I don’t remember last week – at least not in any significant detail. It is not because I was abducted, nor is it because I suffer from any kind of medical condition that affects my memory. I have come to the conclusion that life simply gets full, and to allow myself to be able to function, often times I go on autopilot. Autopilot is scary. I remember one night when I was in my late teens.
They had been married for 47 years, raised two boys and two girls, and seven grandchildren. High school sweethearts, married at age 20, and now, all those years of love, family and life had come down to this: she was in a Critical Care Unit with cancer. Nearly unconscious except for the slow, painful moans that forced their escape from her parted lips, she sought relief from her body’s agony. Cancer, like an evil spirit, was speedily consuming her from the inside out. Her name was Josephine. Only days before, though sick, they believed she had more time.
I wonder if it was dusty at the well where Jesus met the Samaritan woman. I would like it if it was. The woman came to the well for water. Water washes dust away. Jesus asked her for water. To ask for anything is to admit that one needs something from someone else. Jesus, it seems, makes it a point to put himself in her debt. She points out to him how far out of the norm it was for a Jew to submit himself to
What do we mean when we say “the way of the world?” I suspect that each of us, if we were to examine what we mean by this word, would come up with a different kind of definition. My anecdotal observation is that both I and my fellow Christians seem to have one thing in common when it comes to how we interpret this word, namely that the idea of “the world” seems shrouded in some sense of other. In simpler terms, I’ve found that if a person does not believe one should listen to rock music then it is from the world that such music comes. If a person believes that when o
In a society where LGBT individuals are ignored, victimized, and criticized by both secular and Christian communities, LGBT Christians face just as much or even more disapproval. Wait. Gay AND Christian? Many respond, “That’s a myth,” or, “That’s ethically AND morally AND biblically impossible!” But they’re not unicorns; gay Christians exist; I attended a conference full of them.
I was 16. It was a bright afternoon and I was riding with my parents home from Bend Oregon to Madras Oregon. The radio was on the local Christian station. Off to the right, Smith Rock towered over the high desert. I’ve always liked the area around Smith Rock. It’s called Terrebonne, and there is little wonder that it means good land. Despite the brown hills around, in this small stretch of highway 97 green grass encircles dark juniper trees. The place reminded me of a song called “The Color Green:” a Celtic sounding reel that expressed the how the very land sings God’s song of life.
Christmases of my childhood were magical and full of meaning. At the beginning of Advent each year we dug special books out of the attic, and my mom read them aloud to my brother and me over and over again. From My Bible Friends’ Bethlehem story—“clip-clop-clip-clop went little donkey’s hooves”—to tales of lonely, misunderstood trolls wishing for someone to love rather than fear them. Each day we opened a window or door of our Advent calendar village.