Mar 31 2021 Day 58 Judges 6:1–8:35



Gideon made an ephod of it and put it in his town, in Ophrah; and all Israel prostituted themselves to it there, and it became a snare to Gideon and to his family.

Oh, how easy is it to do this, to let a great intention turn into an idol. Gideon made a metal vest/breastplate thing, aka ephod, to honor God. But eventually, people began to worship the ephod, not the God it was designed to honor. Throughout history, we humans do that, don’t we? Something starts as a necessary thing, and eventually it constrains and misguides us and we get rid of it, only to turn around and need it eventually.

I see this happening with things in worship spaces. If I’m distracted at home trying to pray or read scripture, I go out and buy a special icon. It’s lovely, and it is absolutely a window into a deeper truth, that simple words cannot express. For example, I have a lovely contemporary icon of The Visitation, where Mary visits Elizabeth. In response to Elizabeth’s exclamation of Mary’s child, Mary responds with “my soul magnifies the Lord”, or the Magnificat. Mary said yes, even once she had an inkling of what was to happen. The image is two women in traditional African colorful garb. It’s joyous, a little edgy, what with a black Mary, and looking at it, I see Mary’s yes. Here’s a link. https://www.trinitystores.com/artwork/windsock-visitation

In any case, if I’m not careful, I worship the image. I worship the window itself, not what I see through the window. When that happens, I put it away. Luckily, I’m beyond smashing icons, because a time will come when I need that image to help focus. The same goes with prayer candles, special journals, or even spiritual practices, like writing and reflecting about scripture. Gulp. I need to be vigilant about the reason for what I do, so it doesn’t become the thing I’m worshipping or honoring.

This also happens with holy spaces. Sometimes I need to designate a place as holy. Or I need to go to a worship service full of smells and bells (incense and Sanctus bells). I need to feel that I’m in a particularly holy space. But eventually, worshippers in general and me in particular, mistake the designation of holy for holy itself. The space isn’t any more holy, than the street corner where the preacher is genuinely preaching the Gospel. Sometimes I need to go in to nature, to realize that Holy is all around me, contained not in a building, but everywhere.

Both are true. I need icons and candles sometimes. And sometimes they are a trap. I need simple worship spaces, or wide-open vistas to see the vastness of God. And sometimes I begin to worship the vista, and not the God who made it. My particular flavor of vacillation isn’t everyone’s. Not everyone bounces between icons and outdoors. But I think everyone has the potential to make idols out of things designed to help us. And when we do that it either becomes a snare like the ephod for Gideon, or we are tempted overreact, and do the equivalent of smashing the icons. This morning, I’m thinking about how to recognize when something as outlived its useful life, and I’ve begun to idolize it. I want a way to see that, and thank it for what it did for me when I started, and put it gently away in my tool box for the next time I swing back towards needing that thing, or space, or practice. All of it is good, and all has its place. We just need help recognizing that.

Mar 29 Day 57 Judges 3:7–5:31

Hear, O kings; give ear, O princes; to the L ORD I will sing, I will make melody to the LORD , the God of Israel.

This little line comes from the Song of Deborah, a song to recount some of the history of the time of the judges, and a song of celebration. The accompanying reflection is from Dallas Willard, who focuses on celebration. For people of faith, any kind of celebration is a celebration of God. God created the wondrous world with all its beauty in which we have picnics. God created the miracles of birth and aging that we celebrate in parties. God created the great circle of life, that we celebrate in lives lived well and ended.

I’ve been trying to live a life full of gratitude, ending my day with a quick recount of the day’s events that warrant gratitude. I’ve read that when you start seeing opportunities for gratitude, they multiply. And my experience proves that true.

Where gratitude is an inward quiet reaction of goodness, perhaps a celebration is more outward and not-so-quiet reaction to goodness. Gratitude is how I feel. Celebrate is what I do. I’ve been building more gratitude into my days. What would it look like if I could also build celebration in? I spend a good amount of time in my head, thinking. What if I could turn my gratitude into an outward expression with my body, my voice, my actions? I can imagine that would be a good thing to balance out my heady nature.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to build in more celebrations throughout the day, little bodily acknowledgments of all that I am grateful for. Maybe a high-five, or a little cheer. Right now, I’m grateful that I buckled down and wrote, although I didn’t think I wanted to (gratitude). And to that, I say out loud, Woo hoo! (celebration).

Mar 28 Day 56 Judges 1:1–3:6



[A]nother generation grew up after them, who did not know the LORD or the work that he had done for Israel.

We’re in to Judges, a book all about a people who forgets who they are, forgets whom they are, and the God who repeatedly sends good human leaders, or judges. Sometimes the people would return to their previous God ways, and then, predictably, they’d forget. Something bad would happen, and they’d repent, and God would again send a good leader or judge. Before this pattern of follow-forget-fall-new judge-follow-forget etc, we hear that a whole generation died, and the next generation did not know the Lord.

The accompanying reflection is from Joan Chittister, a modern-day Benedictine nun. She writes about authority, and what authority is at its best. She says that it’s not meant to control, restrict or restrain, whether it’s the authority of a parent, spouse, or national leader. Authority, at its best is meant to enable, convert and call into growth. If authority is used only to control, we create robots, or mindless lemmings, always needing to be led, controlled or restrained. This is perhaps what happened to the generation of Israelites that, when their parents died, did not know the Lord or what had happened before.

We all come into situations with authority, where we are called to follow or obey or carry out what some authority figure has asked. This is an easy thing to do when we feel that we are being enabled, converted, growing. And it’s exceedingly hard when we feel like we’re just being controlled, or restricted.

This morning, I’m thinking about the places where I have authority, either expressed or implicit. Who are all the people over whom I have any authority? Am I using that authority to help others grow, to remember, to be called forward?

I would hope that in my work, I am consistently doing this. I must admit that it has become easier to enable others in equal measure to my realization that I cannot do it all. I’m not sure that I held to the notion that I could do it all, but I now am so clear that I cannot, that it’s easy to use authority to share the treasure of leading, of finding and enabling others to step into their calling to lead and exercise authority over others.

At home, it’s more challenging for me. Certainly with my husband, things feel enabling, and all things good. I don’t feel constrained or constraining. I believe we bring out and encourage the best in each other. My authority challenge comes with my sick loved one. They definitely want more autonomy and agency over their life. And it is such a fine balance to exercise positive authority, without just constraining or restraining them. That is not what I intend or want. And yet my husband and I serve as guardians, where others have deemed us to in fact have an extra measure of authority over our loved one. Likely for the rest of our lives, we’ll be in this position.

So how do I exercise authority that enables, calls to growth and teaches, when it’s difficult to know what growth is possible, or what teaching can be absorbed? It is far too easy to slip into authority that becomes controlling, just for controlling’s sake. I decide that growth is impossible, or self-determination might allow for bad choices, so I limit growth, restrain self-determination. Ugh.

Perhaps it’s not my job to decide what the fruits of my well-intentioned authority would be. Or at least, perhaps I shouldn’t let my own judgement of their potential result in my exercising a controlling, lemming-producing authority. Perhaps I should just love, enable, call to growth, and let God manage the rest. Now there’s an idea.

Mar 27 2021 Day 55 Joshua 18:1–24:33

[C]hoose this day whom you will serve.




The past two days of reading from Joshua have read like legal descriptions of property; I suspect they are the ancient versions of just that. Joshua has led the people into the promised land, and now is parsing it up between the tribes of Israel. The land of Zebulun “goes in the other direction eastward toward the sunrise to the boundary of Chisloth-tabor”, etcetera. After pages and pages of descriptions like this, the land is finally divided up. During Joshua’s final recital to the gathered people, he says that the people need to choose who they will serve.

