https://youtu.be/jKcuK3OzrFg?si=zpZYC6f9-NriewFI

A Responsibility for Our Tradition

Friday, October 24, 2025

To be part of a life-giving tradition brings with it a moral responsibility to make it even better as we pass it on to future generations. 
–Brian McLaren, “Engaged Contemplative Christianity” 

In the latest issue of the CAC’s journal ONEING, Brian McLaren reflects on the moral responsibility we carry toward our traditions, inviting us to discern if they are life-giving, death-dealing, or somewhere in between:  

Traditions are cultural communities that carry on, from generation to generation, ideas and practices (what I call treasures) in which they see great enduring value. Like everything in this universe, traditions are constantly changing, even if the change occurs at a glacial pace. (Though these days we know that sometimes even glaciers change quickly.) Sometimes they change for the better. Sometimes they change for the worse. Even if a tradition were to stay exactly the same, to be the same thing in a different environment is not the same thing….  

We have no choice as to the tradition into which we were born. As we grow older, we must decide: Is this inherited tradition life-giving, death-dealing, or a mix of both? If it is in an unhealthy condition right now, is it improvable or salvageable? Does participating in it perpetuate harm? Is it time to migrate to a new spiritual tradition? 

When we choose to invest our precious time in the most life-giving tradition we can find, we have a responsibility—we might call it a moral responsibility—to understand the tradition’s core treasures: its deepest values, vision, practices, and insights; its origins, history, and leading figures. We also have a responsibility to face its shortcomings, missteps, imbalances, and current needs for growth, so we can someday, if possible, pass on an even better version of the tradition than we have received.  

McLaren describes the healing power of discovering contemplative Christianity:  

Every day, more and more of us find ourselves unable to perpetuate the religious traditions in which we were raised. We have experienced them as taking more than they give, or, in some cases, we fear they do more harm than good. We have made a great spiritual migration: We have left, often with tears, beloved inherited traditions we considered death-dealing and stubbornly resistant to change. If we hadn’t found (or been found by) the tradition of engaged contemplative Christianity, many of us couldn’t consider ourselves Christians anymore. We would find ourselves spiritually homeless.  

As we rejoice in this growing, life-giving, living tradition, we face important questions: How will we help our tradition to grow, mature, and expand its influence for good? How will we enrich and improve the tradition as it stands? How can we discern its present weaknesses, not in order to criticize and condemn the tradition, but in order to heal, strengthen, and energize it for greater fruitfulness in the future? What might the growing edges of our tradition be?  

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Hello Friends! Okay, so I want to let you in on something. I am typing this right now, next to my wife. And she frequently jokes that I have “storytelling grandpa vibes.”  Just because I enjoy root beer floats, a slow start to the morning, sitting down to talk with people over lemonade or beer, and wanting a lovely porch or a backyard for a good bonfire.   I have little desire to be flashy or to look super professional.  I am good with a few pairs of the same pants in different colors because they fit well. As I said, I have “grandpa vibes.” And I own it. I always smirk a little when she reminds me of the aura or milieu I create because it’s spot on. It’s okay, though.  A humble, small life that is meaningful and sprinkled through and through with quality people sounds lovely to me.  Well, jokes on you, Jess.  You give off “cute grandma vibes.”  I think we belong together.  Good thing we got married back in June. Anyway, I hope all of you enjoyed this week’s introduction.  Just a little windown into the absurdity of my life. As always, thank you for reading!

