Rituals are memory-keepers.
We blow out the candles to remember that we were born.
We clink our glasses to remember that we made vows to one another.
We stand for the anthem to remember others’ sacrifice.
We visit a grave to remember a life that shaped our life.
We break bread and drink wine to remember that “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.”
I have this friend—we’ll call her Emily—who seems to always be upset about something. She’s constantly up in arms about some tragedy somewhere in the world. She’s in a persistent state of anxiety over someone else’s suffering. Her news apps are constantly pinging her with updates, and she’s hyperactive on several social media platforms. “If you’re not heartbroken and outraged,” Emily tells me, “then you’re just not paying attention!”
But maybe we don’t always need to pay attention. Maybe we just can’t. Not to everything. Not to everyone. Not everywhere. Our limited hearts and minds simply can’t hold it all.
(more…)We can never quite anticipate what worship will ask of us.
One aspect of worship that has been lost in a lot of our modern, western conceptions of worship is that worship involves sacrifice and service. Especially since “worship” in common parlance has become associated almost exclusively with singing songs, with an entire economic industry is built up around it (nearly $1 billion annually, depending on how you’re counting). In such a consumeristic environment, it’s only natural that “worship” would become more about “What do I get?” than “What do I give?”
(more…)How many chances do you give a stubborn heart? Two? Three? Four? How about ten? Or even more?
One way of reading the Exodus narrative is God giving Pharaoh chance and after chance after undeserved chance to soften his stubborn heart. Yes, some translations of some of the explanations say that, “the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart.” (Exodus 9:12) Such language paints the picture that, all along, it was Yahweh’s desire to give Egypt a proper beat down before liberating his people from slavery.
But that’s not the whole story.
(more…)Sometimes it feels like God is silently for you and the whole world is loudly against you.
It’s taken me a long time to realize this: My enemies are mostly in my head. I mean this in two ways:
First, I’m making a lot of it up. The world is not really conspiring against me. I’m not truly that important; I’m not on other peoples’ minds nearly as much as I assume.
Second, my real enemies are not “out there” but “in here.” My worst enemies are my own thoughts. Those negative and adversarial voices in my own mind. Whether the echoes of people who have hurt me in the past, demons messing with my thoughts, or my own imaginative negativity bias—they’re not actually what one might call “real.” They pose no real threat to me beyond me feeling that they do.
(more…)The following article was written for our monthly newsletter:
Every place has a purpose. If you walked into your doctor’s office and saw a deep fryer cooking up some fries behind the counter, you’d have questions. If you sat down at your favorite burger joint, and the waitress asked to record your weight, temperature, and blood pressure, you’d probably walk out. The wrong activity in the wrong place!
The central place of ancient Jewish identity and worship was the temple in Jerusalem. For centuries, through all the ups and downs of faithfulness, God’s people gathered there in order to draw near to him. Unfortunately, by the time Jesus came on the scene, God’s people were once again in a bit of a spiritual slump. The necessary commerce that supported temple worship—the selling of sacrificial animals, and the exchanging of foreign currency for pilgrims—had come a little close to the center. Rather than remaining outside the temple courts, commerce had worked its way inside. The purpose of God’s temple was being confused. The wrong activity in the wrong place.
(more…)This past Sunday, on Trinity Sunday, I preached a sermon that I titled The Divine Ecosystem. I’ll save you the time of listening to the podcast by telling you that I basically said this: Just as plants need light, soil, and a favorable environment, so do we thrive in the ecosystem of the Trinity.
I ended by praying over our congregation this expanded version of Paul’s trinitarian prayer in the very last verse of 2 Corinthians:
(more…)In Spring we are surrounded by explosions of new life: Trees budding out with fresh leaves. Daffodils peeking out of hibernation. Gardens multi-colored with fresh vegetables. Honeysuckle and wisteria fragrance wafting through the air.
In the creation we catch glimpses of the glory of the Creator. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning writes,
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Not only do we experience the glory of God in the visible creation of individual blackberry bushes, but we see his glory within the changing of seasons: The exuberance of Spring. The fullness of Summer. The transformation of Fall. And even the dormancy of Winter.
(more…)Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.
-Mark 15:5
His economy of words. His restraint. His refusal to add to the noise.
But Jesus is not known for being a silent man.
Here is a man who is incredibly good with words. As a tween he could hold conversations with the adult scholars of scripture in the Temple. Now, as a grown man, thousands of people flock to listen to him teach. Lawyers try to trip him up with questions—and he finds a loophole. Religious leaders try to back him into a corner—and his witty and wise response makes them look foolish. He tells stories so simple a child can follow them, and yet so layered that we are still discussing their meaning today.
And now here we see him, death bearing down on him as he is on trial, and he is silent.
(more…)You’ve done it a hundred times: walked forward, received the bread dipped in grape juice, and returned to your seat. It can be easy to simply repeat the rite, to just go through the motions. But have you ever paused and wondered, Wait a sec…what just happened to me?
Holy Communion isn’t a simple transaction. It’s not a magic rite. It’s not just bread and juice with a prayer attached. Communion is a mystery with layers—each one drawing us deeper into Christ himself. Here are three ways to think about what’s really happening when we come to the table.
Layer 1: We Enter the Story
Holy Communion has its roots in the Passover meal, during which pious Jews proclaim, “We were slaves in Egypt.” Not “they were slaves” but “we were slaves.” Similarly, we don’t simply recall what Jesus did long ago. When the celebrant retells the story—”On the night he gave himself up for us”—we are transported to that upper room and take our seat at the table. Jesus’ death and resurrection aren’t distant historical events; they become present realities happening to us, for us, right now. We don’t just remember; we relive.
(more…) Exploring the mystery of faith in ordinary life.