Lord, teach me. . . .

It’s not too late to change direction if you’re not at peace with the life you have now. Don’t put a deadline on your happiness. --Anonymous Happy New Year! On the liturgical church calendar, this coming Sunday marks the start of Advent. The word Advent means coming , or arrival . As Christians, we take this to mean the arrival of the Christ Child, the one of whom the prophets spoke, born to Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem. The next four weeks, our hearts are filled with anticipation, joy and hope . It’s somehow fitting, as we in the States have just celebrated Thanksgiving, our day officially set aside to recognize just how blessed we are (whether we use that language or not), and to remember that not everyone has it so good. Rev. William Barber talks about his grandmama, a tremendous cook, who would spend an afternoon over the stove, feed her family—and then head out to visit those who had less, taking delicious, hot meals with her. She called it going out to hope...

Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.  –Melody Beattie My pastor friend James lives in Chico, California, not far from Paradise. His church recently voted to close its doors, but in the wake of the horrific fires, their doors are open again. Members of surrounding communities have come together, bringing clothing and shoes and diapers and more. The clothes come by the truckload. People are offering new shirts, new jeans, socks, underwear—everything. One day this past week, James filled the bed of his pickup truck with clothing and set off for a distribution center in another community. To get there, he hopped on the local toll road, realizing that it would cost him $5 to drive the toll road—but it was fastest, and these people who had lost so much deserved a break. So he set off, a man on a mission. A pastor with a purpose. As James neared the end of his drive, he took the exit off the toll road and chose a g...

He drew a circle that shut me out— Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But love and I had the wit to win: We drew a circle and took him in! --Edwin Markham It makes a soul weary, doesn’t it? Every night on the evening news, there’s something. Wars of words, wars of power. Fistfights, gunfights. Angry, shouting, red-faced neighbors and friends who suddenly seem transformed into complete strangers. What is going on in our nation and in the world? We find ourselves caught between the need to be informed—and the desire to remain reasonably sane in the midst of such insanity. And while everyone seems to have an answer, somehow any sort of solution evades our grasp. Here’s my innocent, naïve take on how we should be living this day: In God’s created order, God did not create other . We are all one family in Christ. Does this mean we all need to agree, all the time? Heavens, no! (How boring would that be?) But it does mean that as in any loving community, God expe...

Still, a man hears what he wants to hear— and disregards the rest. –Paul Simon Early season baseball is always an adventure. The weather is often more winter than spring; players are bundled up so tightly, they’re barely recognizable without the number on their back. Attendance? Well, some nights, five thousand guests is a good number. The Beer Guy ’s voice echoes through the ballpark. Lines at the coffee stand circles around, while workers at the cold drink stands stand idly by, chatting amongst themselves. Five thousand people in a ballpark that holds nearly 40,000. The guy with the foul mouth is having a heyday, knowing his voice will carry on a night like this! Fans try out every seat in the place, comparing this view and that, hollering across the sections to one another. Workers (like me) stamp their feet, trying to stay warm. Five thousand people. Hardly anyone here tonight , they say. Hardly worth the effort . And yet. And yet, when five thous...

You and I, the people of God, have permission to come before the throne of Heaven at any time we will, and we are encouraged to come there with great boldness. –Charles Spurgeon There’s a beautiful place in Barcelona, La Sacrada Familia Basilica, that’s been under construction since 1882. Designed by Antoni Gaudi, the finished design will have eighteen towers, the tallest of which soars over 170 meters high. It is an architectural wonder, and isn’t expected to be completed until 2026. In the meantime, tourists flock to this beautiful place by the millions. But apparently, when the construction of the cathedral first began, the builders failed to get a construction permit. (Yes, they required them even in 1882.) A hundred and thirty-six years later, the city and the builders have worked out an agreement to pay fines of nearly 32 million pounds —for the oversight of not seeking permission in the first place. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just do the right thing in th...

The true work of art is but a shadow of the Divine perfection. --Michelangelo This week I learned that a painting by Rembrandt van Rijn, called The Night Watch , will undergo a very public restoration. Originally painted in 1642, it depicts a citizen watch group, and is considered a true masterpiece. It has had a rough life, to be sure. During World War II, this painting was hidden in a cave with other valuable works of art, away from Nazi eyes—and survived. But in 1975, it was slashed by a man with a knife, leaving twelve deep scars on the canvas. Then in 1990, someone sprayed acid on the canvas, further damaging the veneer. Despite all this, The Night Watch was on display, exposed to ordinary light and pollution. It is in deep need of some renewal. Indeed, the ordinary pace of daily living gets to us all, doesn’t it, causing casual damage we may not even notice until it’s nearly too late. Sometimes, the deepest damage lies so far below the surface, it’s invisible t...

The highest and most beautiful things in life are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen, but if one will, are to be lived. --Soren Kierkegaard This week, I headed out early for a service of committal at the Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery. The drive, seldom interesting, is one I know well, the same drive I made to seminary for three years. But this morning. . . . As I came over a hill, the view was breathtaking. Fog truly came in on its little cat feet, just like Carl Sandburg said, filling the valley. I left the interstate and headed off on country roads. The village hadn’t yet begun to wake up. I turned onto Rawinga, captivated by those amber waves of grain that so inspired Katharine Lee Bates waving in the early morning sunshine, whispering thanks for the service of Ohio veterans. My soul settled in as beautiful flute and oboe music came quietly from my speakers. Shhhhhhh . . . . The cemetery itself stood in silent beauty. Row after row of white ...