Our final chapters have been written. On that great gettin’ up morning, we will see Jesus, and we will be like him, having been freed from death. We know how the story ends, but we do not know how we get there. The middle chapters are missing.
Among the unavoidable claims of the gospel is that those following in the way of Jesus will be wounded. The Way leads to abundance, but it is not painless. A false gospel — or a half-gospel — wounds, but not in a way that brings about healing. White Jesus wounds the body and soul of everyone he encounters, but lacks either the power or the gentle touch to bind up our wounds.
White navel-gazing is not the proper orientation toward Black History Month. We’ve got to do the needed self-examination, but we are not the center of the narrative. Using the work of blacks to put ourselves back at the center of the story is not the right strategy. But while reading all that black history, it does help to know what seat we are sitting in.
Slow, quiet growth will make followers of Jesus ready to act quickly in defense of the poor and vulnerable.
The world is groaning for some prophet to speak a few living and active verbs — three-dimensional verbs, verbs that make some difference in the order of things, verbs that sing like Mary sings, songs that bind up the broken-hearted and set the captives free.
With our mouths we will give you great thanks, God, for you stand at the right hand of the oppressed, and through your oppressed body comes our liberation.
Most days, I think that we can build on Dolores and David. Which is not to say that we can just be nice to each other and everything will be OK. But it is possible to craft policy in a way that makes the journey a bit easier for those who suffer.
Fifteen strangers are gathered for supper. We share from a common table where everyone has offered a little dish. Around the country, thousands of others are doing the same thing. These multi-hued, boundary-crossing gatherings are happening thanks to a call…
On Saturday, little Bobby walked down to the corner store. He had no money. But he did have his bookbag and, even at just 9 years old, some practice at getting his hunger sated without the aid of money. On…