You Can Make a Difference

Genesis 18:22-33: So the men turned from there and went toward Sodom, while Abraham remained standing before the Lord. Then Abraham came near and said, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked? Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city; will you then sweep away the place and not forgive it for the fifty righteous who are in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?”  And the Lord said, “If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I will forgive the whole place for their sake.” Abraham answered, “Let me take it upon myself to speak to my lord, I who am but dust and ashes.  Suppose five of the fifty righteous are lacking? Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five?” And he said, “I will not destroy it if I find forty-five there.”  Again he spoke to him, “Suppose forty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of forty I will not do it.”  Then he said, “Oh, do not let my lord be angry if I speak. Suppose thirty are found there.” He answered, “I will not do it, if I find thirty there.”  He said, “Let me take it upon myself to speak to my lord. Suppose twenty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of twenty I will not destroy it.” Then he said, “Oh, do not let my lord be angry if I speak just once more. Suppose ten are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of ten I will not destroy it.” And the Lord went his way, when he had finished speaking to Abraham, and Abraham returned to his place.”

In these days when it feels so hopeless to to make a difference this story about the threatened destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah speaks to us about the power of each good life. Abraham bravely negotiates with God to try and spare whatever righteous people there may be in these two cities.

Disclaimer: I do not believe the God of grace I know punishes evil by inflicting destruction on individuals or whole cities, although there are times I wish it were so (as long I’m not the guilty party, of course). But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some deeper truth in the story.

For example, what if there were a few brave people had stood up to President George W. Bush in 2003 and demanded proof of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq before committing our troops to a long deadly war? Or what if a handful of founding fathers had stood firm against slavery in 1787 instead of kicking the can down the road to the deadliest war in our history 75 years later?

One child siding with another who is being bullied can stop the cruelty, and even if not both the victim and the protector feel the priceless solidarity of friendship. One or two men refusing to laugh at a sexiest or racist joke, or go along with an unethical business practice can empower others to do the same.

Those who have read Genesis know the unfortunate fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. Apparently Abraham couldn’t find even 10 righteous men, and the two cities were destroyed.

As an aside, I can’t pass on from this story about Sodom and Gomorrah without pointing out a serious misuse of this text which in some circles is used as a condemnation of homosexuality. That charge is not justified by the text and is clarified later in Ezekiel 16:49 where we find: “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease but did not aid the poor and needy.” That makes so much more sense because it is consistent with the constant emphasis in all the Scriptures to care for the widows and orphans, to love one’s neighbors as oneself, and Jesus’ stark admonition in Matthew 25 that “just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it me.”

How often are those same weaknesses in Sodom and Gomorrah the source of our failure to do the right thing, even when we know clearly what we should do. Excess of food and prosperous ease are symbols of comfort and privilege that we Americans should pay careful attention to. Doing what is right but unpopular is one of the hardest things to do because it puts at risk our own comfort and safety. But what we choose to do or not do does make a difference.

The familiar quote, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing” sums up much of what I’m trying to say. (My research says this quote is often attributed to Edmund Burke but may actually be a paraphrase of similar words from John Stuart Mill.

As we all know it takes courage to do the right thing when it is so much easier to go along with the crowd. My favorite quote to describe that is from “Inherit the Wind” by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee:

Attorney Drummond says to Bert Cates who is on trial for teaching evolution: “It’s the loneliest feeling in the world-to find yourself standing up when everybody else is sitting down. To have everybody look at you and say, ‘What’s the matter with him?’ I know. I know what it feels like. Walking down an empty street, listening to the sound of your own footsteps. Shutters closed, blinds drawn, doors locked against you. And you aren’t sure whether you’re walking toward something, or if you’re just walking away.”

But those acts of courage make a huge difference, just as they might have in Sodom and Gomorrah. But that is ancient history. What matters now are the moments today when we are asked to take a stand for righteousness and justice when everyone else is sitting down.

There are so many injustices it feels overwhelming to even try to pick one to address; I know it certainly does to me. But that cannot be our excuse to sit on the sidelines. For me there is also a very real fear of incurring the wrath of those in power if I speak up against them. I wrote a paper in grad school entitled “They Shoot Prophets, Don’t They?,” and the recent murders of Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis have done nothing to lessen that fear.

