Love one another. Three simple, yet difficult words to live by. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another,” proclaims Jesus as he shares a final meal with his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion (John 13:34).
Though the command seems clear enough, some may ask, “How do I love others when I am challenged to love friends and members of my own family? How can I love people who don’t think like me, look like me, or live like me?”
Like it or not, the mandate to “love one another” compels Christians to confront the messiness of our own lives and to look deep within as we name and claim whatever it is that prevents us from loving one another.
Sometimes the answer appears clear enough. We tell ourselves, “He is a thief, she is a liar, or they cannot be trusted.” But is that really the reason? Or merely a convenient excuse, yet one more example of how we try to follow Jesus on our terms instead of heeding the call to discipleship on his terms?
Jesus’ command to “love one another” just as I have loved you says it all. No excuses or loopholes here. Only three simple words, “LOVE … ONE … ANOTHER.”
To follow Jesus demands that we love as Jesus loves, and that is not easy because Jesus loves all of us. Yes, Jesus loved the people closest to him. But Jesus also loved the fickle crowds questioning if he was the long-awaited Messiah. Jesus loved lepers, soul-sick people, the poor and hungry, Gentiles, Samaritans, and all who were deemed to be “less than” by the religious and political authorities. Jesus even loved Judas, the disciple who betrayed him.
God is calling us “to bother love.” A response that theologian Bryan Massingale believes is prompted by being bothered by the suffering of those around us. To be bothered enough to reach out in love. To be bothered by the sin and brokenness of the world to the point of resisting what Professor Natalia Imperatori-Lee calls “the sin of apathy and the fallacy of self-sufficiency.” To bother love is a response grounded in faith, a faith that seeks to love one another as Jesus loves: freely, enthusiastically, and unreservedly.
“My soul longs, indeed faints for the courts of the Lord;my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.” ~ Psalm 84:2
Have you ever been so preoccupied with life that you sometimes overlook the surprising and unexpected ways that God shows up as you go about the routine activities of everyday life?
I have to confess that this happens to me a lot. Given my penchant for finishing assigned tasks on time, personal experience has taught me that sometimes I can become so fixated on checking items off my never-ending “to-do” lists that I end up missing out on what my friend Julie calls “God winks,” the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) signs of God’s abiding presence in our lives, in our congregations, and our world.
The psalmist’s heartfelt joy of being and living in God’s presence is a tonic for many of us who may feel worn down, burned out, or simply stuck in a rut. Life is complicated and sometimes we may focus only on the challenges of our present circumstances instead of opening ourselves up to the many and varied ways that God IS at work in our lives.
Could the answer to our “dis-ease” be as simple as following the example of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection? Brother Lawrence was a seventeenth-century French Carmelite friar whose conversations and letters, The Practice of the Presence of God, speak to the deep-seated longing so many of us have to be in relationship with God. But instead of allowing himself to be distracted by the daily tasks he was assigned, Brother Lawrence focused on cultivating an awareness of God’s presence in his life even amid the drudgery of cooking in the monastery kitchen, washing dishes, or making sandals. For Brother Lawrence, the discipline all began with the realization that “at any moment, in the midst of any occupation, under any circumstances” one may encounter God’s presence in deep and meaningful ways.
What, I wonder, might happen if we began to look for, experience, and celebrate God’s presence in our lives? Although I cannot answer that question for you, I suspect that the spiritual practice developed by Brother Lawrence long ago may hold the key to the peace, joy, and happiness that so many of us long for.
During the time after Epiphany, we frequently encounter biblical texts during worship that offer words of promise and invitation. The promise of God’s abiding presence in our lives and the invitation to participate in God’s reconciling and renewing mission for all creation.
Perhaps that is why I have been revisiting the text from 1 Samuel 3:1-10 a lot lately. During an uncertain time when the people of Israel were fighting off attacks from hostile neighbors and religious leaders struggled to see God’s presence amid the chaos, God shows up unexpectedly. Repeatedly calling out to Samuel, a young boy serving in the House of the Lord at Shiloh.
Surprisingly, God does not call upon Eli, the elderly priest, but instead calls out to the child sleeping near the ark of the covenant. Though God recognizes Samuel’s gifts for ministry, Samuel does not understand what is transpiring for the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. As a result, the child requires the assistance of another to help discern God’s calling.
