Past Tension

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 88; 148, Ezra 3:1-13, 1 Corinthians 16:10-24, Matthew 12:22-32


After the Persians conquered Babylon, King Cyrus began to release the Jewish people from exile and captivity to return to their homes. The Book of Ezra tells the story of how they began to rebuild the home they had lost, including the temple. Cyrus had also returned many of the holy items from the original temple, so this second temple was a mix of the new and the old. This new temple elicited a mixed reaction from the people:

[T]he people responded with a great shout when they praised the LORD, because the foundation of the house of the LORD was laid. But many of the priests and Levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first house on its foundations, wept with a loud voice when they saw this house […] so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping.

Why did the older people weep? Some scholars believe it was because the new temple could never match the remembered glory of Solomon’s original temple. But perhaps it’s more complicated than that; the taste of nostalgia is bittersweet. These older people not only mourned what they had lost, but mourned what never was. The sight of a more humble foundation for the house of the Lord was a reminder of the unfaithfulness and corruption that made God willing to let them be taken into exile in the first place. The home they rebuilt needed to be one of substantially different character from the one they had left, no matter how fondly they remembered it.

How do we remember the past? Is it all “the good old days?” Or is it really just a longing for a time of innocence before we knew what we know now? Just as the widows and orphans who’d been cast off instead of cared for probably didn’t think of Jerusalem’s pre-exile days as especially good, many women, people of color, disabled people, and others may not be so enamored of a past which marginalized them. We are increasingly aware of violence, but violence in the U.S. and most of the world has been trending downward for years. People on the whole are healthier and live longer.

So what is it we hope to recapture?

Perhaps what we can do with feelings of nostalgia is try to recreate the world, or at least our tiny corner of it, with the beloved values we think we remember. Neighbors caring for one another – but with an expanded definition of “neighbor.” Feelings of safety – but with a better understanding of the violence that happens outside our particular social circle. A sense of family – but with the combination of joy and weeping it really is instead of the idealized version that never existed.

Every one of us in exile from the past. It’s how we rebuild the future that matters.

Comfort: Whatever your past, Christ ushers you into a better future.

Challenge: Talk with you family and friends to see if they remember your shared history the same way you do.

Prayer: Turn, O LORD, save my life; deliver me for the sake of your steadfast love. (Psalm 6:4)

Discussion: What are you nostalgic for? What are you glad is part of the past?

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Conspiracy Theory

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 143; 147:12-20, Ezra 1:1-11, 1 Corinthians 16:1-9, Matthew 12:15-21


It’s hardly even news any more when we discover the people who are supposed to be leading us or serving the public are not working in our best interest. The outrage we feel over scandals is less about being surprised or disappointed, and more about vindicating our suspicions about how the “other side” abuses its power.

From the personal and petty to the global and grandiose, people with power can’t seem to help abusing it and maintaining a choke hold on it. The Pharisees felt Jesus and his teachings threatened their power and they were willing to play dirty to retain it. Like the power-hungry across all times, they convinced themselves and others it was for the greater good.

It would be nice to say Christians today were not nearly as prone to conspire against Christ, but would it be true? Early Christians held beliefs that ran counter to the dominant culture. In America and large sections of the western world, Christians are the dominant culture. Because this is the case, it is easy to start assuming the things we value as a society must be Christian. We conflate value-neutral systems like capitalism and democracy, and institutions like the military and the constitution, with Christianity in a way that makes them seem like the Unified Theory of Everything Good. When Jesus gets bound up in marketing gimmicks and partisan politics and national pride, we have — intentionally or not — conspired to undermine his message. When Christians view and treat the poor as moral failures instead of fellow travelers, or encourage others to do so, we have traded Christ for comfort.

What if we could conspire on behalf of Christ? What if, instead of assuming Christ should value the same things we do, we sought to live in loving contrast to the parts of our culture — even the self-identified Christian ones — that resemble the institutions and hypocrisies he criticized? What if we did so in a way that was not about toppling the powerful, but raising the downtrodden? If we aren’t rocking the boat in radically inclusive ways, we’ll never know what it’s like to walk on water.

Comfort: The values Christ stands for are timeless…

Challenge: … so we can’t assume all his teachings were about the past.

Prayer: I love the LORD, because he has heard my voice and my supplications. (Psalm 116:1)

Discussion: Are there any conspiracy theories you think are true?