I have never liked conflict of any kind; so speaking truth to power is way out of my comfort zone. But my despair over what’s happening to our democracy is stronger than my fear. I am reminded of the closing scene of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” where the bodies of all the main characters are strewn across the stage and Edgar alone is left to bring down the curtain. He says, “The weight of these sad times we must obey; say what we feel, not what we ought to say.”

Dear Creator and Sustainer of all that is good, just, and true, we are living in very sad times. Unjustified, unconstitutional war is robbing your neediest children of food and health care here at home and raining terror and destruction in the Middle East. You have called us to love our neighbors and our enemies. You have taught us that a few righteous, courageous people do make a difference. Give us courage to stand up when no one else can or will, to speak what we feel and not what the powerful tell us we ought to say. You have put a right spirit within us. Show us how we can most faithfully let that holy light shine into the darkness of this season of our lives until others join us and together our lights expose the evil around us and within us and drive it from our midst in a blaze of resurrection. Amen

Temptation: Fall or Faith?

The lectionary texts for the first Sunday in Lent this year include Genesis 3:1-7 (“The Fall”) and Matthew 4:1-11(the Temptation of Christ). What a perfect contrast these two Scriptures give us of human frailty and divine strength. In the former Eve and Adam fall like a ton of bricks for a couple of lies from a talking snake! And in the latter the New Testament version of the serpent promises Jesus food (after a 40-day fast!), divine glory and protection (for bungee jumping off the temple without a bungee), and worldly power (over all the kingdoms of the world, including Greenland and Venezuela).

And Jesus, with impeccable theology, politely tells Satan to go fly a kite all three times. And, of course, Peter reprises human frailty again at the end of this drama by denying Jesus three times. Adam, Eve, and Peter all are marked with the Ash Wednesday reminder that we are all dust, and to dust we will return. But Jesus is the Way, Truth, and Life.

These stories remind me of my need again this Lent to examine and resist by own human weaknesses; to be a little less fearful and self-centered, and more faithful to the sacred burden I carry as one created in the image of God. “I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)

Nadia Bolz-Weber has shared in her Substack that she is going to observe Lent this year by looking for and recording 40 days of good “stuff,” which if you know Nadia you know she describes that exercise more graphically! As a glass-half-empty kind of person I need all the help with gratitude I can get, especially in these days of doom-scrolling doldrums. So I have decided to launch my own discipline of being aware of at least one good or beautiful thing each day of Lent.

My good stuff for today was seeing a beautiful red headed woodpecker at our bird feeder. The big red head is a gorgeous bird, and I feel especially blessed that we see one fairly regularly at our house. The habitat for the big woodpeckers is being destroyed by urban sprawl, but at least for now we still have enough wooded land around us that the developers haven’t snarfed up that we get to enjoy this one I call Woody. The bad news is he/she doesn’t stay at our feeder very long; so I wasn’t able to get a picture today.

I googled the Red Headed Woodpecker today just for fun and was rewarded with some great Lenten news. What I found is that for some indigenous people the RHW represents the spiritual values of determination, strength, and perseverance. Those seem like exactly the values lacking in the Genesis 3 story which are on full display in Jesus’ replies to Satan in the wilderness.

Humans in paradise still aren’t satisfied with all the blessings they have and are greedy for more. But the Son of God, starving in the wilderness, knows that faith alone is enough to get us through any and all trials and tribulations life throws at us.

Transfiguration: Surrender, Let It Go

As church tradition dictates our excellent sermon today by Pastor Mebane McMahon on this last Sunday before Lent was based on the Transfiguration story in Luke 9.  My takeaway today after hearing this text from one of the synoptic Gospels annually for at least 57 years was the need to surrender my great desire to cling to glory and homestead on the mountaintop. 

We all need special moments of spiritual inspiration more than ever these days, but Jesus followers can’t stay on the mountain top.  Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem, straight back into the valley of the shadow of death, and yes, he says, “deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me!”

Of all the hard things I wish Jesus hadn’t said, that’s one of the toughest for sure.  For me right now as I prepare to enter my 80th season of Lent, one of the hardest things for me to surrender is my overwhelming desire to go back – back to a time when I could carry a bundle of shingles up a ladder onto a roof.  Or back to a time when I could run 5 miles in under 40 minutes, or even just walk out to my mailbox without pain.  Every time I see a recent picture of myself unable to stand up straight I want to give up all photo ops for Lent.