After returning to Eli a third time, the nearly blind priest finally “sees” that the Lord might actually be speaking to the child. But instead of sulking or wondering why God is not calling out to him, the priest faithfully prepares Samuel to live into his calling. Instructing the child, “Go, lie down … if the Lord calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’”
How many of us have asked the same thing this past year? “Speak, Lord! Please, Lord, show us the way. Tell us where to go.” Yet, unlike Samuel who actually listened when God spoke, we more often than not prefer to do the talking. Treating God like a genie in a bottle, our own personal miracle machine whom we expect to be at our beck and call 24/7. Instead of listening, how many of us engage in spiritual practices that tell God what we think that we need? Instead of listening, we instead engage in spiritual practices that express how we think God should act on our behalf. And then, when our prayers seem to go unanswered, we may withdraw in anger or disappointment. Perhaps blaming God for our own misfortune instead of recognizing that God is with us in our time of need.
It is only natural. Especially considering all that happens during this crazy, roller-coaster ride that we call life. Who among us could predict all of the twists and turns that life throws at us? Life is filled with peaks and valleys and very few of us even know when the next one is headed our way. We coast along until suddenly a loved one becomes ill, or a friend dies, a relationship ends … you name it!
Looking back, with the benefit of hindsight and enough space to grieve, I suspect that many of us may eventually come to “see” that God was with us in the storm. Speaking to us amid the chaos of change, placing others in our path, and equipping us for new opportunities that we may have never even considered.
The story of Samuel’s divine calling also highlights the reality none of us can do this work of ministry alone. And neither could Jesus. Ours is an invitational God who calls people of all ages and varying abilities, people from all walks of life and different ethnicities, and then sends us out — flawed and fallible though we may be — to be the church together.
Though we are a spirit-empowered community, the truth is that sometimes we lose our way. When life throws us unexpected curveballs, we may forget Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit to empower and sustain us in the ministries to which God has called us (John 16). “This is especially true,” notes Mark Hanson, Presiding Bishop Emeritus of the ELCA, “when we describe the church on the basis of what we lack and have lost and nostalgically long for the days gone by.”
The path forward into the future that God has prepared for us begins with the spiritual discipline of listening. Listening deeply to the promises spoken to God’s people throughout the scriptures. Listening to the ways that God is inviting, cajoling, and moving us into a future that we may not yet fully discern. Listening to the voices of our oldest and youngest among us and listening to those who may feel that their insights have been ignored or unappreciated. Prayerful, active listening holds the key to discerning how God is inviting each one of us to steward the gifts that the Holy Spirit has entrusted to our care for the sake of the gospel.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about love. Not the kind of romantic love that conjures up warm and fuzzy feelings when thinking about that someone special in our lives, but the love of God made real for us in Jesus Christ. The Incarnation of God’s unwavering love for all creation.
The greatest disease in the world is not tuberculosis or leprosy; noted Mother Teresa of Calcutta. The greatest disease “is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for.” One might also point to the sickness of simply not seeing others as God’s beloved children.
Recently I read a story by Brian J. Pierce who writes about a photo exhibit of Peruvian children who had suffered greatly during twenty years of warfare and social upheavals. Many of the large panels included quotes from the children depicted on the large black-and-white panels. Beneath the photo of a malnourished eight-year-old boy named Gabriel, was a card that read, “Saben que yo existo, pero nedie me ve” (“They know I exist, but no one sees me”).
Sadly, invisibility is one of the greatest societal diseases of our time. As people of privilege, we often lose sight of the inherent dignity and worth of all of God’s children. In so doing we deprive ourselves of the opportunity to encounter the living Christ who shows up in the places and people we often overlook or ignore.
Some 500 years earlier Martin Luther reminded congregants that “remembering the poor” was a lived response to the “Happy Exchange” that comes to us during the sacrament of Holy Communion — sacred space where “Christ and all of his holy ones take our wretchedness and, in exchange, give us their blessedness.” In response to this gift, writes Luther, we are to direct ourselves toward our neighbors in need, continuing this exchange. Because the fact of the matter is that God does not need what we have to give, but our neighbors do. “As love and support are given to you,” continues Luther, “you in turn must render love and support to Christ and his needy ones.”
“We can cure physical diseases with medicine,” notes Mother Teresa, “but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. Many people in the world are dying for a piece of bread, but there are many more dying for a little love.”
What has love got to do with a life of faith? Everything!
During Advent, many congregations sing the beautiful hymn Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus. For good reason. The hymn speaks of our desire to be set free from our fears and sins while also expressing a yearning for Jesus, the “joy of every longing heart.”
When evening falls on December 24th, Advent will give way to Christmas, a time when we will have the opportunity to attend worship services to celebrate and give thanks for the long-awaited Messiah’s birth.