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Predictably Unpredictable

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 65; 147:1-11, Lamentations 2:8-15, 1 Corinthians 15:51-58, Matthew 12:1-14


The Book of Lamentations, written in response to the destruction of Jerusalem at the hands of the Babylonian empire, is a dark, heavy text offering little comfort of hope. Each of its five chapters is a complete poem unto itself. Though the author acknowledges God’s wrath was not unprovoked, he is bewildered by the Lord’s utter lack of mercy. He compares God to a foe of the people, and suggests the consequences far outweigh the nation’s sins.

In the second chapter of Lamentations, eyes fail from weeping, children faint in the streets from hunger, and the slain gather dusts in the streets. The author wants to know how the Lord could loose this devastation on the nation he loved as a bridegroom loves a bride. Yes we did some bad things, the author recognizes, but how could we have expected this? Oh … right … all those prophets.

When I worked with a church youth group of high schoolers, a young man approached me with a crisis of faith. He was devastated that God had not answered his prayers. His feared his girlfriend was pregnant despite all his (and one assumes her) prayers that it not be so. This was going to ruin their lives, he said. How could God let such a thing happen? It was a little surprising how in his mind he’d rationalized a situation where God’s character was the one in question.

But people speak often as if they had no part in contributing to the dire yet completely predictable situation in which they find themselves. Pregnancy doesn’t just happen. Neither do massive credit card debt, affairs, disciplinary action at school or work, drunken altercations, or committing oneself to strange gods. Yes these can be complex and all-too-human mistakes (well, most of them), but using that as an excuse just leaves us prone to making the same (or worse) ones again.

Israel couldn’t begin to repair her relationship with God until she owned up to her role in damaging it. Why risk the same sort of consequences, even if on a much smaller scale? Being honest about our own culpability both empowers us to initiate change and heal relationships with loved ones, ourselves, and God. We can lament if we must; it seems inevitable if not necessary. But then it’s time to do the hard and honest work. We like to avoid blame and guilt, but admitting to them is the first step in leaving them behind.

Comfort: God does not want us to live a life weighed down by guilt…

Challenge: … but we have to live with it before we can lose it.

Prayer: My Lord and creator, nothing about me is hidden from you. Help me to be transparent and honest with myself as well. Amen.

Discussion: How do you react to feeling guilty?

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Unburdened

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 57; 145, Jeremiah 44:1-14, 1 Corinthians 15:30-41, Matthew 11:16-24


Jesus told the people of Galilee (and – through Matthew’s gospel – all of us):

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

“Burden” was a vague term, perhaps intentionally so. Many things can burden us. Guilt. Family obligations. Persecution. Financial troubles. Illness. Worry. The list is endless, yet Jesus offered comfort and reassurance to all who felt burdened for whatever reason. How relieved the people must have been to hear from someone who did not wish to add to their already heavy burdens, but to actually relieve them.

Later on, Jesus had very different words for his disciples:

 If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

Well that doesn’t sound like much of a relief, now does it?

Yet these messages are not contradictory. Jesus would have us learn whatever we need to draw closer to him. In the beginning, that may mean learning what burdens we can, should, and must lay at his feet. If the contents of our lives are so overwhelming that they crowd out Jesus, it’s time to let go of them. And if we can’t let go – for example, a caregiver of a sick child – we can spiritually reposition ourselves to let Christ help lighten the load.

We aren’t ready to pick up the cross on day one of discipleship. Before we can handle that weight, we have to be fully settled into Christ’s yoke – to genuinely trust in the strength of his “gentle and humble heart.” It may take a while, but then we can follow free of even the burden of trying to save our own lives.

Whether we need reassurance that it is safe to draw near him, or a push to follow him to the end, Christ’s words speak to us where we are.

Comfort: Wherever you are in your spiritual growth, Jesus is speaking to you.

Challenge: However close we feel to Christ, we can still grow closer.

Prayer: My Lord, I seek to grow ever closer to you. Amen.

Discussion: Which words of Jesus do you find comforting … and which do you find challenging?

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Heard

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 57; 145, Jeremiah 44:1-14, 1 Corinthians 15:30-41, Matthew 11:16-24


When people aren’t inclined to listen to us, how do we make ourselves heard?