I’ve never been a great athlete, but I have enjoyed participating in a good variety of sports over the years. I know it can’t happen, but I would sure love to soak in the view one more time before skiing down from the top of Peak 9 at Breckenridge in Colorado, or enjoy the fellowship of playing one more game with my old church softball team, or a rousing game of basketball with my son. Those memories are wonderful, but they will never replace actually being there. So I don’t want to accept those days are no more.

Diana and I had the pleasure of attending a wonderful high school performance of the Broadway musical version of “Frozen” yesterday in which our great niece Ava Tobin starred as Elsa. The whole performance was amazing, but Ava’s powerful rendition of the song “Let It Go” moved me the most. And it tied in beautifully with the Transfiguration story’s message to let go of the glory of the mountain top and follow Jesus into the valley of Lent.

One of the lines in “Let It Go” says “the past is past,” and that is part of surrendering for me. I’m not the 40 year-old runner or skier or softball player I was 40 years ago. That past is past, and I need to let it go so I can live fully in the present reality of my 79 year-old body.

There’s a breath prayer I learned a few months ago that I’ve been wrestling with ever since. It says, “Show me who to be, and what is mine to do.” I keep meditating on that, but what I’ve heard so far as I pray that prayer is this: I am to be the best Jesus follower I can be, and what that looks like changes with the seasons of life.

I can’t preach much anymore or teach classes. I don’t have the stamina to do that. I can’t go to protests and marches because I can’t stand or walk for any length of time. But I can still read and learn and share my ideas and insights through my writing.

When I get depressed about all the things I can’t do anymore I have no energy to do the things I can still do; so I need to let the past be past and let it go.

I am reluctant to share this as I don’t want to boast, but I got a notification recently from Word Press, the site that hosts my blog, that since I launched this blog in 2011 there have been 100,000 views of my posts. I am humbled by that number and by the fact that those views have come from dozens of countries on 6 continents. 

I have no idea how those 100K readers have responded to anything I’ve written except for few comments I’ve gotten over the years.  My hope is that it’s like the parable of the sower. We scatter our seeds and never know where or how the seeds grow.

That’s true of teaching, preaching, ministry, and just life. We don’t know what influence our words and actions have on others. All we can do is speak and live our truth to the best of our ability because it is right thing to do and trust God to do the rest. That’s surrender!!! 

Let it go! The past is past.  Forgive recklessly, including oneself.  Love foolishly, including oneself, and walk humbly seeking no glory or riches – just integrity.  

Be Still and Know

I haven’t written anything yet in 2026 because I’ve been too depressed and angry about what’s going on in our country and world to muster enough energy to think, let alone write. I knew I am not alone in those feelings, but it felt strangely comforting when I read these words this morning from one of my heroines in the faith, Nadia Bolz-Weber. Nadia wrote, “I woke up wanting to write something that might be of help right now and I’m all tapped out. I got nothing.” She shared instead some modern Beatitudes she had written 10 years ago which were helpful and worth hearing again.

Fortunately for me I agreed weeks ago to preach this Sunday at a local retirement community, and that commitment forced me to wrestle with my faith and my doubts, and here’s what the Spirit has led me to prepare for that worship service.

When I told a friend I was preaching here at 3 pm he said, “Isn’t that nap time for old folks?”  If it is for you we’ll wake you when we’re done!  And then ironically shortly thereafter I saw an interesting article about something many of us remember from childhood.  How many of you remember pulling out your rug or blanket and lying down in kindergarten while soothing music played on the record player? 

The article is called “When We Taught Children How To Rest – And Then Forgot It Mattered.”  I don’t know the author,but he or she makes some important points I want to share with you. 

“For millions of children growing up in the 1950s, ’60s, and early ’70s, this ritual was as essential to kindergarten as finger paint and the alphabet. It wasn’t filler. It wasn’t babysitting.

It was the lesson. Stillness Was Once Part of the Curriculum

Educators believed something we’ve slowly forgotten: young children need quiet.

Not just sleep—but stillness.

A pause where feelings could settle. A space where overstimulated minds could wander safely.

The science agreed. Children’s brains and nervous systems were still under construction. Rest wasn’t a reward. It wasn’t optional. It was developmental maintenance.

Then We Decided to Hurry.  By the 1970s and ’80s, something shifted.

Kindergarten stopped being about socialization and curiosity and started being about readiness.

Pre-reading. Early math. Staying on track. Getting ahead.