(This was part of my workday on Wednesday, sitting on this porch with a beer and talking about upcoming work.  I know, I know, it’s a rough life.)  1.“The renewal of creation has been the work of the self-same Word that made it at the beginning.”- Athanasius of Alexandria, 4th Century Church Father In Christian theology, there is the idea that Jesus is the Logos, the “word, logic, rationale, blueprint, or principle” by and through and in which all things were created and sustained.  The Logos was a fundamental concept for Philo of Alexandria, a very influential Jewish philosopher. And so, for Athanasius, who was also a formidable figure of Alexandria, it makes sense that for his understanding of the renewal of all things, the Logos would be just as intimately involved as He was in the beginning. 2.”The Inner creates the Outer, and the Outer molds the Inner.”- Jiddu Krishnamurti, 20th Century Indian Philosopher Honestly, I forgot where I heard this from this past week. It might have been from a podcast episode that I listened to. However, it has stuck with me since. Our Inner world/soul/values create the Outer world, including how we organize society, our jobs, our family lives, etc.  Then, this Outer world molds (but does not dictate) us in turn, and certainly the next generation as well. If we are unhappy with the Outer world, the first thing we should stop and evaluate is our own Inner world.   It is one thing to try and force the Outer world to be better, but it is another thing entirely to turn inward and see where the blame might be. Fascinatingly enough, The Sermon on the Mount is a rather brutal and honest evaluation of the Inner world. 3.”A sophiological Christianity focuses on the path.”- Cynthia Bourgeault, Episcopal Priest One of the most important paradigm shifts I have experienced is valuing the sophiological side of Christianity —the incarnate wisdom of it all.  I have been around people who only emphasize the soteriological side of Christianity, who tend to prioritize the question of “What must I do to be saved?” It is not that such a question is bad, but it now feels limiting to me.Why?Because if all you care about is being forgiven and being saved, then you are not really allowing yourself to be confronted with how Jesus teaches us to forgive our enemies, fight for those being sacrificed on the altar to the empire, push back against injustices, be more marked by generosity than stinginess, and display hospitality more than hostility. 4.”Your accumulated offenses do not surpass the multitude of God’s mercies; your wounds do not surpass the great physician’s skill.“- Cyril of Jerusalem, 4th Century Church Father Hope. There is always hope. No one is beyond the reach of the Good Shepherd, and nothing is beyond the scope of reconciliation. So, again, there is always hope. 5.”The theologian who labors without joy is not a theologian at all. Sulky faces, morose thoughts and boring ways of speaking are intolerable in this field.”- Karl Barth, Swiss Theologian This is a good one. Fortunately, I have been under the teaching/preaching of joyful people more than staunch, serious, or dreadful ones. This is why I enjoy reading Karl Barth.  Despite all the complexities and paradoxes of the man, he brings a particular kind of relief and joy after having read him.  If at the end of the day, the way the Gospel is being presented does not foster relief, then it ain’t the Gospel.If God truly is infinite, outpouring, co-suffering Love, then I don’t think we have much to worry about in life.

A Community of Seekers

Thursday, October 23, 2025

Author Cassidy Hall describes the solidarity she feels with other contemplatives who continue to explore new ways of understanding themselves, their lives, and God.   

We may word things differently, but this perpetual search to know the unknowable is a familiar feeling for many contemplatives. We have an almost ravenous hunger, or some might say a palpable thirst, or a seemingly aimless dull ache that thrums through us. The ache reminds us we are in touch with the suffering of the whole world. All contemplatives, no matter their religion or spirituality, seem to have this in common, and recognizing this makes me feel less alone. 

The contemplative life is not a way of knowing. It is not the path of certitude. In fact, that’s what makes it so alive, so necessarily active. Our glimpses of “arrival” along the way are places we can catch our breath and recall we are moving in the right direction, even if it’s only because it’s exactly where we are. Those times, we remember that the way is not meant to be easy, simple, or comfortable. But these moments only last for a flash in the midst of life because, as the Rev. Dr. Walter Fluker reminds us, “Life will keep going because life itself is alive.” [1]…  

These instances are only signposts along the way, affirming us on the lifelong journey of contemplation—this living, breathing, growing journey. Even though we know the search will never end, the hunt continues. In fact, … [Thomas Merton] concluded his best-selling spiritual memoir The Seven Storey Mountain by writing in Latin, “Sit finis libri, non finis quaerendi,” meaning, “Here ends the book, but not the searching.” [2]  

To live within the contemplative tradition is not only to keep searching. It is also an invitation to evolve within and alongside it. We are asked to engage with and deepen into the roots of its origins, while also being called to live into what it looks like in our ever-changing world. The contemplative path must grow in order for us to continue on, in order for us to be alive in the living, growing, and breathing tradition.  

Hall’s quest led her to the wide and evolving lineage of Christian contemplation—from Thomas Merton’s writings to the wisdom of the desert fathers and mothers, to the work of Dr. Barbara Holmes.  

We come from all walks of life, cultures, and markers of identity. There is a unity in our uniqueness, and that common thread binds us together, allowing us to recognize each other…. As I learned from more diverse voices, I came to understand Christian contemplation as a living tradition. The word living insinuates an ongoing, even growing nature. Life necessitates space, breathing room, and an openness to change. That which is living cannot exist in a place of complete certitude—to do so would be to count it dead: not continuing, not evolving, not ever-becoming. In this way, contemplation is its own spiritual paradox, one of tradition and change, stillness and action.  

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Sarah Young Jesus Calling

 You are on the right path. Listen more to Me, and less to your doubts. I am leading you along the way I designed just for you. Therefore, it is a lonely way, humanly speaking. But I go before you as well as alongside you, so you are never alone. Do not expect anyone to understand fully My ways with you, any more than you can comprehend My dealings with others. I am revealing to you the path of Life day by day, and moment by moment. As I said to My disciple Peter, so I repeat to you: Follow Me. 

RELATED SCRIPTURE: 

Psalm 119:105 NLT

Nun

105 Your word is a lamp to guide my feet

    and a light for my path.