I’m reminded of a hymn from an earlier version of the hymnal in my tradition with a lovely and haunting Irsish-ish tune. The words, however are what got the hymn nixed from the current hymnal. “Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide… twixt that darkness and the light.”

The problem isn’t that we are given a choice. The problem is the notion that we are given just one choice, one chance. No. It’s not just once in our life that we have to choose. It’s every day, hundreds of times a day we have to choose. Or better, we get to choose.

Some argue that every decision we make, all day long, is an opportunity to choose the light versus the darkness. I’m not sure about EVERY choice, but definitely there are far more than I can remember. Every interaction with another person, every opportunity to love or show grace.

So far this morning, barely an hour awake, I’ve already had a dozen opportunities to make that choice, and there’s only one other person awake in the house with me now. I’m heading into a 3 hour online work meeting, where I’ll have a dozen more opportunities. After that, I’ll rejoin my family Saturday, with dozens more.

It’s intriguing to think that every decision is an opportunity to move towards or share that light. What would my day look like if I remembered that as I walked through the day?

Mar 25 2021 Day 53 Joshua 7:1–11:23



And the sun stood still, and the moon stopped, until the nation took vengeance on their enemies. 

Joshua is decimating the Amorites, and will continue in his path of domination with the kings and kingdoms of Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish, and Eglon. To take the Amorites, God makes the sun stand still until Joshua’s work is done.

Ok. So I absolutely believe God could make the sun stand still. And I’m not sure I take this as literal. I know that Joshua is in the line of the chosen people, but God is the God of the Amorites too, right? I read these stories about battles, and victors and God being with one side or another, and I think about how this same logic has played out through history. The crusades and modern day violence in the name of religious extremism.

Some argue that it is through Jesus’ revelation and teachings about peace, and loving all, that God’s nature changed. That God rooted for one team, and not the other, but then Jesus came, and through his humanity, convinced God to change his bias. Hmm. While that’s possible, and I’ll definitely never know for sure, it doesn’t ring true to me.

Rather than God’s nature changing, I think that our human understanding of God has changed. The people who wrote the stories of Joshua, and Hagar, and Jacob were writing about God as they understood God. That’s all they could do; that’s all I can do. God stops the sun so Joshua can kill the Amorites. God lets Hagar be turned out and her lineage is not the chosen one. God tells Jacob to sacrifice his son, and lets Jacob time him up and put him on the pyre. I don’t doubt these things happened, or something similar that was elaborated to make a point. But I’m less convinced that these things were really God’s will.

Rather than God changing that drastically, I think it’s us who’ve changed. And it took Jesus to help us understand God in our human, limited frameworks. And it took Jesus to help God understand our limited human frameworks in God’s immensity.

Because if God is a God of favorites, of smiting, of punitive actions for one group of people, and not another, than I have to live my life creating boundaries and borders and guidelines that define Good people, and everyone who isn’t in the boundary, or across the border or doesn’t follow the guideline is Bad. But what of those Bad people’s prayers and petitions to God? Do their boundaries make me the Bad one?

I can’t believe that if I’m called to love my neighbors – all my neighbors – that God has favorites among them. And I guess I don’t believe God ever did. But like most history, Scripture was written by the victors, so we hear that God was on their side.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I continually wrestle with notions about God written from human perspectives. I know that Scripture is divinely inspired, but I’m not sure that’s the same as literally true. Of course, if it is, I’m in trouble.

Mar 24 2021Day 52 Joshua 4:1–6:27



The commander of the army of the L ORD said to Joshua, “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy.” And Joshua did so.


I don’t know about you, but when I hear things like this, places in Scripture that are designated as “holy”, I imagine a green spot amongst the desert, a slight spotlight on the holy space, designating THAT spot as holy. Or it’s a perfect picture of whatever it is: rolling hills, picturesque dunes, symmetrical craggy bushes. I don’t imagine the mundane. Average. Ugly. Undiscernible.

The accompanying reflection to today’s reading is worth repeating in whole, as I think it’s beautiful, and helped me see past the expectations of perfection, when seeking a holy place. It is from Sister Joan Chittister, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily.

“Contemplative prayer, converting prayer, is prayer that sees the whole world through incense—a holy place, a place where the sacred dwells, a place to be made different by those who pray, a place where God sweetens living with the beauty of all life.

Contemplative prayer is prayer that leads us to see our world through the eyes of God. It unstops our ears to hear the poverty of widows, the loneliness of widowers, the cry of women, the vulnerability of children, the struggle of outcasts, the humanity of enemies, the insights of the uneducated, the tensions of bureaucrats, the fears of rulers, the wisdom of the holy, the power of the powerless. . . .

We pray to understand things as they are, not to ignore and avoid and deny them. We pray so that when the incense disappears we can still see the world as holy.”

I love the part where she names all of the things we might see more clearly, more holy, if we see through the eyes of God. The humanity of enemies, insights of the uneducated, tensions of bureaucrats. These are all things we understand as true in our head, that enemies are human, that the uneducated can be wise. That bureaucrats have tension (having worked decades in government, I appreciate this inclusion in her list).

This morning, I’m thinking about the other things we can add to that list from our own lives. Where else does praying contemplatively, seeing through God’s eyes help me see the holy in the hidden?

Seeing the world through the eyes of God can help me hear the insecurity of the conceited, the fear of the confused, the defeatedness of the addict, the pain of the abuser.

I don’t think of myself as a contemplative, who I imagine as peaceful, still, intuitive souls, who rest in God’s presence with ease. I don’t rest with ease, nor am I still very much. But I can begin to access the notion of being a contemplative with Chittister’s image as someone who sees everything through incense, which is used to mark a place as holy. When I look out my window, or in my house, do I see it all as holy? The people, the objects, me? In my head, I believe that to be true. And I appreciate her very sensory way of describing it, seeing things through incense during prayer, and when the incense lifts, the holy remains.

Mar 23 2021 Day 51 Joshua 1:1–3:17

Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.



In our walk through Scripture, we’ve completed the Pentateuch, or the first five books that are frequently what’s referred to as Torah. I’m grateful to have read it through, and I’m grateful to be done. We start the book of Joshua with his commissioning, be strong and courageous. We then read about the spies that Joshua sends to Jericho.

The spies enter the house of Rahab, referred to as a prostitute, and there she harbors them from the king’s soldiers sent to find the Israelite spies. Rahab hides the two Israelites and sends the soldiers on a wild goose chase. In return she asks for the safety of her family, when the Israelites return to conquer the city.

There’s a great non-profit in my community called Rahab’s Sisters, that provides meals and a night of safety for women who work the streets, and women who live on the streets. It’s a lovely show of radical hospitality, assuring everyone is served, and it’s a fascinating group of women served. There’s even a security presence, as some of these women are ‘managed’ by unfriendly demanding men. The guard has told the managers, also sometimes referred to as ‘boyfriends’, that while they’re having dinner, the women are not to be disturbed. It’s a lovely thing, and I appreciate the odd detail in scripture that Rahab was a prostitute. All are welcome; all are loved; all have a place in the fulfilling of God’s kingdom.

And today, I’m struck by the commissioning to Joshua. Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened or dismayed. The Lord is with you. There’s something missing from this sentence, that can either be read into it as implied, or it acknowledged as intentionally missing. What’s missing is the sentiment that God will keep you safe. God will protect you. God will indemnify you from all woes.

It’s not there. Joshua was not promised that he will escape all harm. That there won’t be bad things that happen. He was commissioned to be courageous and not be frightened. God is with him.