No doubt many people had expected the Messiah to overthrow the Roman oppressors and restore Israel’s power. While still others hoped for a royal Messiah who would restore the glory of King David’s lineage.
“But as the prophets warned,” notes Mary Elizabeth Sperry, “God’s ways are not our ways.” God is not bound by human expectations. And though we cling to the promise that God will come to us, be prepared to be caught off-guard. Rest assured, God will come, but more often in unanticipated and surprising ways. Coming to us not in power and might, but more often in the ordinary, routine, and unexpected of everyday life.
Instead of coming to us as an all-conquering hero, Jesus’s entry into history could not have been more unassuming. Who would think of looking for a Messiah in a stable? Only a few lowly shepherds and sign readers from the East even noticed.
“Christmas is not really Jesus’ birthday at all,” writes pastor and theologian David Lose, “rather, it is ours. Christmas is … the day we celebrate our birth as children of God, the keeping of all God’s promises, and the beginning of the restoration of all creation.”
The heart of the Christmas story is the Incarnation, a living and evolving tale of God’s activity in our lives. For as the ancient saying reminds us, “The wood of the manger becomes the wood of the cross.”
Lately, I have been struggling to come to grips with the ongoing reports of warfare in Eastern Europe, the increasing death toll of civilians trapped in a hellish war zone in Gaza from which they cannot escape, and the ongoing pandemic of gun violence and bitter partisan divisions closer to home.
If you are like me, you may be asking yourself, “Where is God in all of this? Has God abandoned us?” Like the prophet Isaiah before us we cry out in desperation, begging God to tear open the heavens and come to save us from the world’s violence, hatred, and brokenness (Isa. 64:1). To save us from ourselves.
When asked the same question following the chaos triggered by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the Reverend Rafael Malpica-Padilla replied: “God is walking with the refugees. God is at work in the families opening their homes. I see God in the volunteers giving of their time and care for the people coming their way. I see God dying in the streets of Ukraine.”
God has not abandoned God’s people in our time of need. Far from it. God is in the midst of God’s people, especially with all who are suffering, grieving, and dying. And God invites all of us, with the gifts entrusted to our care, to participate in God’s healing mission for the world.
“Faith,” writes theologian Walter Bruggemann, “requires a ‘thick memory’ that is always letting ancient miracles be reenacted in fresh and daring ways.” If that is the case, then it should not surprise any of us that the prophet Isaiah’s voice resounds throughout Advent. Though Isaiah never flinched from the reality of human suffering or the consequences of sin, he could always see beyond it.
When the prophet’s dire warnings of divine judgment finally occurred, Isaiah’s condemnation, anguish, and anger turned to HOPE. Not some pie-in-the-sky pipedream, but a prophetic hope grounded in the assurance of God’s abiding presence. Even in the aftermath of military defeat, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, and forced exile in a foreign land.
When their world had been turned upside down, Isaiah reminded people of God’s saving activity throughout Israel’s history. Reassuring the exiles that God had not abandoned them. Proclaiming loud and clear that God was faithful, even when God’s people were not. Thereby imaginatively recasting a new future amid the ruins of the present by recalling God’s saving and liberating activity throughout history: leading the Israelites out of slavery, swallowing up Pharoah’s chariots in the Red Sea, making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.
With Isaiah as our guide, may we cling to the promise of God’s ongoing creating, redeeming, and saving action through the entirety of history, even as we call upon God in our time of need to come and save us.
The season of Advent invites us to be honest about our human condition by confronting us with the reality of human brokenness and the need for God’s presence in our lives. Helping us, especially those who struggle to perceive God in the broken spaces and places of everyday life, to experience anew the many ways that God with us IS!
Although it is tempting to see Advent only as a 4-week prelude to Christmas — a time set aside to check off all of the items on our Christmas to-do lists — Advent offers us so much more. Advent taps into the ‘thick memory’ of our faith. Helping us to first remember and then to experience, God’s abiding presence in our lives, in our congregations, and our world.
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isa. 43:19)
Emery Nester tells a story about a lost hiker stranded in the wilderness. Hopelessly lost, the hiker worried about finding a way out of the dense forest, until, by chance, the hiker encountered another wilderness wanderer. “I am lost,” said the hiker. “Will you please show me the way out of the wilderness?” “No,” replied the stranger, “I cannot show you the way out of the wilderness, but maybe if I walk with you, we can find it together.”
The tale of two hikers journeying through the wilderness together gives me hope. More than once during the past year I have heard people connect their lived experience during the global pandemic to the biblical account of the Israelites wandering through the wilderness, hoping beyond hope that the “Promised Land” (life on the other side of Covid) would soon be within their reach.