John 21:22 NLT

22 Jesus replied, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? As for you, follow me.”

Black Traditions of Contemplation

E. Trey Clark, a Professor of Preaching and Spiritual Formation, considers the rich history of Black contemplative preaching in the CAC’s latest issue ofONEING: A Living Tradition: 

In Christian faith traditions, contemplative preaching is a mode of proclamation that weds prayer, wisdom, and reflection to invite listeners into a transformative encounter with God for the good of the world and the glory of God…. 

Black contemplative preaching is shaped by the holistic spirituality, communal orientation, and vibrant orality that is part of the rich Africana heritage—even when embodied outside of predominantly Black contexts. Moreover, Black contemplative preaching unites the head and the heart, the personal and the communal, and spiritual formation and social transformation as it bears witness to the liberating and life-giving gospel of Jesus Christ. While recognizing that contemplation is ultimately a gift, Black contemplative preachers seek to guide people to experience loving communion with the divine, while also pursuing the flourishing of Black people and all of God’s creation.… 

It is essential to note that Black contemplative preaching is not a recent development. Its deep roots can be traced to the lineage of biblical prophets such as Moses, Isaiah, Mary, and Jesus himself. Moreover, it stems from a tradition of African mystics, including St. Anthony, Moses the Black, and St. Mary of Egypt. It is also part of a larger history of mystic preachers in the Christian tradition that includes Augustine of Hippo, Hildegard of Bingen, St. Francis of Assisi, Meister Eckhart, Dona Beatriz Kimpa Vita, and others. [1]  

Building on this tradition of Black contemplative preaching, Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman (1899–1981) offers a vision of life as a shared harvest. He reminds us that our lives are part of a communal process of sowing, ripening, and reaping together:    

This is the season of gathering in, the season of the harvest in nature. Many things that were started in the spring and early summer have grown to fruition and are now ready for reaping. Great and significant as is the harvest in nature, the most pertinent kind of in-gathering for the human spirit is what I call “the harvest of the heart.” Long ago, Jesus said that [people] should not lay up for themselves treasure on earth, where moths corrupt and thieves break in and steal, but that [people] should lay up for themselves treasures in heaven [Matthew 6:19–20]. This insight suggests that life consists of planting and harvesting, of sowing and reaping. We are always in the midst of the harvest and always in the midst of the planting…. Living is a shared process. Even as I am conscious of things growing in me planted by others, which things are always ripening, so others are conscious of things growing in them planted by me, which are always ripening. Inasmuch as I do not live or die unto myself, it is of the essence of wisdom for me conscientiously to live and die in the profound awareness of other people. The statement, “Know thyself,” has been take mystically from the statement, “Thou has seen thy brother, thou hast seen thy God.”

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OCT 22, 2025 The Power of Prayer + Praise. Skye Jethani. With God Daily

Throughout the New Testament, prayer is repeatedly mentioned as a central activity of the gathered church. Today, however, prayer has been sidelined or abandoned as an element of worship in many congregations. It seems that our appetite for uplifting music or a self-help sermon has eaten the time in our services that had previously been used for intercession and confession. This trend reveals a misunderstanding or disregard for the link between prayer and praise.Prayer has many purposes, but among its most elemental is self-revelation. In prayer, we reveal ourselves to God; we remove the layers of pretense and posturing to expose the truth of who we are—our sins, our fears, our joys, and our sorrows. This unashamed self-revelation is boldly depicted in the psalms, where God’s people cry out to him with uncomfortable transparency. Their prayers were brutally honest and sometimes bordered on blasphemous. But that’s what prayer is for; it’s how we present the truth of what’s in us to God. It is the Christian’s tool for self-revelation. Praise, on the other hand, is a tool of divine revelation. Through the recitation of Scripture and the singing of hymns and songs, we are reminded of God’s character and recall his deeds. Praise recalibrates our imaginations to see ourselves and our world in light of God’s presence and power. We also see this in the psalms as the poems frequently shift from the self-revelation of the author’s sin, fear, or struggle to conclude with a focus on God’s love, power, or faithfulness. The psalms take us on a journey from human frailty to divine sovereignty—and so should the church’s worship.When the church gathers, we are to have our self-revelation through prayer recalibrated by God’s divine-revelation through praise. Both are essential. If we abandon praise, the church gathering becomes a collection of victims defined by their brokenness and doubts as they search for self-improvement tips and therapeutic advice. If we abandon prayer, the church gathering becomes a concert where unreflective people seek a temporary high through euphoric music. Transformative worship embraces both prayer and praise. It invites us to expose the truth about ourselves but then covers us with the truth of God’s love. SCRIPTURE JOHN 4:19-24 PSALM 42:1-11 WEEKLY PRAYER. From Charles Kingsley (1819 – 1875) Take from us, O God, all pride and vanity, all boasting and self-assertiveness, and give us the true courage that shows itself by gentleness; the true wisdom that shows itself by simplicity; and the true power that shows itself by modesty; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In ONEING: A Living Tradition, spiritual writer Katie Gordon shares how her life has been shaped by living alongside Benedictine nuns. Through their monastic rhythms, the sisters find themselves living out an evolving tradition of renewal. An elder Benedictine nun named Sister Carolyn memorably insisted Katie remember that “God is change. We are all evolving, growing. We are never done changing!” 

