Lord, teach me. . . .

Life. . . . It tends to respond to our outlook, to shape itself to meet our expectations.  –Richard M. DeVos It’s virtually impossible to approach any situation and not have some expectations of what’s going to happen. If the coffee’s steaming, we expect it to be hot. We go to Playhouse Square; we expect to see a really good show. We see a big Blue Light at the department store; we expect to find a super good deal. There are sights and sounds that lead us to anticipate what lies ahead. That’s the way things work. I wonder: when you come to church, what do you expect to happen here? What brings you back, week after week, even in the snow and cold of a Cleveland winter? On any given Sunday, there may be music. What if there were no music—or someone replaced the hymns with praise tunes? Is there usually a sermon or message? Is that what keeps you returning week after week? Maybe it’s the smiling greeter meeting you at the door. Are you disappointed when she’s

If you are a card-carrying human being, chances are that you share the same fear as all other humans: the fear of losing love, respect and connection to others. –Iyanla Vanzant It happens all the time in sports: Players run into each other; the equipment fails (or makes things worse) and one player winds up knocked flat. The crowd draws silent as coaches and trainers run out onto the field, and a cheer erupts as the player seemingly returns to life. The game goes on—but the player usually needs to take a break. Sometimes a long one. It’s the same in Life, isn’t it? Things can be going along swimmingly, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere comes a bit of news. A loved one has died; the lab report shows something unexpected; the job you love is coming to an end. The news knocks the wind right out of us. We are stunned; people come up to us, looking deep in our eyes, asking the most important questions of all: Are you all right? What do you need? Slowly, we begin to

To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim, you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead, you relax and float. –Alan Watts There’s a powerful image in Scripture: John baptizing his cousin Jesus. At first John balks, but Jesus insists, and as Jesus comes up out of the water, the heavens open; the Spirit, like a dove, descends, and a voice is heard, loud and clear: This is my son, my beloved. In him I am well-pleased. (Luke 3) It’s a pretty amazing passage, meant to remind us of our own place in God’s family as beloved children of the Most High. But I recently read a different interpretation of what happened in that moment, and it has set my mind to musing—and set my heart on fire. We tend to look at Jesus’ baptism the same way we view our own baptism: as an outward sign of God’s holiness within, affirming Jesus (and each of us) as God’s child. But what if that’s not what was happening here, after all? Wh

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called . . . Life.  –Prince It’s happened again. Just about the time things settle down and we begin to get on with our lives, something else happens. Our world is rocked by another announcement, another injustice in our community. And again, our joy has been squelched, replaced by sadness, grief and disillusionment. And for this day, it’s easy to understand why. Sometimes it really feels as though God has lost this round. How we react to bad things happening in the world is always a choice. Grief over broken promises and damaged dreams is necessary and important. Problem is, if we aren’t careful we can put down roots in the brokenness of yesterday and endanger tomorrow’s harvest. Much as we would like, we cannot change or undo what’s happened. But we can change what happens next time. When the tears grow fewer and the shouts of anger turn to sighs, then comes the time to make a difference for today