“But don’t worry–it’s a manly scent,” you said from the stage. 

Worry? I’m not worried. Are others worried? I sure hope not. But maybe they are. And if anyone is worried about your candle-lit prayer, what does that say about our religious culture? Probably more than we would like. 

By most accounts, knowing is a uniquely human trait. Animals don’t know in the same way that we know. The fact that we have the word “epistemology” is in itself a mark of our uniqueness. 

This is part of the story of Genesis 1-3. It tells a story about knowledge, the desire for knowledge, and the human capacity to bear the weight of knowledge. What we seek to know, and how we come to know it, and the ability of our brains (and souls and bodies) to actually handle that knowledge all have limits. 

Remember that these things are mysteries and that if they were such that we could understand them, they wouldn’t be worth understanding. A God you understood would be less than yourself.

Flannery O’Connor, Letters

The more I read the Bible, the more I am convinced that the two best adjectives for it are wonderful and weird.

There are certain times of the year that are more challenging. For some people it’s the Christmas season because they feel alone. For some it’s the beginning of the school year, after a free-and-clear Summer off. For some it’s tax season. For some it’s the anniversary of a great loss. For some it’s inventory month. 

For me it’s Summer. (For many pastors that I know, it’s Summer).

Your organization can write in all lowercase, but then it looks like a kindergartener. They’re cute and all, but people are looking to trust something with more maturity. 

Your organization can write in all caps, but then it looks like it’s shouting. Like you’re angry. People are put off by angry shouters. It might come across as enthusiasm at first, but eventually it just starts to hurt their ears. 

It feeds back into itself. Anxiety breeds anxiety. Uneasiness opens the door to more uneasiness. Worry hooks up with dread and makes little jittery babies. 

Circles are powerful. But not all-powerful. 

It is either an abdication of will, allowing oneself to be attracted by whatever or whoever is most powerfully magnetic in the moment. Or else it is an intentional bending of the will towards something or someone whose worthiness moves us, but does not force us. 

In our bedroom, the cat was playing with the cord dangling from our window blinds. I shooed her away by spraying her with a water bottle. She bolted out of the room, down the hall, past the bathroom where my son, at the very moment the cat passed, turned on the faucet. 

“Wow!” He exclaimed. “That was crazy! As soon as I turned the water on the cat came running!” 

Transcendence is always difficult to define. The more we try to clearly define it — with adjectives, in categories, reducing it to one’s and zeroes — the more we lose something essential. We may gain something, for sure. 

Language expands as much as it limits. 

I often tell myself, “I’m going to work hard today!” Translate that to, “I’m going to power through and end my day exhausted.” As if any of that is really satisfying at all. I’m already not looking forward to my work day.