This pandemic is not a theological crisis. It’s a moral one. We would do well in this moment to take the prophet Jeremiah’s advice to “put on sackcloth, lament and howl.” We need to mourn and rage and contemplate what led us to this moment.
The story of Lot and Sodom is relevant and timely, if we see it as a story of radical hospitality.
Never before in my lifetime have I feared for democracy, for the rule of law, for basic truthfulness and honesty, for human decency and kindness. But the cosmic Christ still calls us to live in hope, even when despair seems strong.
On Ash Wednesday, I will try to reconcile with a Jesus who stands before me, ready to offer the love I desperately need. I will try to find his hand amid my darkness, a brokenness that has nothing to do with my sin.
Perhaps the only way to really experience Christmas as it was intended is to renew the faith of a pre-Christmas people who did not yet know the Savior whose justice and righteousness we seem to stubbornly resist at every turn
The Simeons and Annas keep the faith when we cannot. Their praises become our praises. Their disappointments reflect ours. Their hopes become our hopes. Their constant murmured prayers help sustain us.
For me, the practice of cultivating hope during the Advent season began with a list of simple action steps.
The deep and abiding anger that we harbor at the world as it is today will kill us in greater numbers than the actions of crooked cops, Trump-loving white nationalists or mass shooters. As elusive as it may seem, seeking the peace that surpasses all understanding must be our daily work.
We do our best to illumine this time of year with both artificial and spiritual means. Thankfully, God provides the latter.