Schedules tightened. Testing crept younger. Parents worried about falling behind before childhood had even properly begun.  Naptime began to feel inefficient.  Unproductive.

A luxury we could no longer afford.

And we act surprised when childhood anxiety soars.  Naptime wasn’t just about sleep. It taught us that rest has value, that quiet has purpose, that you don’t have to be productive every minute to be worthy……  We once dimmed the lights, put on a record, and gave twenty small people permission to just be.  Maybe it’s time we remembered how.”

A few weeks ago when we had that lovely warm October God reminded me of that wisdom.  After worship I spent some time praying in the beautiful outdoor chapel that we have at Northwest UMC, and the words that came to me were “Be still and know that I am God.” I have meditated on those words many times in the days and weeks since, seeking the balm they offer in the chaotic world we inhabit just now.

I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t remember where those words come from in Scripture until I googled them. They are of course in verse 10 of the Psalm we just read, and the opening verses set the scene powerfully for having faith to be still when life is literally crumbling around us.

The psalm begins with these words:

“1 God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
    though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,”

Scholars believe those words were written as the armies of Assyria were besieging the city of Jerusalem in 701 BCE.  Many of us can relate today.  We feel under siege from bodies that are feeling the slings and arrows of the aging process.  Or that the very values we thought our country was founded on are under attack, and we feel helpless to do anything about it.

How can we not wonder if God really is our help and refuge? Where is God’s help in this all too real time of trouble?  As I typed those words originally for a blog I write, and I’m not making this up, a notification popped up on the top of my iPad screen that said “Don’t Stop Believein’!” “Don’t Stop Believin’!”  I literally looked around to see if Big Brother or someone was reading over my shoulder!  It was spooky, but even more real than the message I heard that day in the chapel that said to be still and know I’m God.

As it turns out that message was a notification on my iPad advertising that the rock band Journey who sing “Don’t Stop Believin’” is coming to do a concert in Columbus next summer, but the timing of that message seemed way too relevant to be just a coincidence.

And that is what the psalmist is saying to the besieged, hopeless folks in Jerusalem surrounded by the mighty armies of King Sennacherib of Assyria.  Don’t stop believing!

God says, be still and know I am God, which implies the rest of that sentence – I’m God and you’re not.  So trust me.  I got you out of Egypt and through the wilderness, and I’ll get you out of this mess too.  But like us the people of Israel don’t always get it.  In my imagination I can picture God, like any frustrated parent, wanting to say, “Shut up and Listen!”

Every age has its moments of siege.  “A Mighty Fortress” that we sang earlier was written based on this Psalm by Martin Luther in about 1527-29 when he was under terrible persecution from the Roman Catholic Church and the Holy Roman Empire.

After Luther refused to retract his writings, Pope Leo X issued a papal bull excommunicating him in 1521. 

Luther was summoned before the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V and the imperial assembly, where he famously refused to recant his views, leading to his condemnation. 

The Edict of Worms (also in 1521)declared Luther an outlaw, banned his writings, and made it a crime to harbor him, with punishment for heresy being burning at the stake. 

To protect him, Prince Frederick the Wise of Saxony arranged for Luther to be “kidnapped” and taken to Wartburg Castle for his safety, where he translated the New Testament into German.

Even as Luther was protected, his supporters faced severe repercussions, including loss of jobs, imprisonment, and execution, as persecution against Lutherans intensified across the Holy Roman Empire. And through all of this people sang “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” which became known as the Battle Hymn of the Reformation.

The most powerful words in that hymn for me are, “The body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still.”  That was true in 1528; it’s true today; and it will never change.  That is what it means to be still and know that God is God.  God’s in charge and will prevail in God’s good time – not ours.  And because of that we can still pull out our blankets,   put on some soothing music and sleep in the heavenly peace of innocent five-year-olds. 

Benediction:

Because of God’s ultimate rule of the whole universe, no matter how bad things seem at this or any moment, personal or in history, we can“Be still, and know that I am God!    I am exalted among the nations;    I am exalted in the earth.” The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our refuge.”  Today, tomorrow, and Forever.  Amen

All Saints Prayer 2025

As we prepare our hearts for prayer on this All Saints Sunday I want to share some words for our meditation from Linda Hogan in her book “Dwellings.” She says,

“Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”


O Holy One, God of the present age, of every generation that has enabled our being here today, and of all the multitudes who will follow in our footsteps if we find a way to a sustainable future for the creation we are a part of.

