubt God’s care and stewardship of me and my life. I’m actually pretty grateful, when things are good. Unlike others who forget God’s presence and goodness during the good times, that’s when I remember. It’s like being in a warm, fluffy bed with the covers pulled up. All is good, and I’m acutely aware of why.

It’s when things are bad that I forget. I forget that all of the bad is also in God’s hands. My future, the future of my sick loved one, is all handled. But instead of remembering that when I most need it, that’s when I forget. That’s when I jump out of my warm bed, and try to handle things, manage things, and assure that the future is secure in my hands. And in my bed analogy, I haven’t even had a morning cup of coffee! I’m entirely ill equipped to handle much of anything.

Not only do I frequently think that I am the one who needs to solve things, I forget entirely that God’s around, and already has it handled. It’s after running around, fixing this, holding that together, that I finally am so exhausted that I remember. It would be so much easier if I could remember before I hop out bed.

When life is good, I’m grateful for God’s constancy. I’m aware of it with certainty. This morning, I’m thinking about how I might carry that knowledge that my life, my loved one’s life, is securely in God’s hands, even when it feels like things are spinning out of control. As it turns out, if God’s got the good and the bad, things aren’t spinning out of control. It’s just a different path than I might have wanted. But God’s got a better path and better plan. I just need to remember that.

Feb 3 2021 Day 10 Genesis 25:19 – 28:9

Have you only one blessing, father?


Wow. We are still traipsing through the ill-behaved lineage of Abraham. Today, I read about Jacob getting his older brother Esau’s birthright, by forcing Esau to trade it to Jacob in return for food. Esau objects, and says that he’s about to die from not eating, so Jacob plays on that weakness and forces Esau to trade his birthright. In the US, we don’t necessarily have the same issue with birthrights, although I can imagine it occurs less formally here, and certainly is an issue in other parts of the world.

Then when Isaac is near death and blind, Jacob tricks Isaac into thinking he’s Esau, in order to receive Isaac’s blessing. Isaac blesses Jacob, and when Esau returns to Isaac for his blessing, Isaac tells Esau that Jacob has tricked him into thinking he was Esau. Isaac blessed Jacob instead of Esau, and gave Jacob Esau’s inheritance. All from a blessing uttered from Isaac’s mouth. I can imagine that Esau is angry and frustrated, and exclaims to his father, “Have you only one blessing, father?” Yes, apparently so.

This morning, I’m thinking about blessings, and about how we take them for granted. Clearly, we don’t place the same importance on receiving a blessing or offering a blessing. Generally, an uttered blessing doesn’t convey inheritance. Or does it?

We say “bless you” as someone sneezes. Although no one knows for sure, it is believed that this began during the time of the bubonic plague. One of the symptoms of the plague was sneezing, so the pope at the time suggested offering a small prayer when someone prayed. God bless you. If we believed that was happening, it’s not really a small thing. It does, in fact, convey an inheritance of God’s blessing, which I would suggest is a really big thing.

At the end of our worship service, the priest stands and offers a final blessing on the people gathered. There may be other words added before it, but it concludes with “the blessing of God almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you, this day and for ever more.” I’ve no reason to believe that is just mumbo jumbo. So if that’s the case, why don’t I weep when I hear those words? God’s blessing is upon me? Yes!

When we invoke or hear the word Bless, we ought to take a moment to remember what’s actually true. Maybe a “bless you” for a sneeze doesn’t create a special immunity from the plague. But it reminds us that we are blessed by God, sneezing or not. Maybe a blessing at the end of a worship service does not impart special blessing on the gathered. But maybe it does. And regardless, I know I’m blessed by God, at all times, in church and not. Today, I want to remember to give that word the reverence it deserves, even if it’s only reminding me of an immortal truth. I am blessed by God.

Feb 2 2021 Day 9 Genesis 24:1 – 25:18

The Lord blessed Abraham in all things.

Abraham has died, at the ripe old age of 175. He led a complicated life, complete with treachery, and the near sacrifice of his son, Isaac. But throughout it all, he trusted God. The reflection accompanying today’s reading is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor and theologian killed by the Nazis for his opposition.

He talks about the relationship between faith, hope and love, as it relates to a life lived in God. He argues that while faith keeps us justified before God, and lets us hold fast to Christ. Hope longs to see God, and focuses us on our death and ultimate home coming. This was probably especially poignant for Bonhoeffer, given his frequent imprisonments, and the death all around him. Finally, love is greater than these, because through Christ, love is already here. Love forgets everything for the benefit of the other. He argues that love even ‘sacrifices one’s own salvation to bring it to one’s family’.