I had just moved into the Pax Priory, an intentional living community that the Benedictine Sisters of Erie [Pennsylvania] started in 1972 as a peace and nonviolence center in the city. Carolyn, a Benedictine Sister in her eighties, had been one of the original residents there. Meanwhile, I was more spiritual-but-not-religious, though raised Catholic, in my early thirties, and the house’s newest resident. When I moved in, she invited me to share this office with her…. Looking back on our convent corner office, I can see all the ways we stood on the threshold of a living tradition—between the past and the future, between our generations, and between our expressions of the monastic call….  

Where, once upon a time, nuns in habits observed the Grand Silence, there is now laughter ringing through the rafters from the kids in the daycare program on the first two floors. On the grand wooden staircase once meticulously cleaned with toothbrushes by the sisters, the kids now run up and down, speaking the several languages of the migrant communities represented in the program. Just upstairs, there are offices for several ministries that evolved out of the sisters’ faithful presence in the city, including a soup kitchen and food pantry, an online monastery of contemporary seekers, and an association of monasteries sharing resources across the globe. These might hardly be recognizable to the original sisters who settled here in the 1850s to educate German immigrants, but they are nonetheless extensions of the same call to community and ministry, yet in a new era of need.  

This former monastery building … is just one fractal of the transformation of religion and spirituality today. With tradition in one hand and evolution in the other, Christian monasticism’s spirit of conversatio, or continual change, continues to pull us into the future…. From the beginning, monastics have been on the renewing edge of the Christian tradition. Like anyone, though, monks need to remember what that asks of us. We need to recall the practices of renewal already within our tradition.  

To remain on this renewing edge takes commitment. It takes practice to not grow complacent. To keep embracing change requires exercising that muscle. Renewal is not a one-time event, something implemented and completed. Renewal is an ongoing practice. It is the reality of being a living tradition….  

Monastics today have inherited both a living tradition and an institution. Ideally, one feeds the other. Possibly, one destroys the other. The institution can smother the living tradition, or the living tradition can die out if there is no way to practice it or pass it on. 

This is why the monastic holds on to both tradition and evolution.  

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Put Down the Whip.

Beau Stringer

Why we can’t turn one moment into permission for cruelty

There’s a peculiar kind of Christian who lights up when they talk about Jesus flipping tables in the Temple. Their eyes get a little brighter. Their posture straightens. Finally, they seem to say, here’s the Jesus who vindicates my anger, my sharp tongue, my public callouts, my refusal to budge. Here’s the Jesus who says it’s okay to be mean if you’re right.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because I keep seeing it, particularly in my comment sections. In the way some people talk about their political opponents or their theological enemies. They’re not interested in “love your enemies” or “blessed are the peacemakers” or “turn the other cheek.” Those teachings get a polite nod, maybe a quick “yes, but—” before we rush headlong into the one story that lets us off the hook. The one where Jesus gets mad. The one with the whip.

The Table I Grew Up At

I grew up in a church where righteous anger was practically a spiritual gift. If you could Bible-verse someone into a corner, if you could out-quote them, out-debate them, out-conviction them, you were seen as spiritually mature. Strong. Uncompromising. We weren’t mean, we told ourselves. We were just speaking truth. And if people got hurt, well, Jesus flipped tables too, didn’t he? Well, we need to talk about that. 

What Actually Happened at the Temple

Here’s the thing: we’ve turned the Temple incident into something it wasn’t. We’ve made it a blank check for our own rage, a permission slip to be unkind in the name of truth. But if we slow down and actually look at what happened, the story gets a lot more complicated.

Amy-Jill Levine, a Jewish New Testament scholar, has spent years pushing back on the way Christians have misread this moment¹. She points out that the Temple was massive, sprawling across an area that would cover dozens of modern soccer fields. Flipping a few tables wouldn’t have shut anything down. It was symbolic, not practical. It was prophetic theater, a dramatic gesture meant to draw attention to something deeper.

And what was that something? This may surprise you, but it wasn’t the money changers themselves. It wasn’t at the price gouging or exclusionary policy (which is what I had always been taught.) Levine argues that there’s no textual evidence the vendors were exploiting anyone. Instead, she notes that money changing was a necessary service. Pilgrims came from all over the world with foreign coins that couldn’t be used in the Temple. Someone had to exchange them. Therefore, this wasn’t corruption, it was simply logistics.