It’s God’s presence that is being promised, not necessarily God’s protection.

There are days where I’d like to infer into Scripture that God has promised no pain, no danger, no risk. And then when there is pain, danger, illness, risk, it’s easy to feel cheated that God did not live up to God’s promise. But that is not what God is promising, and I think it’s short sighted to read into Scripture this sort of promise. Sure, we all want to be protected. Sure, we’d like to think God will keep all safe. But what we are promised is that God will be with us. This should be sufficient, right?

Even Psalm 23, that oft-quoted “the Lord is my Shepherd” psalm does not promise protection. It promises presence.

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s promise of presence, and about how I can increase my confidence that presence is sufficient to be courageous.

Mar 22 2021 Day 50 Deuteronomy 31:1–34:12

 

Then Moses, the servant of the LORD, died there in the land of Moab, at the LORD ’s command.



After all that Moses had done, all he’d tried to do, the conclusion of his life is contained in this one sentence. It sounds like a second grader talking about a dog. And then he died.

Moses had come face to face with God. There’s something about Moses’ life that makes me think he’d have been able to enter the promised land, as opposed to just viewing it from a distance, and dying on that spot. At a minimum, there seems like there should have been more fanfare or story telling about Moses’ death.

I wonder why that is, why I think he should have been more glorified in his death. Maybe it’s because we all will die at some point, and we want to believe our absence will be felt.

And yet. And yet maybe it’s not in death that people should be remembered, but in life. Moses had a full, rich, complicated life that is very well documented in Scripture. The Bible is one of the world-wide best-sellers, so it’s likely a vast majority of humanity knows Moses’ name, if not his story.

It was Moses’ life that was worth celebrating. It was in his life that he came face to face with God. To be clear, Moses wasn’t without blemishes, but he still knew God face to face.

And more than the words of the Book, the life and actions of Moses live on through the stories and lives lived by people of faith throughout the world.

This morning, I’m thinking about a noteworthy life, rather than a noteworthy death.

Mar 21 2021 Day 49 Deuteronomy 26:1–30:20

See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity.



Moses is relaying a whole host of blessings and curses, blessings if the people follow God’s commandments, and curses if they don’t. Cursed be when you come in, and cursed shall you be when you go out. But if you just return to God and follow, the iron yolk will be removed from your neck, and the marauding locusts will disappear. Just choose right.

The accompanying reflection from Frederick Buechner focuses on things we know because we learn them, versus things we know because we just know, or they occur to us. The latter are things we cannot logically work our way through or prove, but we know them nonetheless. Buechner suggests that we can’t rationalize our way to anything about God, but somehow, there are some things we just know. That, he suggests, is a grace-granted revelation.

There’s an interesting relationship between these two notions, between blessings/curses, and learning/revelation, at least that’s my working hypothesis right now.

I understand that we have free will. That our choices to move towards God result in blessings and joy, light and love. I also know that our choices to move away from God have negative consequences, although I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say ‘curses’. But when I make choices that are against what I believe God calls me to do, and who God calls me to be, eventually I’m miserable, or at least unhappy from that choice. If I’m short with a loved one or colleague, or even think ill of someone, I don’t feel good about it, eventually. In theory, I get this.

The reality is more challenging. My sick loved one has a brain disease, no different than a cancerous disease of the cells, or a broken bone. The symptoms result in mean behavior, reckless actions, grandiose thoughts. I do not believe that a loving God would curse them, and now their behavior is attributable to an illness, so that seems patently unfair. But to look at their life and prospects moving forward, it feels like a curse. My woes are insignificant compared to theirs, but I would suggest that my future and prospects are vastly different than I’d planned. Does that mean I’m cursed? Or that I did something that drew God’s wrath? Alternatively, could I do something that would remove that burden from my loved one’s life, and relatedly, from mine? Is this as simple as making better choices? To read this section of Deuteronomy, you’d think so.

But here’s what I know, and can rationalize. That is patently not true. I know that I cannot behave or live my way to my loved one’s health. I can look at people of faith throughout the ages who’ve lived more faith-filled lives, and still had lives and loved ones that looked cursed. Because I know that is true, I also know, logically, that things that look like blessings and curses are not simply the result of a cause/effect relationship with God. This I absolutely know.

The growing revelatory awareness that I have, that I cannot prove, but I know just the same, is that while blessings and curses may be doled out by God, it’s not a causal relationship to my actions. I cannot behave my way to guaranteed blessings, or the removal of curses. Maybe I don’t understand what a blessing and a curse really looks like in my life. But I’m certain that my loved one isn’t cursed because of something they did or didn’t do. Maybe they aren’t cursed at all. Maybe that’s just my language.

God’s blessings and curses are not formulaic. They are not strictly the result of my actions. God’s grace is part of the missing formula. But what I believe is that I will never know. And that’s ok.

Day 48 Deuteronomy 21:1–25:19

If men get into a fight with one another, and the wife of one intervenes to rescue her husband from the grip of his opponent by reaching out and seizing his genitals, you shall cut off her hand; show no pity.


Wait what? This is perhaps the weirdest sentence I’ve come across in Scripture thus far. And while I’m not going to spend much time reflecting on it, I do want to pause to consider the context and purpose of its inclusion in Holy Scripture. I absolutely believe Scripture is inspired by God, and a living Word. I also believe it was written by men at a time when this warning was appropriate. At least in my circle of wives, this is not a common way of resolving disputes between our husbands. I believe my hand is safe for now.

In the midst of this morning’s readings, there is also an admonition that because God is always with the people, they must keep their camp holy. This section, rather than the wifely interventions, is the part that Thomas Merton’s accompanying reflection addresses. Merton writes about solitude as a way to make ourselves holy, a way that we rise above everything that is not God.

He writes, “Solitude is not found so much by looking outside the boundaries of your dwelling, as by staying within. Solitude is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for solitude in the present, you will never find it.” Yes. Yes. Yes.

I needed to hear that so badly, for a host of reasons. I’m embarking on a writing project, requiring more organization and thought than my morning 25 minute prayer and reflection time would allow. Yesterday, I was imagining taking some time to escape somewhere to write. And while I may still do that, I want to be incredibly careful that I’m not seeking a stillness or silence that cannot be found outside me; it needs to start inside me. Instead of fleeing to find stillness and solitude, I commit to trying to create a peaceful solitude at home, by creating a peaceful solitude inside.

Yesterday was a perfect day to want to flee, but also a perfect day to reflect on solitude. My loved one awoke early and started self-medicating well before 7AM. At one point they yelled sitting on the outside porch – full-on yelled, for some reason unknown to me. I went outside suggesting they needed to stop yelling, as it wasn’t even 7:00. Their surly defiant response drew out the ugly in me, and I suggested that I might call the police if they continued to yell and disturb the peace. My intent was to dampen their loudness, but the threat of the police triggered all sorts of drama that continued all day. This was all documented on their social media page, complete with threats to us, and the resurrection of claims of abuse at our hands.

After about an hour, they left the house in their pajamas, stopped for more beer, and took the train downtown, yelling and commenting as they went. Again, this was documented on their social media page. We’ve been blocked from their page, but have friends that watch and report. We called the mental health crisis line, just so they knew in case other calls came in, and also called the police. We didn’t want any altercation downtown to be met with guns drawn.

It was a long day, with reports coming in all day, worrying all day. Luckily I had a good amount of physical labor at work, and mostly didn’t fret. Towards the end of the day, they returned to the house, and closed themselves in their room. Now 24 hours after the start of that crisis, I haven’t seen them, and I’m a little worried about what today will hold. If history predicts, we’ll continue with this sort of crisis until they are deemed sick enough to be detained.