Some of us raise our voices, which feels satisfying but can hand people an excuse not to listen.  Others speak more softly, which in many situations can draw people in, but is not foolproof.  A co-worker once told me she saves crying for when she needs her husband to really listen. Young children apply sheer persistence: “Mommy… Mommy… Mommy…”

The Lord, who wanted the people of Israel to repent of their idol worship and return worshiping the one who had delivered them from Egypt, tried variations on all of the above:

I persistently sent to you all my servants the prophets, saying, “I beg you not to do this abominable thing that I hate!” But they did not listen or incline their ear, to turn from their wickedness and make no offerings to other gods. So my wrath and my anger were poured out and kindled in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem.

The Lord wasn’t just angry about the idol worship. Even the sacrifices they did make at the temple were offensive as long as they forgot and neglected the widows and orphans among them to pursue their own pleasures. Because they didn’t want to hear they needed to change, they rejected the pleas and the shouts and – eventually – the disastrous signs from the Lord.

When we aren’t inclined to listen to someone, how do we justify ignoring them?

Being loud or angry doesn’t make them wrong. A softer approach doesn’t make them weak. An emotional response doesn’t mean they aren’t rational. And being annoying doesn’t invalidate their message. Even being wrong before doesn’t mean someone can’t be right later. As much as we might like it to be so.

Being heard and listening are both important skills to nurture. And one of the best ways to be heard is to make sure people know you are also listening. Important messages are seldom delivered in exactly the way we would like them to be. Listening now, even when we don’t care to, can save a whole lot of trouble later.

Comfort: You don’t have to say something perfectly for it to matter.

Challenge: Listen more than you speak.

Prayer: Let me hear what God the LORD will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts. (Psalm 85:8)

Discussion: What makes you not want to listen to someone?

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Dignity

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 67; 150, Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14, Acts 16:6-15, Luke 10:1-12,17-20


But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile,
and pray to the LORD on its behalf,
for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
– Jeremiah, 29:7

You can’t attend church or Sunday school for very long without hearing about how Jesus told us to pray for our enemies. On the other hand, you don’t have to experience the world for too long before realizing Christians in practice do not necessarily prioritize praying for them over defeating, humiliating, or killing them. Whether it’s our rival in the neighborhood association or a dangerous, despotic regime rattling its sabers, wishing them well does not tend to be our go-to response. Rather, we go through some serious ethical and moral contortions to justify treating them like we want to. And it almost never occurs to us that our own defeat might be the better outcome in the long term.

Yet centuries before Jesus, God was telling the people of Israel through the prophet Jeremiah to pray for Babylon, the empire which had defeated and exiled them. Praying wasn’t just the kind, sacrificial thing to do: the welfare of the two nations was interdependent. How the people of Israel responded to their captors would be instrumental in the eventual welfare of both.

What’s in our own best interest … isn’t always in our own best interest. The Gospel isn’t specific about how we are to pray for our enemies, so naturally we resort to praying for things like their conversion, or at the very least that they see the world more like we do. But what if we prayed for the things we want for ourselves? That their children do not know hunger. That their citizens do not live in fear. That peace reigns among them. What if we prayed – or better yet wanted – these things for them regardless of whether they never came around to our point of view or even wanted these things for us? What if we worked toward it?

If this sounds like passive acceptance, it’s very different. Enmity relies on us dehumanizing each other. If an enemy can claim we have no regard for his life, he is excused from having regard for ours. Refusing to deny the dignity of personhood of each of God’s children is how we retain our own. The first shall be last is more than a Christian motto; it’s how we save each other.

Comfort: Your dignity is yours to cherish or abandon.

Challenge: Be careful how you speak about your enemies, for God loves them, too.

Prayer: I will both lie down and sleep in peace; for you alone, O LORD, make me lie down in safety. (Psalm 4:8)

Discussion: Do you think loving our enemies really accomplishes anything?

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Dismantled

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 56; 149, Jeremiah 52:1-34, 1 Corinthians 15:12-29, Matthew 11:7-15


When Jerusalem finally fell to Babylon, it fell hard. The king’s sons were killed and his eyes were put out. Priests, councilors, officers, and random citizens were executed in a show of force and cruelty that ended in the exile of Judah. The Babylonians sacked the temple, looting everything down to the serving utensils and decorative bronze pomegranates.