So what was Jesus actually angry about, then? Levine suggests it was about the disconnect between worship and ethics. It was about people who showed up at the Temple, performed their rituals, said their prayers, and then went out and lived lives marked by injustice. They used the Temple as a refuge, or a spiritual safe house, while continuing to exploit the vulnerable and ignore the commands of God. That’s what “den of robbers” means. Not a place where robbery happens, but a hideout where robbers go after the fact, thinking they’re safe because they’ve done their religious duty. 

Jesus wasn’t condemning the Temple system itself. He and his followers kept going there. This was an internal critique, a call for reform, a prophetic demand that worship and life align. It was Jeremiah all over again: “Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are safe!’, only to go on doing all these abominations?”

The Gospel We’d Rather Ignore

Here’s what gets me: we’ve taken this one moment, this one story of disruption, and turned it into the defining image of Jesus. Meanwhile, we’ve somehow managed to downplay or ignore the overwhelming majority of his life and teaching. The Sermon on the Mount. The parables of mercy. The woman caught in adultery. The lepers he touched. The tax collectors he ate with. The enemies he told us to love. The forgiveness he offered from the cross.

Jesus spent his entire ministry embodying compassion. He wept over Jerusalem. He healed on the Sabbath and took the heat for it. He let a woman wash his feet with her tears. He stopped a stoning. He rebuked his disciples when they wanted to call down fire on a Samaritan village. He told Peter to put away his sword. He prayed for the people executing him.

And yet somehow, we’ve decided that the one time he got angry in the Temple is the real Jesus. The unfiltered Jesus. The Jesus who justifies our harshness, our cruelty, our refusal to extend grace. We cling to that whip like it’s the only tool in the Kingdom of God.

It’s not just bad theology. It’s lazy. It’s self-serving. And honestly, it’s gross.

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What We’re Really After

I think the reason we love the table-flipping story so much is because it lets us off the hook. Love your enemies is hard. Turning the other cheek is costly. Forgiving seven times seventy feels impossible. But righteous anger? That comes easy. That feels good. That lets us be mean and still feel holy.

We want a Jesus who endorses our culture war tactics. We want a Jesus who backs our Facebook dunks and our hot takes and our refusal to listen. A Jesus who says it’s okay to burn bridges as long as we’re right. A Jesus who looks a lot like us when we’re at our worst.

But that’s not the Jesus of the Gospels. That’s not the Jesus who said the world would know his followers by their love. That’s not the Jesus who told us to bless those who curse us, to pray for those who persecute us, to go the second mile. That’s not the Jesus who, when given every reason to lash out, chose mercy instead.

If we’re going to follow Jesus, we have to follow all of him. Not just the moment that makes us feel justified. Not just the story that gives us permission to be harsh. We have to sit with the discomfort of enemy love. We have to wrestle with the scandal of grace. We have to let the Sermon on the Mount shape us more than our anger does. (I am currently writing about my personal struggle with this.)

Living Beyond the Whip

So what does this mean for us? 

1. It means we stop using the Temple incident as a weapon. We stop reaching for it every time we want to justify our unkindness. We stop pretending that one moment of prophetic disruption erases three years of radical compassion.
2. It means we ask ourselves harder questions. Am I defending truth, or am I defending my right to be cruel? Am I calling out hypocrisy, or am I just venting my rage? Am I actually concerned about justice, or do I just like the feeling of being right?
3. It means we take seriously the fact that the same Jesus who flipped tables also washed feet. The same Jesus who called out religious leaders also ate with sinners. The same Jesus who disrupted the Temple also welcomed children. And when we have to choose which image to follow, which posture to embody, we choose the one that defined his entire life, not just one afternoon in Jerusalem.

Because here’s the truth: 

The world doesn’t need more Christians who are good at being mean. It needs Christians who are good at being kind.

It needs people who can hold truth and grace in tension, who can speak prophetically without dehumanizing, who can challenge systems of injustice without using those challenges as an excuse to be cruel.

The table-flipping story isn’t a permission slip, it’s a warning. It’s a reminder that when worship becomes disconnected from the way we live, when our rituals don’t lead to justice and mercy, we’ve missed the point entirely. And if we’re using that story to justify our unkindness? Then we’re the ones who’ve turned the Temple into a den of robbers. We’re the ones hiding behind our religion while living lives that contradict everything Jesus taught.

Maybe it’s time we put down the whip and pick up the towel instead.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

We are part of a living tradition of action and contemplation, people who have gone beyond the theoretical and are living out this wisdom in their daily lives. Truly, it will take a movement of such people to create a world where everything belongs. 
—Richard Rohr 

Father Richard Rohr shares his hope that the Holy Spirit will continue to shape the church into a living, evolving tradition: 

Christianity isn’t done growing and changing. Jesus himself invites us to take things out of our faith-filled “storage room” and discern what is essential, saying, “Every disciple of the kingdom is like a householder who draws out from his storage room, things both old and new” (Matthew 13:52).  