Back to solitude. It is exceedingly difficult to imagine solitude in a house where this drama is percolating. But it’s also critical to find. To find it right here. Despite the drama.

Back to the meddling wives. I think it’s fascinating that the same 5 chapters of Deuteronomy can contain such depth about holiness of space and weirdness about cutting off a wife’s hand. Coming upon these dichotomies, makes me even more convinced that there is great Truth in scripture, but that Truth gets lost when one focuses on proving it’s true or literal.

This morning I’m thinking about the silence, stillness and solitude that I have within, and how I need to practice finding it in my every day. Especially here and now.

Mar 18 Day 47 Deuteronomy 17:1–20:20

When he has taken the throne of his kingdom, he shall have a copy of this law written for him in the presence of the Levitical priests. It shall remain with him and he shall read in it all the days of his life, so that he may learn to fear the LORD his God, diligently observing all the words of this law and these statutes, 

The Law. It’s an interesting thing. It can be used, and frequently is, as a regulator or constrainer on behavior. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Can’t you read the sign?? Or like parents often feel, when they are stuck in the boundary-maker and boundary-keeper role, with toddlers or teens. That’s how I frequently approach these Hebrew Scriptures. They contain a lot of rules and laws that constrain and regulate the behavior of the people.

But this morning’s reflection by N.T. Wright offers another perspective. He agrees that the Law is used to regulate or constrain. But he continues that it is also used to frame and inspire.

To the people of Israel, to recite Law throughout their lives would help ground them in who they are, in where they’ve been, and what they’ve been through. Families pass on important parts of the familial narrative through stories to the next generation. Remember. This is who you are. This is who your people are. This rooting is most important when things are hard, hard for a child or a culture. The people of Israel needed the Law to remind them who they are.

Personally, I don’t have a lot of generational stories, but I have plenty from my life and my kids’ early life. And these stories or laws are passed on. While some of them are in the form of a story, there’s generally a larger Truth behind the story, that helps ground everyone.

Law can also inspire. These are laws that may sound more like affirmations, or statement of intent. In my faith world, sometimes I feel this when I recite ancient creeds or covenants. Sometimes the words don’t necessarily feel genuine in today’s reading, but there’s a sense that it’s an aspiration, or that it may be true tomorrow.

I liken this aspect of laws to the modern-day concept of personal affirmations. I am strong. I will exude love. These statements are sometimes true, and sometimes an intent of what can or should be. God sought for the people of Israel to have these laws on their heart and lips at all times because sometimes the statement was true, and sometimes it was an intent of what could or should be.

We adopted a six year old girl from the foster care system nearly 20 years ago. She’d lived through more experiences, trauma, and placements than anyone should. I’d developed a three-point bedtime statement, that she can, to this day, recite. You are loved. You are safe. You are not going anywhere else. We repeated these in good times, and in bad, and to begin with, they were just words. But they were words she could repeat, and hope to be true.

Before this morning, I hadn’t thought of the early Law as this sort of future-framing vision. Yes, God needed to corral the wayward people with regulations. But that’s not why the people were to remember. It was to give them a vision of the people they were destined to be, and to give us a vision of the people we are destined to be. Love the Lord your God with your whole heart, soul and might. That’s a goal and a promise, more than a regulation.

Mar 17 Day 46 Deuteronomy 13:1–16:22

The LORD your God you shall follow, him alone you shall fear, his commandments you shall keep, his voice you shall obey, him you shall serve, and to him you shall hold fast.

This part of scripture contains lots of words we mortals don’t like to hear – follow, fear, commandment, obey, serve. On first reading, this sounds like everything we try to avoid, at least when it comes to our rugged individualistic desires. You are not the boss of me.

But the accompanying reflection from Bernard of Clairvaux address how these traits, while they may be unpalatable based on human desires, when we turn towards God, these are traits we actually seek. In our desire to be autonomous and self-determining, we follow what we want, we pursue what we want, we obey when we want, we serve when we want. And in the end of all that, of all that we want, we have not obtained what our heart and soul really desire. Maybe we have more money, or prestige, more power. But as Clairvaux writes, “For by the law of human desire that causes man to hunger more for the things he does not have than for the things he has, and to spurn what he has for the sake of things he does not possess, soon he has obtained and cast aside everything in heaven and on earth”. The pursuit of our earthly desires leaves us wanting, wanting the one thing that created things cannot be – the creator.

Clairvaux continues, “I do not doubt that he will rush toward the only thing he now lacks—the God of all”. If that is true, and I believe it is, why would we spend our lives pursuing things, experiences, power wealth, autonomy, when it will not satisfy that deep craving for God? Regardless of how much we run away from God, or pursue things that are not God, we will eventually seek the One who made us and all we’ve been pursuing.

The reflection concludes with a sentence I want to rest in for a long time. “[F]or just as there is no rest this side of heaven, so on the other side nothing can disturb his rest.” Yes! In our maniacal pursuit of all things worldly, we cannot find rest on this side of heaven.

In this light, the words like follow, fear, command, and obey have more appeal to me. If rest can be found on the other side, why wouldn’t I at least try to pursue heavenly things now? Maybe I can get a taste of that rest, that resting in God, if I were to stop insisting that I’m my master, that I can pursue whatever I want. Why wouldn’t I obey the commandment to rest? Why wouldn’t I only follow God, rather than the all-mighty cultural prize of power, prestige, money?

This morning, I’m thinking about how there is unexpected freedom in following and obeying God. If I can step away from the race way from God, and instead hold fast to God, I believe I can find bits of peace this side of heaven. Of course, the next time the runners round the corner and pass my spot in the stands, I might again join that race. But maybe not every time they pass.

Mar 16 2021 Day 45 Deuteronomy 9:1–12:32

[W]hat does the L ORD your God require of you? Only to fear the L ORD your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the L ORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and to keep the commandments of the L ORD your God and his decrees that I am commanding you today, for your own well-being.

Moses is continuing his farewell tour. Today he’s recapped the people’s journey – wandering, getting ten commandments, sinning, being the object of God’s wrath, more wandering, and finally they’re about to cross into the promised land. This fragment for reflection is similar to the fragment from yesterday, loving God with our whole heart and soul and might, because it’s basically a recap of yesterday’s reading.

Today’s reflection is from Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, a modern translation of scripture. His reflection focuses on what he recommends as the five things we must do to live a spiritual life. First, discover what scripture says about the spiritual life, and immerse yourself in that. Next, shun spirituality that doesn’t require commitment. Then embrace friends of faith wherever you find them. Next, return to your own home and explore further your own tradition. Finally, look for wise guides and leaders.

He argues that our Christian tradition with 4,000 years of history and wisdom has more to teach us than modern day spiritual gurus.

I am grateful for his simple roadmap of how to grow in spirituality. I especially appreciate the idea that becoming more spiritual, or at least feeling like I am requires commitment. Reading a book about spirituality doesn’t do nearly as much for me as just the daily slog through the bible, and sometimes it definitely feels like a slog. And while some newer spirituality gurus may have something that strikes a chord with me, it is only in returning to my roots that I can put it in context and grow.

I’ve been a part of groups of people of faith from various traditions. And I deeply appreciate their wisdom, and insight. Their ways don’t make me want to abandon my ways, but rather makes me want to double-down on my ways. My roots are deep, and strong. My ways and my roots aren’t the only way. But they are my way. To know that means I won’t be tempted to try every flavor of spirituality, only to create a shallow, ineffective root system.