No one could say they didn’t see it coming. From Israel’s first king Saul through her last king Zedekiah, nearly all of them betrayed the Lord and the people in significant ways. Time after time, the Lord allowed them to repent, and spared both king and kingdom. The Lord had no desire to see his people suffer, and was generous with forgiveness. But after more than twenty kings and nearly as many generations, the Lord’s warnings that nothing good would come from choosing to be led by kings were undeniable. Israel and then Judah fell to foreign invaders and for all intents and purposes ceased to be.

In time they would be restored, at least for a while. The period in between was one of grief not just for the Jewish people, but also for the Lord.

The Lord never delights in our suffering, but also doesn’t seem to stop us from bringing it upon ourselves. Our relationship with our creator is based on love, and love can never be forced. Is all our suffering a result of our own decisions? Certainly not. Many times it’s the fallout of other people’s decisions. Sometimes it’s unavoidable or unpredictable, like a disease or a disaster. But our stubbornness and hard hearts still cause us no end of grief. And at times it feels like the consequences of our actions return to dismantle us down to the smallest details of our lives.

During those times, wouldn’t we prefer a God who, satisfied that we’ve learned our lesson, quickly snatches us from spiritual exile and restores us to good fortune? But easy fixes aren’t love either. Love stands by to offer the appropriate support while we fix ourselves … and sometimes it has to wait a long time for us to figure out both what we need to fix and the will to do it. No matter how long it takes, God waits.

When we feel undone by life, let’s cling to the certainty that God does not leave us, but grieves with us until we find our way back to wholeness.

Comfort: God is with you even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Challenge: If what you’ve been doing isn’t working … do something else.

Prayer: Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD.. (Psalm 118:9)

Discussion: When the people of Israel eventually returned to their homes, they had to rebuild from the ground up. Have you ever had to rebuild instead of fixing?

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“Dear Abba…”

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 130; 148, Jeremiah 38:14-28, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Matthew 11:1-6


How often do we seek actual advice? Not like calling your cousin who works in IT to find out which computer you should buy, but asking for input on some serious decision-making that will have a real impact on your life. And how often do we put the cart before the horse, only seeking advice after we’ve effectively made up our minds? At that point what we seek is probably no longer advice, but support for a (possibly questionable) course of action we already want to follow, or a nudge to do something we already know we should but don’t really want to. When this is the case, we become pretty selective about whose “advice” we seek; we usually have a good idea what any given friend or family member will say about something.

King Zedekiah, besieged by the forces of Babylon, was ambivalent about listening to the advice of the prophet Jeremiah. For a while he sought the prophet’s counsel and prayers, but eventually he seemed so opposed to it that Jeremiah, fearing he might be put to death, grew hesitant to speak to him at all. Only after Zedekiah swore a secret oath to let no harm come to Jeremiah, the prophet told him to surrender to the king of Babylon or his enemies – who had been joined by many of his former allies and citizens – would sack Jerusalem. Zedekiah didn’t like this advice, and threatened Jeremiah with death if he spoke about it to anyone.

We can all be Zedekiah, avoiding people and ignoring advice that really matters. There is no hard and fast rule about decision-making. We repeat the folk wisdom which teaches the difficult choice is usually the right choice, but that’s not always true. The friends who pride themselves on “telling it like it is” can speak with blunt confidence and still be wrong. And sometimes we just need to go with our gut.

Maybe the trick to good decision-making is learning to listen to the words and ideas we want to resist without becoming defensive or fearful, and to the ones we welcome with a lot of skepticism. Sources we don’t much respect can still be right, and people who offer us unconditional support can still be wrong. And most importantly we should spend time in humble prayer, asking what God would have us do, receptive to what we need rather than what we desire.

Comfort: You do not have to face difficult decisions on your own.

Challenge: Don’t reject ideas just because they don’t appeal to you.

Prayer: I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope. (Psalm 135:10)

Discussion: Who do you turn to for advice?

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The Sword and the Word

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Photo by James Pond on Unsplash

Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 36; 147:12-20, Jeremiah 38:1-13, 1 Corinthians 14:26-40, Matthew 10:34-42


Some Biblical passages are challenging to understand. Not because of difficult language, but because of difficult ideas. And which ideas seem difficult vary from person to person. For me, today’s passage from Matthew has always been tough:

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth;
I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.

How do we reconcile the blessed peacemakers of the Beatitudes from Matthew 5 with the sword and household strife in Matthew 10?