We don’t want the church or the Christian tradition to become an antique shop just preserving old things. We want to build on old things and allow them to be useful in different ages, vocabularies, and cultures. We want our faith to be ever new, so that it can speak to souls alive and in need right now! Otherwise, the faith we cherish so much stops working and it can’t do its job of turning our hearts toward God and toward one another. [1] 

I believe it’s possible for Christianity to move toward a way of following Jesus that has much more to do with lifestyle than belief. We don’t want to remain an institution focused on certain words and the writing of official documents. We can’t remain a church obsessed with maintaining power and illusions of innocence.  

What is needed in Christianity today is far bigger than any mere structural rearrangement. It’s a revolutionary change in Christian consciousness itself. It’s a change of mind and of heart through the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit. Only such a sea-change of consciousness—drawing from the depths of the Great Ocean of Love—will bear fruits that will last. 

I believe the teaching of contemplation is absolutely key to embracing Christianity as a living tradition. If we settle for old patterns of habitual and reactionary thought, any new phenomenon that emerges will be just one more of the many reformations in Christianity that have characterized our entire history. The movement will quickly and predictably subdivide into unhelpful dualisms that pit themselves against one another like Catholic or Protestant, intellectual or emotional, feminist or patriarchal, activist or contemplative—instead of the wonderful holism of Jesus, a fully contemplative way of being active and involved in our suffering world. We can be grateful and content to let our historic churches and denominations take care of the substructures and the superstructures of Christianity. Some are gifted and called to that, but most are not. Our churches have trained us, grounded us, and sent us on this radical mission. We will keep one happy foot in our mother churches, but we have something else that we must do and other places that we must also stand. We have no time to walk away from anything. We want to walk toward and alongside. [2] 

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Contemplation Is Christianity

Director of the Center for Spiritual Imagination Adam Bucko describes how practices of contemplation have evolved and enlivened the Christian faith. 

From the beginning, the Christian life was shaped by the rhythm Jesus himself modeled—a life of action flowing from deep stillness. He withdrew to pray alone. He took his friends up the mountain to witness transfiguration. He sought the silence of the wilderness. Clearly, something transformative happened when Jesus stepped away, and those around him recognized that his outward life was rooted in his inward union with God.  

In the early centuries of Christianity, this pattern took on clearer shape in the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, and Syria. The desert mothers and fathers retreated from the cities to resist the empire’s distortions of the gospel. After Constantine’s conversion and the Church’s increasing entanglement with imperial power, many felt that something essential was being lost. So, they left—not to flee reality, but to seek it more deeply. Into caves, huts, and small communities, they went to remember, to pray, to live simply, and to wrestle with God….  

What began with Jesus and took clearer shape in the desert then moved West—and began to flourish in new forms. Viewed from a Western monastic perspective, the stream of contemplation flowed through the deserts of the East and eventually exploded into a variety of expressions in Europe. Of course, there are many contemplative traditions—one might say as many as there are people and communities seeking to live in awareness of God’s presence. While we are held by a shared tradition and a common rhythm of prayer, the way this life unfolds can take many forms. The goal has never been to crack some contemplative code or become fluent in the mechanics of prayer. It has always been to become the kind of person who lives awake to God’s presence—in a way that is rooted, communal, and yet responsive to the unique textures of our lives, cultures, and communities….  

Contemplation, then, is not a separate path or a unique calling. It is Christianity itself, lived with depth and honesty. It is the heart of the Christian tradition, stretching from Jesus to the desert to today. And as our understanding of the human person has deepened—through psychology, neuroscience, and trauma studies—we are invited to add new tools, not because the tradition was wrong, but because it was formed in a different time, with less knowledge of how we carry and transmit pain. These new tools help us to heal, to stay present, and to love more freely. 

In the end, contemplation is not about escaping life but entering it more fully. It is how we listen for God in the silence—and how we hear God in the cries of the poor, the groaning of creation, and the joy of being alive. It is how we remember what’s good and live from that place for the sake of the world.  

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Carriers of the Gospel

Friday, October 17, 2025

Let us be carriers of the gospel. The gospel of the revolutionary, brown-skinned Palestinian Jew who made it very clear that he didn’t come to be status quo. He wasn’t a chaplain of the empire but a prophet of God.  
—Liz Theoharis and Charon Hribar, We Pray Freedom  

Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis and Dr. Charon Hribar describe crises as opportunities to work for justice, as Jesus did:  

As our society continues to be engulfed by crises, the time for complacency has passed. From the lack of health coverage for tens of millions of Americans to the tragic death toll of endless wars and environmental disasters; from the assault on democracy to the glaring inequalities laid bare by the pandemic, it is clear we stand at a generational crossroads. This is a kairos moment—a time of crisis and opportunity. In biblical terms, it is a moment when the foundations of injustice are exposed, prophetic voices call for change, and movements for justice take root.  