Today, I’m also struck by the very different way my writing went, compared to yesterday, when the scripture itself was largely the same. What differed was the accompanying reflection. Both reflections point to and rely on the underlying scripture, and I’m intrigued that in two days, I’ve gone in two very different directions. This to me speaks of the depth of scripture. We can read it in different seasons of our life and get different messages from it. Or even on different days.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I might widen my network of wise spiritual perspectives, so that I can hear and reflect on their path, and strengthen mine at the same time.

Mar 15 Day 44 Deuteronomy 5:1–8:20

You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.



I’ve heard this bit of scripture a lot. And today, reading it along with the accompanying reflection from Mother Theresa, it’s new. In the reflection, she says that God will not command something impossible, and since we get our love from God, it is a ‘fruit that is in season at all times and within the reason of every hand’. She suggests that anyone can access this unending resource through meditation, prayer, sacrifice, and by an intense inner life. Yes.

Regardless of what’s going on in my home, community, country or world, when I stop and reflect, pray, serve, or rest, I am again filled with a sense of love and a desire to serve in my home, community, country or world. Of course the problem is that I don’t always stop to do these soul-feeding things. After all, I’m too busy to stop. I’m too stressed to pray, or reflect. I’m too sad to serve. These feelings are very real and frequently overcome my deep knowledge that to stop would be to be refreshed. I’m not sure what the secret is to remember that the pause is critical and will absolutely reset my “I’m too . . . .” mind. Maybe it’s as simple as just listening to myself, and whenever I think “I’m too. . . “ that’s a trigger to stop. Maybe it’s just attending to my breath for a few minutes, or reciting a prayer, or taking a silent walk.

In addition to these reflections, Mother Theresa also says that it’s not what we do, or how much we do, but how much love we put in to what we do. It’s the love that accompanies our actions that feeds us, and feeds the recipients of our service and gifts. That’s why, she argues, people who are unable to give or receive love are the poorest of the poor, regardless of their monetary wealth.

This reminds me of a funny story, but one that has some truth in it, especially given Mother Theresa’s thoughts about love and gifts.

My husband had signed up to donate a cherry pie for a charity auction at his office. The night before the auction, as our nine year old daughter getting ready for bed, she remembered the pie, because she was already a fantastic and curious baker. My husband had forgotten, and not planned his evening around making a pie. So he pulled the ingredients out in haste and in frustration, grousing and grumbling as he did. Finally, the pie went in oven. Our daughter looked at my husband and with absolute conviction and seriousness, she said “No one will buy that pie. That pie was made with hate.” I was dumbstruck at her wisdom, even back then.

Of course someone did buy the pie, but she was on to something, and my husband and I both knew it. Love is transmitted in the actions and presents and service shared. Likewise, a lack of love is transmitted too.

This morning, I want to be sure that my actions and service and comments and being is steeped in love, so that love continues on. That’s the way I can love God with my whole heart, soul and might.

Mar 14 Day 43 Deuteronomy 1:1–4:49 

See, just as the LORD my God has charged me, I now teach you statutes and ordinances for you to observe in the land that you are about to enter and occupy.

This is Moses’ farewell tour. He’s reminding the people of their journey, their failings, their God, God’s rules, and God’s mercy. The accompanying reflection is from Frederick Buechner, and contemplates justice and mercy. He writes that justice does not preclude mercy; justice makes mercy possible. Justice, he writes is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry.

Personally, I’ve been much better at the justice side of the equation, and I think finally I’m practicing more mercy. I’m a great rule follower, a great rule enforcer. And I will never not be. Rules are important. And I’m married to a man who has always been better at mercy, than justice. The world is always better, in his mind, when rule breakers are given a hug, rather than a consequence. Together, we’re learning that both are needed.

In a small win-win, we learned that. We were talking about money provided to our loved one. I was suggesting that at the grocery store, they should be required to spend their ‘allowance’ on items that they wanted, items that we wouldn’t otherwise be buying. My husband, being the one who actually accompanies them to the store, would rather just purchase everything requested, so as to be nice, and avoid the ensuing fight. If we’ve had this discussion once, we’ve had it dozens of times, most recently two days ago.

But where before we’d conclude with being unable to resolve anything, this time we did. It turns out that we’ve never had a conversation with our loved one about a budget, and I feel the need to impose one at every outing. Likewise, without an agreed upon budget, my husband doesn’t understand why we wouldn’t purchase everything requested. That impasse wasn’t new. The new part was the recognition that the budget would help us both.

I, in my wheelhouse of justice, would feel like we’d created the structure or the rules. He, who’s not very good at rule making or following, would have a structure. Conversely, with the structure in place, I would be much more able and eager to show mercy. To make an exception to the budget for mercy’s sake. He, in his wheelhouse of mercy, would be able to show mercy because there was the structure of the budget. Mercy without any justice is not mercy. It’s anarchy, or pandemonium. Justice without mercery isn’t justice. It’s autocratic, irrelevant rule-making. We will continue to disagree on many things. And it feels like we’re increasingly aware that my strengths are needed to help him shine. And his strengths are needed to make me shine. This morning, I’m thinking about how justice and mercy are both needed because without one, you cannot have the other.

Day 42 Numbers 32:1–36:13

Truth be told, I’m. not inspired by this morning’s Numbers reading, and I’m feeling pressed to get on with a 4 hour zoom meeting on this, the first beautiful Saturday of the year. Ugh. Numbers talks about God being in the people’s midst, and therefore the people should not defile the land. Stewardship. Yes. 

And here’s what I’m actually thinking about today. In my work and vocation world, I’m on the board of the national association for Episcopal deacons, and we have a board meeting today. Like many organizations, it started as a good idea, “hey we should gather and compare notes”. Now, it’s non-profit that actually has membership, a board and limited staff. Spending my life in bureaucracies, I actually enjoy the challenge of creating meaningful ones, bureaucracies that make order of procedural chaos. And I definitely support the cause of supporting deacons. So although it’s a four hour zoom meeting on a beautiful Saturday, I’m looking forward to the meeting.

While I’m in my meeting, my husband will be painting our newly completed second floor porch. It’s covered, but otherwise open to the elements. It’s big enough that we’ll be sleeping out there, once we finish the paint. We built this to provide us a own personal Xanadu, separate from the other outside spaces of the house. It took longer and cost more than we’d anticipated, and it’s beautiful, and it’s one of those expenses that I already know was worth it. Perhaps tonight we’ll have a little night cap out there.

We need our personal retreat space because life in our home is sometimes complicated. Our sick loved one is increasingly symptomatic. Unfortunately, when they stop taking medicine, one of the first symptoms to return is something called anasognosia, which is an absolute unawareness of the illness or symptoms. When one believes one is healthy, why would you need to take seriously strong medicine. They’re not sick, after all. And so the speed of the decompensation increases, and feeds itself.

My husband and I have been through at least three of these cycles, and are beginning to recognize patterns. When returning from the hospital, there’s a period of gratitude and grace and integration with the family. After some time, the integration or willingness to spend time with us decreases. Then unpleasantness rears its ugly head, in mean comments. We’re leaving that phase and entering the next phase which is increased isolation and lack of communication. If past cycles are to be repeated, what comes next is a crisis of some kind that eventually results in hospitalization.

So we are in the withdrawn, isolated, calm before the storm. One of the hard parts about this time, is that they are so disorganized in their thinking that it’s impossible to do a course correction now. We just watch, and try to keep them safe during this next crisis. It’s heartbreaking for us, although I don’t really know what they’re thinking.