We know All Saints Day may sound pretentious because none of us are truly saintly.
We are all a weird mixture of sinner and saint striving to be more the latter as followers of Jesus and good stewards of your creation. We want to be builders of a peaceable kingdom, a beloved community, honest we do.

But you know that our fears and anxieties too often lead us to foolishly put our trust in stuff that promises security but only creates higher walls of tribal suspicion and prejudice. Bigger bombs and battleships only motivate others to make more weapons that steal resources from hungry children.

As we ponder the mysteries of how our ancestors made sense of their lives help us lovingly forgive their mistakes even as we learn from their collective wisdom.  We are grateful that we don’t have to reinvent every wheel because we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses who bless us with their presence. We are never alone, although at times it sure feels like it.

Among those saints are those whose names we all know – Moses, Ruth, Micah, Theresa, Amos, Francis, Jesus and Paul – but those famous ones are totally outnumbered by the ordinary Joes and Judys who quietly have preserved the faith through disasters, depressions, pandemics, and ages of apathy.


Today we remember those dear ones who have passed through the thin veil that divides our reality from eternal peace and truth. We give thanks for those who dwell now in your very heart, O God. We envy their peace and unity with you, even as we humbly give thanks for their love that has produced this community of faith that nurtures us still today.


We are indebted to their example of service. We are inspired by their faith that overcame the doubts and despair that are part of the human condition. Like them we journey ever on toward the cross of Christ and the example he gives us as we join our voices with all the saints in the prayer Jesus taught us to pray ….

Northwest United Methodist Church, Columbus, Ohio, November 2, 2025

World Communion Prayer 2025

O God of all creation, we set aside one Sunday each year as World Communion Sunday. Given the state of our battered and broken world wouldn’t it make more sense to make every Sabbath or Holy Day a time to pray for a beloved world community?

Our Christian Scriptures say you so loved this messed up world so much that you sent your own beloved son to redeem us. Why would you do that knowing how the evil forces in the world routinely kill any prophet who challenges the empire’s gospel of power and violent control by fear and intimidation?

And yet something about that impractical vision of a peaceable kingdom keeps us coming back to your table. It’s a table where we join a motley crew of humanity – those who hunger for power and the powerless who simply hunger; Israeli and Palestinian, Ukrainian and Russian, an assassin and a widow who forgives him, sworn political enemies dipping bread in the same cup, estranged family members sharing tears of joyful reunion, and those who live for revenge breaking bread with the agents of reconciliation.

We don’t understand the mystery of how ordinary broken bread can fan the tiny ember of hope still smoldering beneath an avalanche of broken dreams. Yet somehow the Holy Ruach of Your spirit blows life into a valley of dry bones and we leave the table lighter and brighter with a spring in our step we thought was gone forever.

The chaos of life has not stopped. The existential threats to freedom and the power of greed and short-sightedness threatening our planet are still as awful as ever. People are still starving in Sudan and Gaza, bombs are still dropping in Kiev, and yet the vision of humanity with all its flaws breaking bread together around one godly table stays with us and empowers us to face the future with courage and love.

Because You so loved the world we dare to also, in the name of the humble servant who calls us again and again to come eat and drink of his very essence. In His name we pray and live. Amen

Happy Motherly God‘s Day

My home of origin in the 1950’s and 60’s was a very traditional patriarchal family. And the church family I grew up in was likewise dominated with patriarchal theology and structure. I can’t go back and change any of that, but I regret that my foundational values and theological constructs were void of any feminine images and qualities.

This reality for me was complicated by a strained relationship with my father. My dad survived a painful childhood with an abusive, alcoholic step-father and a near-death experience as a 24 year-old pilot in World War II. No one had discovered PTSD in those days, but I’m sure my dad was a classic case. He compensated by living by a very strict and literal adherence to conservative theological and cultural norms.

I never questioned my father’s love for me, but it always felt conditional on my living up to his high expectations and obedience to his rules. Theologically for me this meant the patriarchal image of God was filtered through my relationship to my earthly father. It never occurred to me or anyone in my circle of influence to question the God as Father theology I learned at church.