Luke 4:14–30 is known as Jesus’ first sermon, delivered in his hometown of Nazareth. It marks the beginning of his public ministry during a kairos moment not unlike our own…. Jesus announces his mission of societal transformation [quoting the prophet Isaiah]. He proclaims: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18–19).  

Too often, the Bible’s good news is reduced to matters of individual salvation and detached from Jesus’s goal to transform the world. But a close reading of the Bible, including the teachings of Jesus, reveals a vast antipoverty program and social justice mission, which call on us to resist unjust economic practices and build a society in which everyone’s needs are met.  

The Freedom Church of the Poor provides resources to empower prophetic and hopeful movements for justice:  

Drawing strength from these biblical principles, the Freedom Church of the Poor tradition teaches us to stand up for one another, care for the least of these, and dismantle laws that perpetuate injustice. If we believe that God stands with the oppressed and that Jesus preached liberation, then collective action by those most impacted by injustice is imperative. By taking collective action with and as poor and dispossessed people, we bridge our spiritual convictions and our hunger for transformative change….  

In the Freedom Church of the Poor tradition, we envision a world where every life is sacred and every need is met. This vision challenges the normalization of injustice and the valuing of profit over people. Through nonviolent, moral direct action—marches, boycotts, sit-ins, and more—we reject the status quo and reclaim the moral narrative. We create spaces where justice is reimagined and a moral revolution of values becomes irresistible.  

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1.

“On that glad night, in secret, for no one saw me, nor did I look at anything, with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart.”

– St. John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul, 3rd Stanza.

The line that gets me is “with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart.”

There are whole theologies that I believe are destructive and dehumanizing that not only encourage but make it a matter of piety to disregard our hearts, to discredit the little voice of the genuine within us, to disbelieve what our deepest core might be telling us with sincerity.

Our hearts can indeed be tricked or deceived.  I do not discount that possibility.  I think one reason this happens is that we do not have many teachers who invite us to listen to the subtle movements within ourselves.

St. John of the Cross’ favorite thing to do was spiritual direction.  He found it to be the most rewarding ministry: helping people listen to God for themselves rather than through a proxy— mentor, pastor, or priest.

True spirituality invites and enables people to listen to the Divine for themselves.

2.

“The fly that clings to honey hinders its flight, and the soul that allows itself attachment to spiritual sweetness hinders its own liberty and contemplation.”

– St. John of the Cross, The Sayings of Light and Love, 24.

“Spiritual sweetness” is a term that St. John of the Cross invented.  It describes how we each are enamored of and enjoy the things that are next to God, but perhaps not God per se.

I think that one of the most profound wisdoms of St. John of the Cross is that we can become addicted to these forms of “spiritual sweetness.”

It is actually a sign of spiritual immaturity, addiction, or co-dependence that we whine, rage, and question everything as soon as those spiritual sweetnesses are either taken away from us or we find ourselves increasing the effort to try and get the same fix as we used to.

The goal is not to avoid experiencing such sweetness; the goal is to give up our attachment to it.  Instead, we can be grateful for when it comes to us and keep on keeping on, even when it does not.

As Meister Eckhart says, we must learn to live, love, and be “without a why,” and stop doing all things for some potential “spiritual sweetness” we might stumble across.

3.

“This change is a surprise to them because everything seems to be functioning in reverse.“

– St. John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul, Book 8.3.

The wisdom of the Dark Night of the Soul is so paradoxical and unsuspecting that it is little wonder it throws people completely off kilter.

When all the world seems to endorse the philosophy that more effort, intentionality, and energy put into something creates a better “return on investment,” St. John of the Cross reminds us that faith has a completely different set of mathematics.

The day may come when it is not more effort that is needed, but less.  It is not that we need to engage in prayer more than we need to redefine what we think prayer is.  It is not that God is absent because we have done something wrong; it is that God is so furiously present that we are blinded by the sheer volume of activity God is engaged in.

Below is a video I made that explains the Dark Night of the Soul in 4 (or 5) stages.  I hope it is a help to you.

4.

“Some spiritual fathers are likely to be a hindrance and harm rather than a help to these souls that journey on this road. Such directors have neither understanding nor experience of these ways.”

– St. John of the Cross, The Ascent to Mount Carmel, Prologue 4.

Man.

I think about this quote often.

It pairs well with the New Testament’s exhortation that not many should take up being leaders because they will be judged more harshly.

There are things I have said from the pulpit that I wish I could take back.  The same is also true of my time working at a Christian summer camp.  I did not know what I did not know.

Fortunately, the seminary gave a list of names that I should continue learning from after I graduated.  And so I did.  Not only that, but I began studying outside my home denomination, the Lutheran Church, and turned more toward the Reformers, then the Catholics, then the Patristics, then the Christian mystics, and, more recently, Eastern Orthodoxy.