And so, in this impotent waiting game, we will enjoy the beautiful Saturday weather, paint a little, and then finish our day reveling in our own company in our own personal Xanadu. To be clear, my optimism isn’t borne out of disregarding or ignoring the problems. It’s a defiant commitment to enjoy today, not in spite of the troubles, but precisely because of the troubles.

Mar 11 2021 Day 41  Numbers 26:1–31:54

The Lord said to Moses, “Go up this mountain of the Abarim range, and see the land that I have given to the Israelites. When you have seen it, you also shall be gathered to your people, as your brother Aaron was”

God is telling Moses that after all his efforts, his facing Pharoah, the plagues, the crossing the Red Sea, the years in the wilderness, the appealing to God on behalf of the whiny Israelites – after all of that, he will die before he enters the promised land. That must have felt like a huge slap in the face, or failure. If anyone deserved to enter the promised land, I can imagine Moses felt like he did. I sure would. What an epic fail. And yet, he persisted.

This morning’s reflection is written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his daughter, a priest Mpho Tutu, in the wonderful book, Made for Goodness. In it, they reflect on failure as a blessing. Failure as the point when we can no longer rely on our illusion of self-made person, of self-reliance, of good fortune, of the right kind of prayers. We live in and build up a false construct of goodness, of why good things happen. And when that finally comes crumbling down, we realize we were not to be credited with all things good, and that we cannot fix things. As the Tutus write, “When pride in our skill or good fortune has taken hold of us, failure may knock us to our knees and bring us to our senses”. Yes. Yes. Yes.

No matter how efficient, smart, effective, or wise I am, I cannot solve my current dilemmas. My loved one will remail sick their whole life, and I cannot do anything about it. While I don’t feel like I did something to cause their illness, it is definitely humbling to realize I can’t do anything to fix them. I am, in fact brought to my knees.

Acknowledging that, however is a long way from facing failure with joy. I understand failure returns a bit of humility and acknowledgment that I, on my own, cannot put everything right. And I still don’t like failure. I don’t like that sense when it feels like my carefully constructed towers are toppling, and I reach out to stop them, but cannot.

This morning, I’m thinking about the towers I’m building, and anticipating the day when they topple. I’m wondering if there’s any way to stop the building, before the super-tall tower is brought low. I’m wondering about the things that are currently or about to topple, and how I can use that as an opportunity to create space for God to enter the equation.

Mar 10 2021 Day 41 Numbers 22:1–25:18

[S]peak only what I tell you to speak.

God has sent Balaam to meet with Balak, who wanted Balaam to curse Balak’s enemies. Balaam, a God fearing, God loving man did not want to go. God directed him to go, but to only say what God told him to say.

Oh that my world was so simple. If God actually spoke to me, and told me precisely what to do, and precisely what to say, wouldn’t things be easier? I’d have a fighting chance of actually doing what God wanted. Even when I know there is treachery ahead, I struggle with hearing and knowing what I’m to do or say.

Today, for example. I serve as representative payee for my loved one, meaning I receive their disability checks and use it for their care. It does not fully cover the cost of food, rent, medicine or other expenses, but still we provide some money for their discretionary spending. To increase the amount they get at any time, they’ve requested to get their ‘allowance’ twice a month. With very little restraint, their money is exhausted before the next allotment is made.

Today, the next allotment arrives, and my loved one has been up since 4:45AM, awaiting the money. The money is used for things that they use for self-medication, alcohol, cigarettes, marijuana. I cannot know how much genuinely makes them feel better versus the typical problems with substance abuse. But I can say that medical experts say that all three substances do allay some of the symptoms.

With one exception, our loved one is happier and calmer with these substances. Nicotine and marijuana can reduce anxiety and insomnia, and we all know the benefits of a glass of wine! Marijuana is the exception. Although it does improve a few symptoms, it also is a psychotic, something that people on anti-psychotics are not encouraged to take. Sometimes it causes increased paranoia and delusions, two symptoms my loved one doesn’t recognize, so in their mind, it’s a miracle drug.

So our loved one awaits their money today. That means that until the money arrives and eventually the substances are consumed, our loved one is testy. Once the substances arrive, it’s likely to be a day of excess, so who knows what this afternoon or evening will hold?

Meanwhile, I’m working from home again, because of my loved one’s inability or unwillingness to consistently wear a mask in public. I do not want to inadvertently bring the virus into my office, and I have no ability to reduce my risk at home.

So we’re both home today and for all the days in the near future. It’s a powder keg, as I know I cannot say a single thing without igniting their anxiety or fury or frustration. And yet, there are things I sometimes feel compelled to say. Oh, that God would be clear enough to tell me precisely what to say or not.

This morning, I’m thinking that in my current situation, I need to keep my mouth shut, unless God is a clear as God was to Balaam, telling me precisely what to say.

Mar 9 2021 Day 40 Numbers 19:1–21:35

But the LORD said to Moses and Aaron, “Because you did not trust in me, to show my holiness before the eyes of the Israelites, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them.”

Moses and Aaron have been told that they will not be able to go into the land God has given them because of their distrust in God. This is huge for me. It highlights the distinction between forgiving and forgetting, between the sinner and the sin. God will always forgive, always show mercy. God, however, will also not forget the sin. God’s forgiveness does not mean the consequences of sin are wiped away. Just like Aaron and Moses, sometimes the sin has consequences, even though God loves and forgives us always.

In the Lord’s Prayer, we pray that God forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. Since our forgiveness is to be like God’s forgiveness, our forgiveness does not equate to forgetting, any more than God forgets the sins. God forgives, and still there may be consequences of our sin. Likewise, we are asked to forgive, and there may still be consequences of the sin. Forgiveness does not mean that we need to wipe away consequences of those whom we are asked to forgive. Forgiveness, perhaps means that we are genuinely able to wish the sinner well, to pray for them. In the world, this may look like my ability to genuinely pray for those who’ve wronged me, or for leaders who I believe have harmed those they’re leading. Pray for those people with a genuine and deep desire that God’s love is shown to them, and that they prosper in God’s kingdom.

On a personal level, this is hard. For victims of abuse, forgiveness may look like praying for God’s love on the abuser, and that may take a long time to achieve. In my world, my sick loved one says and does things that are hurtful. Forgiveness in my home may look like genuinely praying for their well being, despite the hurt. But I am not asked to forget.

There are times when I cannot provide the support or accommodations requested by my loved one, because I’m still stinging from a hurt. I know it’s the illness. I know that deep down, they love me. And deep down, I genuinely forgive their behavior, and pray for the best. And still sometimes there is a consequence for the hurt, at least while it still stings. Over time, perhaps the sting fades, and I do arrive at a place of forgive and forget. But forgiveness does not demand forgetting; rather forgetting is a consequence of living in a place of forgiveness, and over time the sting of the sin fades and we forget. This morning, I’m thinking about forgiving. . . . . . . then maybe forgetting. But these two are not concurrent, nor is forgetting a requirement. If I start with forgiveness, I can be at peace, and although there may be consequences of the sin, I may also get to the peaceful place of forgetting too.

Mar 8 2021 Day 39 Numbers 15:1–18:32

They assembled against Moses and against Aaron, and said to them, “You have gone too far! 

Moses has been leading the people through the desert, and all of a sudden he has an uprising on his hands, and not just any uprising, an uprising from the very people God has held apart as the holy men, the descendants of Levi. They claim that Moses is holding himself above everyone else, Moses who previously was referred to as the most humble man on earth. Moses takes this to God, and God deals handily with the insurgents, with the earth swallowing them up alive.

Why was Moses upset? Why were the insurgents upset? Was it God-centered, or humanity centered? I can imagine the insurgents being upset because Moses had been separated, even more than they had. Perhaps there was some envy on their part, something along the lines of ‘you’re not the boss of me’.