I’ve read the scripture bit about faith, hope and love. And reading it from the perspective of a humble, martyred Lutheran pastor helps me internalize it even more.

Obviously Abraham had loads of faith, and hope and he went through great trials all for the sake of his faith and his God. As a human, reading his story I struggle to understand the love part, as it doesn’t seem like he showed much love to Hagar, Ishmael, or Isaac. And I’ll admit I don’t always understand God’s ways. So I’ll just credit Abraham with a deep faith, and in my opinion an imperfect execution of the love. Imperfect, like me.

Here I sit, thousands of years after Abraham’s life and death, reading snippets and deciding what I think about his faith, hope and love. If today were my last day, what do I hope people would say about me? I have a friend who for New Year’s writes her obituary. It sounds morbid, but let me explain. She writes out what she wants her obituary to say. Loving wife, patient mother, loved life. Once she’s written it, then she sets about her intentions for the next year to life the life that will result in that obituary being read. She says there’s nothing like trying to sum up your good traits in three paragraphs to focus you on what really matters. I think it’s brilliant, and yes perhaps a little morbid.

This morning I’m thinking about actually writing my obituary, and then living a life that results in that self-image. As a multi-media bonus, here’s a song that I really enjoy that I believe summarizes what I hope. Where I put my faith. How I want to love. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsWECNPiwUo.

Feb 1 2021 Day 8 Genesis 21:1 – 23:20



“Do not be distressed because of the boy..”

This morning, I read through the troubling stories of Abraham sending Hagar and Ishmael away, and then bringing Isaac up to be sacrificed. In current days, with all the strife in the world, these are troubling stories.

We have modern day examples of people treating other people horribly, modern day genocide, political oppression, hatred and prejudice. If we look at Abraham’s story today, he sent Hagar away because his wife Sarah told him to. Sarah was jealous and afraid, and she asked Abraham to send them into the wilderness, where death would be likely. Abraham didn’t want to “because of his child”, not apparently, because of the mother of his child. And Sarah had originally hatched this plan for Abraham – it was her idea, and now she was sentencing them to death.

God spoke to Abraham and told him to do what Sarah said. He didn’t tell Abraham that he would take care of Hagar and Ishmael, but rather that he should be obedient to Sarah’s wishes. Um, ok. So he sends them out. Hagar and Ishmael have exhausted their water, and she puts Ishmael under a bush away from her, so she doesn’t have to watch him die. As a mother, I cannot imagine how devastating that would have been – to get to the place where that choice was even considered, and then making that choice.

But God provided for Hagar, and made many nations from Ishmael. Things didn’t turn out so bad for them, after all. But the goodness that came from God followed and was initiated by some horrible behavior on the part of Sarah and Abraham.

And then we have the horrific story of Abraham and Isaac. Making Isaac carry the twigs that will be used to sacrifice Isaac. And when no animal is revealed, Abraham binds Isaac and places him on the sacrificial altar and pile of twigs to kill him. Because God told him to.

At the end of this story, all works out well, as a ram is discovered and sacrificed and Isaac is spared. I can only imagine a strained relationship between Isaac and Abraham after that, though.

So we have two instances of ick, where things worked out, and God was involved. Sarah’s bad behavior, Abraham’s complicity in Sarah’s bad behavior, and Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice the only son he has left.

This morning, I’m thinking about how we humans create great strife and heartache, either on our own or because we believe God told us to. How is that possible? How is that right? How does that relate to all of the horrible things humans have done to each other recently, and God’s role in that? Is there a greater God purpose for police shootings? For permissive taking of human life, either before birth or after a lengthy prison sentence? For illness and addiction?

I definitely don’t want to suggest that God has a purpose. Or that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes, I think bad things happen because we mortals have fear, and seek power, and our own glory, and I don’t think that’s of God. But I do believe God can renew, restore and resurrect our crappy actions, just as God saved Hagar and Ishmael, despite Sarah and Abraham’s behavior.

And what about people who act badly because God told them to. Abraham and Isaac? Or what about all of the horrid things happening in the name of God, like this mounting Christian nationalism? Do I believe God is telling them to do these hateful things in God’s name? I’d love to flat-out deny God’s hand in anything like that, but we hear that God told Abraham to tie up his son. So I don’t know. I don’t know what God is speaking to others, carrying out things in God’s name.

But in the end, I believe in a God who restores and resurrects things that I had long written off. These stories of Abraham and God leave me more certain than ever that I do not understand God’s ways, with one exception. Whatever we do in our own name, or in God’s name, God will redeem, restore and resurrect.