One of my regrets about this is that I felt much more comfortable with and closer to my mother but had no model for seeing her as the image of God. She was a good subservient wife as was expected in the culture we lived in, but there was also a quality of unconditional love and acceptance about her that was lacking in my dad. If I had a problem or screwed up, as I did often, I would always go to my mom and confess because she would calmly help me deal with the situation where my dad would either verbally or non verbally convey disapproval. That’s who my parents were. There’s no judgment in that now, although there was for many years as I tried to liberate myself from the conservative world my dad lived in.

My point here is that I wish someone had suggested to me that God is also an expression of the maternal, loving qualities we rightly or wrongly have attributed to the feminine. Because no one dared to think outside the patriarchal box I lived many years of my life with a fear of a judgmental God. And the larger church and even the liberal seminary I went to in my early 20’s was still a prisoner to the male-dominated images of God.

The entire faculty and 96% of my seminary class were white males. That began to change dramatically in the 1970’s after I graduated as women and people of color were added to the seminary community. That’s wonderful, but I missed it! I worked with several great senior pastors in my ministry, but again all white and male.

Finally in the early 2000’s when I was about 60 years old I joined a congregation with a wonderful, creative, vibrant female pastor. I went on to work part-time in retirement with her and other women, and it has opened a whole new world of theological depth and understanding to my image of the divine as full and inclusive of all of God’s creation. I still am blessed to hear the word proclaimed many Sundays and Holy Days from a unique female perspective. Most of the current devotional and theological blogs, podcasts, and books I have benefited most from in the last few years are created by female writers, pastors, and theologians.

And so this Mother’s Day I am giving thanks for all the women who have helped shape my life. Grandmothers, mother, aunts, colleagues, friends, wives, preachers, political leaders and more. Let’s celebrate that special capacity so many women have to nurture, soothe, love, and bless us with those God-given qualities the world so desperately needs right now.

Faith: Alive or Dead?

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but does not have works? Surely that faith cannot save, can it? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” James 2:14-17

The epistle lesson for this coming Sunday is the familiar “Faith without works is dead” passage from James 2. How often when I pass by a person begging for money on the street do I feel guilty and worry that my faith is dead or dying? Thanks, James. There must be more value to these verses than humbling me if I am dwelling in a glass house of self-righteousness.

But maybe that’s all these verses need to do. Causing you or me to stop and look in the mirror is really quite an important thing for a spiritual encounter to do. To pause from our busy lives for a bit of self-examination is much more helpful than the far more common way this passage is used, namely to put others down by pointing out the hypocrisy of their holier-than-thou rhetoric and lack of empathy or meaningful service to meet the real needs of their neighbors.

One of the bishops I served under had a memorable way of keeping us clergy humble. He was fond of saying that things always worked out well when he was appointing clergy to serve in the churches under his supervision. He said the numbers always came out even because there “are always as many perfect churches as there are perfect pastors.”

James employs a similar tactic earlier in chapter 2. In verses 8-10 we find these words: “If you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’ you do well. But if you show partiality, you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it.”

Does that mean God doesn’t grade on the curve? That nothing but a perfect score is good enough to live up to God’s standards? No, who could ever stand before such a God? Such a God would never send a Messiah to save us from ourselves. Such a Messiah would never welcome lepers, tax collectors, and all manner of societal outcasts into God’s beloved community.

James is simply warning us that our faith journey is a marathon, not a sprint. James is alerting us to the danger of thinking we’ve got it all figured out or that our work is ever done. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a long way to go to love my enemies or to turn the other cheek. This side of heaven there will always be more neighbors to love, more poor who are with us always. God’s love is eternal and so are the tasks of discipleship for those who have decided to follow Jesus.

Jesus and Stages of Grief

As we made our way through the passion story of Holy Week this year it occurred to me that the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ last week are an interesting case study in the classic stages of grief proposed by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.”

The stages do not occur in a linear order but ebb and flow like the phases of the moon, and we always need to remind ourselves that the Gospels are theological works, not historical biography; but given that, it strikes me that we can learn about the universal human experience of grief by studying what the Gospel writers tell us about the final days of Jesus’ earthly life.

Kubler-Ross’ stages include anger and depression which are often two sides of the same emotion – one expressed outwardly and the other turned in upon oneself. Because of that anger is easier to identify and that is true with Jesus also. The cleansing of the temple which is described in all four Gospels is one of the few times we ever see Jesus angry. He sometimes is verbally angry with the Scribes and Pharisees, but when he overturns tables and drives the money changers out of the temple with a whip that is the rare incident where Jesus is obviously and physically very angry.

