Lord, teach me. . . .

Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if we can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them. –The Dalai Lama How’s that again?? Every Sunday, we flock to our churches to hear about ways to make a difference. Various churches offer food collections, prison ministry opportunities and chances to work on Habitat houses—all manner of ways to live into Jesus’ commandment to love one another. But then we go home, turn on the TV or internet, and for the other six days we are painfully reminded of how far we have yet to go:       --In the past two weeks, seven predominantly Black churches have been targeted by arsonists in Missouri. This is the second recent wave of church burnings. --A judge in Denver ordered a rescue mission that serves homeless men closed following a complaint lodged by the local neighborhood association. --Refugees, from Syria and elsewhere, continue to be turned away as they seek a safer place to raise their families. Do these events ...

Hope is the reason for all change. –church sign Every now and then, someone enters our lives unexpectedly. Maybe we meet them at our workplace; maybe it’s a random grocery store encounter. It may even be a brief, long-distance encounter. Whatever the circumstance, the result is the same: something about the encounter has changed us, led us, perhaps, to a new way of thinking or living. I had such an experience this week when our church bravely hosted Christine Howey in her one-woman play, Exact Change . Through the course of her play, Ms. Howey invites the audience to journey alongside her, as the child born Richard Howey yearns for, realizes and ultimately actualizes his true gender identity and becomes, on the outside, the person he knew existed all along on the inside. Her story is at once humorous, poignant, angst-ridden—and victorious. Through her story, transgender now has a name, a face and a new identity. It takes an incredible amount of courage to reveal one’s t...

It’s been a long, long time comin’, but I know a change is gonna come. Oh, yes, it will. –Sam Cooke It’s happened again. The national news anchor interrupts our game shows and soap operas with breaking news: More lives lost in another tragic school shooting. Another child killed in a drive-by. A baby girl caught in gang crossfire. Politicians and “talking heads” line up as the usual rhetoric begins. And for a few days—maybe even a week—we will be, in turns, angry, grieving, sad—and tired. And then, as usual, we begin to rationalize and to forget. There’s nothing I can do, we say. Bad people will always find a way to do bad things. . . . Let the hand-wringing begin. And the finger-pointing. And the excuse making. Do not buy in to the lies and politics . The lives of all our children and grandchildren are too precious to allow them to become pawns in political parrying. Whether you believe the problem lies in too many guns or too few curfews, mental illness or a ...

My karma ran over your dogma. –Bumper sticker humor/ philosophy     We hear about karma all the time. We make jokes about it regularly. “What goes around, comes around.” “He’ll get what’s coming to him. Just be patient.” We (I) take a bit of satisfaction when that bozo who cut us off in traffic winds up stopped next to us at the red light. Or when that football team that skulked outta town has a really lousy season. It’s karma , baby! Offend the Universe, and the Universe will get even. But karma really has two sides. There’s a great story in the Old Testament about a young man named Joseph. His daddy loved him—more than any of his ten older brothers. That was a problem, because Joseph couldn’t help reminding them of that fact. Finally, the brothers had had enough. They plotted and schemed to throw Joseph down a well, tell Daddy he had died and leave Joseph to fend for himself. Joseph fended very well, indeed, becoming a very important figure in the ruling cou...

God is the offering. God is the offered, poured out by God. God is attained by all those who see God in action. –Bhagavad Gita This week has been “history in the making” in the United States. Pope Francis arrived, not so much in his own glory, but seeking to shine the light of God into a nation sometimes mired in its own darkness (like every nation). It’s been an interesting week, as lines have been drawn at times—but also blurred. As the pope arrived on the eve of Yom Kippur, Jews gathered at the Lincoln Memorial for a service of repentance and forgiveness. In another city, Christians and Muslims, in a rare moment of interfaith courage, came together and prayed for one another. A saint was canonized. His Holiness addressed Congress. For a few days, all eyes seemed turned in one direction, pointing towards reconciliation. But then the grumbling began. He’s the pope , not a politician! He needs to stick to God-talk. Where does he get off talking about climate change ....

I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are [children] of one religion, and it is the spirit. –Khalil Gibran There are a whole lot of other things happening on Sunday morning besides church. If your place of worship offers services on other days and times—well, there are certainly plenty of other options then, as well. So why do this? What is it about this time together that keeps us (you) coming back, week after week? Stop for a minute and really think about this. Is it the music? Whether it’s Switchfoot or Chopin, Haydn or Hillsong, music is a vital part of worship for many. But let’s face it: Sirius ® can offer all this music and more —plus news, sports. . . . There must be another reason. Maybe you’re drawn by the dynamic message of the spoken word, inspiring and potentially life-changing. Again—so many other places to get a “Jesus fix” (including “90-second Sermons” when you’re short on time). From the ou...

Each one of them is Jesus in disguise. –Mother Teresa We have this man who lives on our street, a gentle soul. I can never remember his name, and I think maybe he likes it that way. Last February, Old Man Winter came on like gangbusters, with falling snow and falling temperatures. The wind picked up that snow, danced a few bars and plopped it unceremoniously back on the driveway. I looked out the window and sighed, wishing my strong, willing husband wasn’t in Montana. But then I heard it, the low, steady hum of a snow blower making its way slowly, slowly up the street—and up my driveway! My unnamed neighbor, dressed in Carhartt from head to toe, made light work of my driveway and moved on to the next one. . . . About a month ago, when the young couple across the street (new to the neighborhood) let the grass get a little too tall and a little too shaggy, there he was one morning, this time with his power mower. He came, he mowed—and he moseyed off in anonymity. Carin...