Though many may want people in positions of authority to take the lead and say, “This is the way forward. Follow me!”, the reality is that we are wilderness wanderers too. Although I am a pastor, I cannot show you the way out of the wilderness, but maybe if I walk with you, we can follow the Holy Spirit’s lead together.
The truth is that the challenges facing many congregations today are adaptive ones. Adaptive challenges, like discerning how God is calling us to be the church together during frightening and uncertain times, defy easy solutions. They are messy and often require multiple approaches.
The most pressing challenges cannot be solved only by people in positions of authority. Adaptive challenges require a lot of people to make progress as we press ahead together into unchartered territory. Because we are all in this together it is important for everyone to listen for understanding without getting defensive or shutting down the ideas of others, especially those whose voices have not yet been heard.
Charting a new course begins with two questions:
What are your concerns?
What are your greatest hopes and dreams for the future?
Asking the questions and listening to one another, especially from those whose input has been ignored, will help us close the gap between where we currently find ourselves and the place where God is inviting us to go.
Fellow wilderness wanderers, please know how much your input, your leadership, and your faithfulness to the Gospel means. “Alone, we can do so little,” wrote Helen Keller, “together we can do so much.”
Have you ever noticed how many times the Bible lifts up the orphan, the widow, the foreigner, the poor, the prisoner, the grieving, and the sick? Jesus is with them, and he invites his followers to join him in caring for the least, the last, and the lost.
Although we may like to passively observe the biblical narrative unfold, it goes without saying that discipleship is not a spectator sport. How can it be? Jesus repeatedly invites his followers of every time and place, people of varying ages and different abilities, to “Come and follow me.”
Why, then, do we hesitate to live into our baptismal vocations? Are we afraid of what the journey may require of us? We know how Jesus’ earthly ministry ended and none of us are eager to sign up for that. Are we?
Or does our hesitancy have more do to with a sense of inadequacy? Though we want to follow Jesus, we may feel ill-equipped for the work of ministry and mission. Discipleship does not come naturally for us. Speaking truth to power is not for the faint of heart. Is it? We avoid confrontation because it makes us (and others) uncomfortable. Following Jesus also moves us beyond the comfort of familiar spaces (our buildings) and faces to advocate for justice in our communities, to forgive our enemies, to love the unlovable, and to serve rather than being served.
The truth is that we need help. We are not called to sit passively on the sidelines and observe Jesus’ ministry. Discipleship requires a response. And that is where grace enters. Because if you are anything like me, experience proves that we fall short more often than we care to admit. We mess up, we struggle to get out of our own way sometimes, and we do our best to balance competing priorities.
At the heart of the good news of Jesus Christ is the promise that God does in us and for us what we cannot do ourselves. Sending the Holy Spirit to empower, equip, and accompany us every step of the way. Even in those moments when we are afraid. Even when we feel inadequate for the task. Even when we discount and downplay the gifts entrusted to our care. Even when we turn away.
The beauty of discipleship is that we are not called to participate in God’s mission alone. God always sends us companions for the journey – family members, friends, and mission partners. And that is where we draw our strength. From the collected gifts, ministries, and strengths of the community.
May we never lose sight of the gifts that each one of us brings to God’s mission. May we also celebrate and give thanks for the relationships that bind us together as the body of Christ, the church on earth. Because it is in community that our relational God shows up. And when God shows up amazing things happen.
“Alone, we can do so little,” noted Helen Keller, “together we can do so much.”
Have you ever heard someone say to you? “There’s only one savior of the world and it’s not you!” I have. Words of wisdom spoken by a Lutheran bishop to a class of wide-eyed seminarians about to be sent out to serve congregations across the United States. Advice meant to drive home the fact that although we may be called into ministry, none of us was the world’s savior.
Following Peter’s confession of faith, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16), the gospel narrative continues by revealing what that exactly means for Jesus. When, after sternly ordering the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah, Jesus tells the disciples that he must go to Jerusalem, suffer persecution at the hands of religious leaders, be killed, and on the third day be raised. Only Jesus’ confused followers cannot yet understand what he is “showing” them. Especially Peter, who declares, “God forbid it, Lord! This [death] must never happen to you!”
Though Peter is trying to prevent Jesus’ suffering and death, Jesus rebukes him for being a stumbling block to Jesus’ divine mission; one that Peter (and no doubt others) cannot yet perceive. Peter, it appears, is only able to see things from a human point of view, of the ways things are supposed to work in the world. As a result, he cannot yet grasp the truth of what Jesus was trying to show him, for he had not yet acquired the wisdom or the experience to view the world through a cruciform lens.