Another scene which could be motivated by either anger or depression would be one of the “last words” from the cross where Jesus cries out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Hearing the tone of voice and seeing Jesus’ body language when he uttered these words might help us better understand his mental state at the time, but both Matthew 27 and Mark 15 describe his tone as “crying out with a loud voice,” and that is the best evidence we have.

Depression can certainly not be diagnosed from a few 3rd person accounts of Jesus’ actions, but the three incidents that come to mind when I think about that stage of grief are when Jesus weeps over the death of his friend Lazarus, when he weeps over Jerusalem and says, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.  For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you and surround you and hem you in on every side and tear you down to the ground, you and your children within you. And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation.” (Luke 19:42-44). And perhaps in all four Gospels where Jesus refuses to answer any questions in his trials before Pilate, Herod, and the Chief Priests. Those incidents however I interpret more as a strong, silent resistance to the unjust power of oppression rather than depression or resignation.

The stage of grief that stymies me when it comes to Jesus is denial. If you readers have ideas about this one I would love to hear them, but for now I cannot think of examples of times where I see Jesus being in denial about his fate. He sets his face toward Jerusalem in spite of the protestations of his disciples. He stages a protest entrance into Jerusalem riding on a humble donkey, and he returns daily to teach and heal in Jerusalem that last week and to celebrate the Passover, all of which seem like acts of faithful determination and not ones of denial in any form.

The stage of bargaining seems to me to only appear in the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus says, “If this cup can pass from me, please make it so,” but those words are immediately followed by “But not my will but yours be done,” which move us toward the final stage of acceptance.

It should come as no surprise that examples of acceptance are easier to find with Jesus. When Peter pulls out his sword to resist the soldiers in the garden Jesus sternly tells him to put it away. And then on the cross where it would require the greatest amount of acceptance and courage, at least 4 of the recorded “seven last words” reflect the confidence that only comes with acceptance of death as the final stage of human life.

Those four include Jesus commending his mother into the care of one of his disciples, assuring the repentant thief that he will be with Jesus in paradise that very day, commending his spirit into the hands of God, and finally saying “It is finished.” I suppose one could also make a case that forgiving his executioners is also an act of acceptance, but that amazing act of grace really defies categorization.

Grief is a very complicated emotional process, and the Kubler-Ross stages are one very helpful lens through which to understand it. I find it comforting to find connections between my own experiences of grief and those of the incarnate life of God in Jesus. For me sharing the human condition of these grief stages with Jesus affirms the reality of his humanity and also the hope for achieving some degree of acceptance of my own mortality that he exemplifies for us.

I welcome your comments and insights on any of the above.

Baring All Before God

Kate Bowler’s Lenten meditation for today triggered a memory for me from nearly 70 years ago.  In her book, “Have a Beautiful Terrible Day,” Kate’s meditation for Monday of Lent Week Four is titled “letting yourself be known.”  She paints a wonderful contrast between fearing a God who judges our faults and one who knows all about us and loves us as we are.

She closes with this reflection prompt:  “We can have a very Elf on the Shelf view of God at times.  THERE IS GOD WATCHING YOU. Shudder.  What image of God seeing you and caring about you could you find comforting?”

A long-forgotten memory immediately popped into my head as soon as I read those words.  When I was young my maternal grandparents lived on a farm that had no indoor plumbing.  When I visited them I thought nothing of using their two-holer outhouse.  It was just the way they lived.  

I especially enjoyed visiting there because the 7th of my grandparents’ children, Gary, aka Butch, was only 4 years older than I. He was more like a cousin than an uncle to me and just enough older that I admired his greater knowledge of worldly things. Farm kids have a much earlier and healthier grasp of how life and death work than we city slickers did.

So here’s my memory.  One day uncle Butch and I were using the outhouse.  I’m guessing I was 9 or 10 and he was 13 or 14 at the time.  We were at that curious age where sex was often a topic of conversation.  I don’t remember any details of our conversation, much of which I later learned was misinformed.  But I have a vivid memory that for some reason we decided to take off all our clothes and run around the back yard naked.

Had we done that at my house I think my parents would have had a heart attack.  But my dear grandmother who had raised five boys and two girls simply watched us from the kitchen window and laughed.  

Isn’t that a great image of a God from whom nothing is hidden, who sees us in all our human frailty and fallibility and laughs