Is it a literal sword? That depends on who you ask. This passage has been used to justify taking up arms. But if we look at the physical use of swords by Christ and his disciples in the gospels, including the time he tells them to sell their cloaks to buy swords, he never encourages using them and chastises the disciple who strikes with one to defend him.

This divisive sword, this render of home and family, seems more akin to the metaphorical eyes we are to pluck out to avoid sin. But what does it represent?

I believe that, under the right circumstances, love and forgiveness can be perceived as a threat and, yes, even a weapon. Not everyone is willing to get on board with the radical call to sacrifice – both material and spiritual – that is part of discipleship. Not everyone wants to forgive. Maybe they simply don’t agree with the whole philosophy behind it. Maybe they don’t like having a mirror held up to their lives. Maybe they’ve been so abused by twisted religion that they can no longer associate Christ with anything good.  Whatever the reason, standing firm in our beliefs has the potential to alienate even the closest family members – to sever bonds, however regretfully, like a sword. And like any true swordsman, once we’ve unsheathed it, we must be prepared to follow through.

And there’s the Christian paradox. Christ asks us to wield a metaphorical sword which creates real-world enemies … even as he commands us to love those enemies and do good to those who persecute us. We don’t seek to create strife, but it will happen. And we are to respond to it with a love and humility that seemingly gives our foes all the advantages. For if we abandon love, we have surrendered everything.

Christ’s teachings divided his people against themselves and against him, and he forgave while he looked down on his foes from the cross. Surely we can make peace across a dinner table.

Comfort: Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.

Challenge: Just because someone rejects you doesn’t mean you must reject them.

Prayer: Do not hide your face from me. Do not turn your servant away in anger,
you who have been my help. Do not cast me off, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation! If my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will take me up. (Psalm 27:9-10)

Discussion: Have you ever been at odds with friends or family over your faith?

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Plainspoken

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 15; 147:1-11, Jeremiah 37:3-21, 1 Corinthians 14:13-25, Matthew 10:24-33


Slang. Jargon. Idiom. Argot. Dialect. Lingo. These words all have slightly different definitions and connotations, but have something in common: they often determine whether you are in a group or out of it. Slang is largely generational; when you’re no longer up on the latest – or worse, desperately fumbling with it – you’re old. Jargon and argot have a more professional context; try to fake your way around a profession you don’t know, and your vocabulary will betray you soon enough. Idiom and dialect are perhaps the most tribal of the group, as they are defined primarily by geographic location; nobody in Georgia is fooled when someone from Connecticut drops a “y’all.”

There’s something comforting about sharing a special, almost secret language. It immediately establishes common ground, even with strangers, in a positive way. Yet even as language draws a circle of inclusion, it excludes everyone who stands outside the circle. This exclusion isn’t necessarily intentional, but it’s an unavoidable byproduct.

Which brings us to “Christianese.”

Paul was concerned about the Corinthian church’s tendency toward an inward focus. They seemed to have a real fondness what may be the ultimate insider language, speaking in tongues (which, let’s be honest, is pretty easy to fake if you can’t hone in on your spiritual gifts). Paul tried to make them aware of how an unbeliever might feel walking in on a service where everyone seemed to speak independent gibberish:

If, therefore, the whole church comes together and all speak in tongues, and outsiders or unbelievers enter, will they not say that you are out of your mind? […] in church I would rather speak five words with my mind, in order to instruct others also, than ten thousand words in a tongue.

We may not be speaking in tongues, but when churchgoers casually throw around words like “narthex” (what’s wrong with “lobby”?), acronyms like “VBS,” or phrases like “slain in the spirit” without explanation we erect a language barrier between us and newcomers or strangers. It’s not bad to let people know our culture is different – if it wasn’t, why bother? – but the differences we want to emphasize are compassion, inclusion, and forgiveness. Even “grace” can be a mystery word to the uninitiated, but “love” is universal. Let’s show it by saying it clearly.

Comfort: There can be great comfort in being part of a community with common culture.

Challenge: Don’t make assumptions that people know what you know, or understand everything you say.

Prayer:  Teach me, O Lord, to speak with love and thoughtfulness. Amen.

Discussion: When you don’t understand what people are talking about, are you comfortable asking for clarification?

Join the discussion! If you enjoyed this post, feel free to join an extended discussion as part of the C+C Facebook group. You’ll be notified of new posts through FB, and have the opportunity to share your thoughts with some lovely people. Or feel free to comment here on WordPress, or even re-blog – the more the merrier!