If Moses was really the humblest man, than we have to assume he wasn’t threatened that his specialness was being challenged. A humble person wouldn’t necessarily want or recognize their specialness. But maybe Moses was challenged because he had a huge task in leading the people to the promised land, and his ability to accomplish God’s job for him was being challenged. His efficacy as a leader was being threatened. He might fail, and look bad. These are the man-centered reasons that I can imagine this uprising occurred, and was snuffed out.

From what we know about Moses, it’s more likely that Moses was genuinely concerned that God’s will was threatened, regardless of Moses’ role. Moses brought his concern to God, because as he understood God, this is what God wanted him to do. This I can believe.

But giving the insurgents the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they genuinely felt that God was not calling them to wander, that God was asking them to take the group in a different direction. As a result they challenged the religious authorities, based on their understanding of God’s will.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and this same insurgency story is played out in the man of Jesus of Nazareth. He challenged the religious authorities at the time, led an insurrection of sorts, and as a result was killed.

I don’t draw parallels to suggest that Jesus was no different than the folks challenging Moses. But from a human standpoint, how were observers of either skirmish to tell the difference between God’s side versus man’s?

More than an historic or theoretical debate, how do we tell today who’s right, when humans are fighting and all claiming to be doing God’s will? Whether it’s battles in the Middle East, political or social divides, or racial riots? Are the insurgents going to be swallowed up by the earth, or are they really moving the world back towards God’s will?

I don’t think we can tell, because people who are beloved children of God and who also deeply love God, disagree, sometimes violently. Maybe it’s prayer. And focusing on the big two. Love God. Love your neighbor. Personally, I will always err on the side of ‘why can’t we all just get along’, rather than ‘if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention’. But when is outrage warranted? When is the uprising necessary?

This morning, I’m thinking about my predisposition to try to have everyone just get along and stop fighting, and wondering if I’d recognize the uprising is imperative.

Mar 7 2021 Day 37 Numbers 11:1–14:45 Day 38 

Now the man Moses was very humble, more so than anyone else on the face of the earth.



This is an interesting tidbit about Moses, something I’d never have figured from my image of the fiery Charlton Heston Moses. But apparently, Moses was more humble than anyone on the face of the earth.

Humility is an interesting trait. At its purest, it’s innocence, and a deep awareness of how little I know or how little I can do, in the absence of God. I’m reminded of toddlers, when they get to that shy stage. Parents are quick to excuse the child hiding behind their leg, as if it’s just an act. If you’d only just seen this child jumping and joyfully yelling on the bed, you’d know this shyness is a ruse. But maybe it’s really a genuine humility. In the safety and isolation of home, a child grows beyond his small body; he can occupy more space in the world because of the safety afforded by love and care. But when that boy suddenly realizes there are people and situations outside the safety of that home, he realizes how small he is, and how little he knows. Thinking about it, I’d consider this toddler shyness more genuine than any humility I may have.

In many circumstances, I’ve developed a humble persona. But it’s sometimes more about wanting to appear great, and knowing I cannot. Bowling, for instance. I won’t bowl, because I can’t predictably do it well. I talk a good game, and appear humble. But it’s really a false humility, based on my deep desire to only show myself as strong. Therefore, I refuse. That’s not true humility. That’s egotism, cloaked in humility.

Talking about God is a circumstance where I genuinely feel humble. I didn’t go to seminary. I don’t have an advanced degree. I don’t claim to know any empirical truth. In circumstances with others, when asked to discuss and debate God, or God’s word, I feel genuinely humble.

It’s not that I don’t have thoughts about God; obviously, I do and I write frequently about it. But it’s what God means to me, in my heart, hopefully infused and informed by God’s Spirit. Right or wrong, I do have a sense of my voice. But put that voice up against others, and I do feel humble. I’m not interested in an argument, or even to defend my position. But I am interested in sharing it.

The reflection for this morning asks whether we can ever truly know we’re humble, or can I be humble and be aware of that humbleness at the same time. I think in certain circumstances we can. It’s when we recognize the vastness of God, the love of God, the mercy of God, and consider myself against that vastness.

False humility is actually all centered on me. I recognize that I’m not excellent at something, and being falsely humble simply makes me feel bare, alone and inadequate. It’s about me and my competency and has nothing to do with God. God’s not even in my mind.

But unlike false humility, true humility can actually result in comfort. Like the toddler who burrows their face in their mother’s shoulder, true humility makes me seek the comfort of the love and mercy of God. True humility is God-centered, and I’m comforted when I acknowledge that, and return to God’s embrace. This morning, I’m thinking about how to recognize the false humility that creeps into my world, and compare that with the toddler, clinging to my leg.

Mar 6 2021 Day 36  Numbers 8:1–10:36

“Although we are unclean through touching a corpse, why must we be kept from presenting the LORD’s offering at its appointed time among the Israelites?”



Moses and the whole gang are wandering with the ark of the covenant. We hear an account of how they keep the Passover while on their journey. Previously, on our walk through the Bible, we heard of all the ways someone would be deemed unclean, discharge from the body, hanging out with someone with discharge, touching a corpse. There was a very clear list of ways to become unclean.

Some people come to Moses who’ve been deemed unclean because they’d touched a corpse, and ask how come they couldn’t also keep the Passover, or make an offering to God. Hmm. Moses isn’t sure, so he returns to God to ask. God’s response is that yes, they can. I’m not entirely sure if this means they’re no longer ritually unclean, but it does indicate a way for redemption and restoration.

What do I think of being restored? Is it a perpetual ‘get out of jail free’ card? Do I need to be genuinely remorseful in order for restoration to stick? How bad do I need to be to need redemption?

I don’t generally think about remorse, restoration or redemption. I don’t spend my days wondering if that action was a sin, or this thought. I try to live a good life, and I build in times in my day to take stock of the day. In addition to the public confession that’s contained in our morning prayer tradition, I’m slowly adding the Ignatian Examen into my day.

The Examen is a great way for me to take stock of my day. In my paraphrased way, it is about a 15 minute check in, ideally done at mid-day and in the evening. I slip it in as I turn off the light at bedtime.

First, I thank God for the blessings of the day. This is a really high level note of gratitude for the things that first stick out when I reflect on the day. This alone is a great way to connect and reflect on the day.

The second step is to invite the Holy Spirit into my presence and awareness. This step is included because it’s only with God’s assistance that the subsequent step is meaningful and deep. Holy Spirit, be with me as I look at the nitty-gritty of my day.

Third, I run down the whole day in more detail. What happened, hour by hour, or block by block, that brought me closer to God, brought light into my life or someone else’s? Similarly, what happened that took me further from God, where my thoughts, words and deeds shaded God’s light from me or someone else? This is not the time to be hesitant. It’s like one of the AA twelve steps, we need to make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves, at least since our last Examen.

Next is the stage where all of this is brought to God. God, this is what I’ve done, both light-giving and not. Forgive me for the unintended slights, or the intentional ones. And thank you for the joy the lovely moments give me.

Finally, I set my eyes on the next day. How is it I’m going to do more of the light-giving, and less of the not so light giving tomorrow. As I’ve reflected before, I cannot hope to change behavior if I’m not aware of it.

This Examen is ancient, and I find it useful. It plays to my strengths of being a person who understands the physical world and relate more to things I can touch, taste, see and hear. By working my way through the Examen, I see God in the little moments of every day, because God is, in fact, in the little moments of every day.  If you're remotely interested, look up the Examen, as I'm no expert.