Even though we live on the other side of Easter morning, we, too, struggle to understand and to make sense of these things too. Don’t we?
Worldly idols and pressing concerns demand our attention and sap our energy. So much so that it is hard not be confused by the conflicting and competing messages. Jesus’ invitation, “Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me”, gets drowned out in the flood of worldly messages that tempt us into believing that money, possessions, and power matter most in life. Tantalizing and seductive messages that prey upon our insecurities and shortcomings; deceiving us into believing that we can somehow save ourselves. False promises that Matthew’s gospel warn will not lead anywhere. “For those who want to save their life will lose it,’ declares Jesus, “and those who lose their life for my sake will save it” (Matthew 16:25).
All of which raises an important question: How is Jesus inviting you into discipleship? Calling out, Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me … to the cross!
It is an invitation echoing across the ages calling upon would-be disciples to move forward in the face of great hardship, suffering, and uncertainty. A calling lived out in the lives of courageous martyrs, mystics, reformers, and everyday saints like Dorothy Day, Oscar Romero, Desmond Tutu, Rachel Held Evans, and ordinary faithful followers like you and me too.
The good news is that the powers of sin, death, and evil have been defeated. Not on account of anything that the exemplars of the faith have done. Or as a result of anything that we have done, are doing, or will do. Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker Movement said it best: “True action in the world acknowledges that all our efforts rest in the hands of God.”
The beauty of discipleship is that Jesus invites us – flawed, imperfect, and doubt-ridden though we may be, to participate in God’s saving mission for the world with the gifts entrusted to our care. At its core, the call to discipleship meets us where we are and asks us to examine where our deepest loyalties lie. In God? Or in the false and empty promises of worldly idols?
So let go of whatever is holding you back – fear, insecurity, grief, doubt – and live into the reality of gospel freedom. For in the cross we encounter and experience the triumph of God’s love over the consequences of sin. Jesus’ death and resurrection frees us from the worry of having to be good enough to earn God’s love. In return, we have the privilege of sharing God’s love with others as we welcome outcasts, stand in the gap with the marginalized and oppressed, and love one another as God loves us.
The way of Jesus may be filled with detours and unexpected off-ramps from time to time, but it always makes its way back to the cross. And along the way, we encounter the living Christ in the needs of our neighbors.
Relax, it’s not that complicated. Remember, “There’s only one savior of the world, and it’s not you!”
Truth be told, sometimes the change process feels more like a tomb than a womb. After all, change, especially unwanted or unwelcome change, often entails loss or perceived loss – the loss of place, the loss of status, the loss of relationships, the loss of stability, you name it. As a result, a community experiencing change and transition may find itself challenged to see and experience God’s presence in the uncertainty that change often brings. We ask ourselves: “Where is God in all of this? How do we know where God is leading us?”
The answer is prayer.
At the core of the biblical witness is the promise that God is with us. Although we want to trust the promise, events beyond our control sometimes make it hard for us to see and experience God’s presence in our lives. The darkness of grief and loss clouds our view, and a hopeful future may seem like nothing more than a pie-in-the-sky pipedream beyond our reach.
One way to counter this pull toward apathy is by prayerfully cultivating an awareness of God’s activity in your life; of being more mindful of God amid the routine of everyday life. Begin by ending each day with a simple prayer that includes the following five steps as outlined by James Martin, S.J. in Give Us This Day (September 2023).
First, presence. We remind ourselves that we are in God’s presence. Second, gratitude. We call to mind a few things that we are thankful for, savor them, and thank God for them. Third, review. We review the day to see where we felt God’s presence and where we responded to God’s invitation. Consider, too, where we may have missed out on “God moments” during the day. Fourth, sorrow. We acknowledge the ways that we have fallen short during the past 24 hours, and we ask God to help us to do better tomorrow. Fifth, grace. We close our prayer by asking for God’s help as we live into the baptismal promise of dying to sin and being raised to new life in Christ.
Prayer is vital to our spiritual well-being. It sustains and nurtures our relationship with God. The power of the daily examen lies in its simplicity and structure. James Martin, a Jesuit priest, and enthusiastic practitioner of the daily examen, writes, “The prayer is effective because it helps us see where God has been in the past. And this, in turn, helps us to notice where God is in the present.”
Photo by Paulo Mu00e1rcio Dos Santos on Pexels.com
Walking to Golgotha 