To me, being redeemed and restored is always there, if I ask. And because I do this Examen after I turn out the lights, sometimes I drift off to sleep before getting to that part of the prayer. But I’m sure God hears my heart, even when I don’t know it.

Mar 5 2021 Day 35 Numbers 5:1–7:89

The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face towards you, and give you peace.



This is a blessing I’ve heard for years in church settings. It’s frequently accompanied by a priest raising his hand towards the congregation, and offering the sign of the cross, as the blessing is offered. It’s been nice, but not spectacular.

Today, reading this section of Scripture, I’m reminded that these words are recorded in the book of Numbers, amongst other really boring bits. Finding it felt like coming upon a beautiful perfect rock on the beach, after walking for miles amongst boring, monochromatic pebbles. I was both surprised to find this pearl and surprised that it had previously grown old to my ears.

Clearly, I’m not a biblical scholar, or I would have known the source of this blessing. I’ve never claimed to be one. I’m not remorseful in any way about that, but it is nice to spend a year reading through the Bible to place all of these pearls in their respective shells, or at least know which shells they came from.

Clearly one cannot do the same thing for 56 years without it eventually feeling old, whether it’s hearing the same blessing, or kissing your spouse good night. How is it that we keep things new, or at least continue to marvel at the sometimes mundane things in our lives that are actually spectacular?

This Blessing actually provides insight for what I need. There’s a contemporary Christian song originally made famous by Kari Jobe called The Blessing. During these months of the pandemic, The Blessing has been recorded throughout the world in living rooms and hallways, with socially distanced symphonic accompaniment, in Hebrew, in New Zealand and by children.

The first time I heard the song was in a video made as an ode to New York, in response to the social injustice of the summer, and the crushing impact of COVID. One hundred churches coordinated to record and the parts were compiled beautifully. As the video states in response to all of this turmoil, “But the Church rose up united to lament, listen, learn and lead in this crisis”. The music, the images, the message, it made me weep. I sent the video to my son who normally lives in Manhattan but was in England trying to go to college while quarantined. He wept too.

I’d seen images of NY. I’d seen choirs singing during the pandemic. I’d heard the words of this blessing. But put together in this new way, in this new context, it was brand new and to me overwhelming.

So today, coming upon the old and tired words, they were infused with new images, new meanings, and a new sense of weight.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I need to occasionally break out of my norms, to see things in a new light. I will likely always be a liturgical worshipper, but I love contemporary Christian music, and sing loudly, in the car and in my office. Each one can make the other new, and richer, just by mixing things up. Whenever things are feeling old and tired, particularly scripture or spiritual practices, I need to remember that the things just need to be looked at from a different perspective, a different tradition, a different background. The Lord bless you and keep you.

Mar 4 2021 Day 34 Numbers 1:1–4:49

They registered themselves in their clans by their ancestral houses, according to the number of names from twenty years old and upward, individually, as the Lord commanded Moses.

So that’s why it’s called Numbers! The beginning of this book of the Bible is a census of all of the descendants of Jacob, his twelve sons and all of their sons. Each son’s lineage is counted and there’s a very precise number for each clan. The tribe of Gad – 45,650. The descendants of Asher – 41,500. And so on. All, excluding the clan of Levi, totaled 603,550. Levi’s descendants were held apart to be priests, and counted separately.

As I was reading this, I was struck by the fact that from one person, the descendants would number in the tens of thousands. Of course mathematically that’s true, but how far would I have to go back to find the ancestor that created 43,000 male descendants? And what of all of 43,000 relatives that we could all trace to our predecessor? Would I feel like they were my clan? Would I feel any kinship to them?

I’ve dabbled with some genealogy, and even as recent as my grandparents and their siblings, I have distant cousins I didn’t know I had, never met, and wouldn’t necessarily know what to talk about even if we did all gather. How much further back would this have to go to number 43,000? How many countries, languages, people and nations would that include?

And what if this genealogy is about more than biology? What about my clan of Christians? Do I feel any sense of ownership with the community of Christ followers? Should I?

There is such a great diversity in the Christian family? Liturgical, evangelical, conservative, liberal. And that’s just within my faith tradition of The Episcopal Church! Different denominations, nondenominational, Sunday sabbath worshippers, Saturday sabbath worshippers. The differences are seemingly endless. And they really matter to the people following that tradition. Paraphrasing a quote from John Spong, God is not Episcopalian, conservative, liberal. God is God. All of those are human systems which we’ve created to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition, but I don’t think my tradition defines God. It only points me to God.

Perhaps all of the denominations and different ways of worshipping and understanding God are constructs we need because we – the human family - are so vastly different. Our differing ways of understanding God help us by playing to our differing strengths, bolstering our differing weaknesses. But they shouldn’t be seen as divisions. Maybe they’re more like different languages.

This morning, I’m thinking about the vast differences between the human family, and the resulting differences between the different ways people worship and understand God. Today, I want to remember it’s the same God, and we are, in fact, a part of the same family

Mar 3 2021 Day 33 Leviticus 24:1–27:34

If you continue hostile to me, I will be hostile to you. Homes in walled cities are owned in perpetuity, but homes in villages must be released after 49 years. The sacrifice price of a male is 60 shekels of silver, a woman, 30. I must remember that this is all in context. And try to find what was being said by God’s people back in those times. And Leviticus is rich with things to wrestle with, like these.

I do like the idea of the jubilee year, where slaves are released, loans are forgiven, private ownership wiped out (except in walled cities). It feels like the opportunity to reset, a mulligan of sorts. Not only an opportunity to reset, but also an acknowledgement that it all belongs to God, and although 49 years of circumstances can create great disparities, they are disparities we create and we perceive, not God. I’m not sure how a jubilee year would work in the 21st century, but there’s something to this notion, I think. Whether it’s developing country debt, or excessive private property ownership, or modern day slavery, we should figure out how to pause and start over.

I had a colleague who argued that private property ownership plus the uglier side of capitalism were two forces that were creating and exacerbating the problem of people not having homes. I have never met a homeless person who was not suffering from either mental illness or a substance dependence, both of which society has deemed as illness, something that needs to be helped and cured. Granted, some of the substance abuse started as bad choices, but at some point, those choices are moot, and the person is left with no choice but to feed an ugly insidious habit. If rehab is funded by insurance for the haves, society has determined it’s worth treating. It’s unconscionable to blame the person for an addiction of the have-nots, and treat the addiction of the haves, as if one is to blame and the other is not.

While I didn’t always agree with my colleague, the notion that God’s earth has been partitioned off, lines drawn, and deeds written that doesn’t provide a place for God’s people doesn’t make sense. That, in itself, is like a cosmic, evil game of musical chairs, where there never were enough chairs, and the slow kids never had a chance.

Throw in capitalism, and it’s a rotten system. If property is a tool to make money, those chairless kids don’t have a chance. There’s no money to be made building more chairs. There’s no money to be made building housing on someone else’s possible revenue generating land, for people dealing with illness. They certainly can’t pay. So the market system continues to draw lines and write deeds for bigger pieces of land, more profit, and effectively taking away more chairs.

Non-profits try to make up the difference, acknowledging that they are not in the business of profit. But still someone needs to build the chairs, buy the land, provide the services. It’s no wonder that some of the most capitalistic wealthy countries and cities are also home to the most homeless.

To be clear, I own a home and hope it will appreciate in value. But this is just one example where there is something to be learned from Leviticus. It’s not fair to read it as a rulebook, but dismissing it out of hand seems to be throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

This morning, I’m thinking about musical chairs, about the absurdity of a system that lays blame at the slow kids who don’t make to an empty chair when there weren’t enough chairs to begin with.