It is so easy to give bad advice when you are a pastor or priest, and some of that stems from the fact that we are often only taught a small slice of the Christian tradition, when, in reality, there is so much more to it than we ever could imagine. 

I was joking with my wife that one of my favorite things about what I do is frequently encouraging people to go back and read the New Testament all over again, or simply giving them permission to dive deeper into this mystery we call “God.”

How wild that my path had such an emphasis on telling people what they needed to know, and now it is so much more about inviting people to listen to their deepest self and to go full tilt into the heart of the Christian tradition for themselves, and to report back to me what they found?

Life is too good to me.

5.

“The soul that journeys to God, but does not shake off its cares and quiet its appetites, is like one who drags a cart uphill.”

– St. John of the Cross, The Sayings of Light and Love, 56.

Note: This does not mean that such a person will not successfully, eventually, journey into God, but that it will involve more struggle, effort, and difficulty.

Which quote jumped out at you?

Reply to this email if one of the quotes above stirred, resonated, or aggravated you!

Prophetic Solidarity and Compassion

Thursday, October 16, 2025

Old Testament Scripture scholar Walter Brueggemann (1933–2025) witnesses Jesus’ prophetic role in his solidarity and his compassion for those on the margins: 

Among his other functions it is clear that Jesus functioned as a prophet. In both his teaching and his very presence, Jesus of Nazareth presented the ultimate criticism of the royal [empire] consciousness…. The way of his ultimate criticism is his decisive solidarity with marginal people and the accompanying vulnerability required by that solidarity. The only solidarity worth affirming is solidarity characterized by the same helplessness they know and experience. [1]  

Jesus’ prophetic actions were motivated by his deep solidarity and compassion for those who are suffering: 

Jesus in his solidarity with the marginal ones is moved to compassion. Compassion constitutes a radical form of criticism, for it announces that the hurt is to be taken seriously, that the hurt is not to be accepted as normal and natural but is an abnormal and unacceptable condition for humanness. In the arrangement of “lawfulness” in Jesus’ time, as in the ancient empire of Pharaoh, the one unpermitted quality of relation was compassion. Empires are never built or maintained on the basis of compassion. The norms of law (social control) are never accommodated to persons, but persons are accommodated to the norms. Otherwise the norms will collapse and with them the whole power arrangement. Thus the compassion of Jesus is to be understood not simply as a personal emotional reaction but as a public criticism in which he dares to act upon his concern against the entire numbness of his social context.  

Empires live by numbness. Empires, in their militarism, expect numbness about the human cost of war. Corporate economies expect blindness to the cost in terms of poverty and exploitation. Governments and societies of domination go to great lengths to keep the numbness intact. Jesus penetrates the numbness by his compassion and with his compassion takes the first step by making visible the odd abnormality that had become business as usual. Thus compassion that might be seen simply as generous goodwill is in fact criticism of the system, forces, and ideologies that produce the hurt. Jesus enters into the hurt and finally comes to embody it. [2]  

At the end of his book The Tears of Things, Richard Rohr identifies characteristics of those he calls “true prophets” who follow in the footsteps of Jesus and the Hebrew prophets.   

Prophets embrace religion as a way of creating communities of solidarity with justice and suffering.  
They look for where the suffering is and go there, just as Jesus did.  
They speak of solidarity with one God, which also implies union with all else. 
The prophet learns to be for and with, not against.  
They are for those who are suffering or excluded.  
They are centered not on sin but on growth, change, and life.  
They know that the best teachers are reality itself and creation.  
They do not reject the way of the priest—they have just moved beyond it alone. [3]  

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Jesus Calling Sarah Young

Jesus Calling: October 16th, 2025

Jesus Calling: October 16th

Look to Me continually for help, comfort, and companionship. Because I am always by your side, the briefest glance can connect you with Me. When you look to Me for help, it flows freely from My Presence. This recognition of your need for Me, in small matters as well as in large ones, keeps you spiritually alive.
     When you need comfort, I love to enfold you in My arms. I enable you not only to feel comforted but also to be a channel through whom I comfort others. Thus you are doubly blessed, because a living channel absorbs some of whatever flows through it.
     My constant Companionship is the piece de resistance: the summit of salvation blessings. No matter what losses you experience in your life, no one can take away this glorious gift.

RELATED SCRIPTURE: 

Psalm 34:4-6 (NLT)
4 I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me.
    He freed me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy;
    no shadow of shame will darken their faces.
6 In my desperation I prayed, and the Lord listened;
    he saved me from all my troubles.
Psalm 105:4 (NLT)
4 Search for the Lord and for his strength;
    continually seek him.

Additional insight regarding Psalm 105:4-5: If God seems far away, persist in your search for him. God rewards those who sincerely look for him (Hebrews 11:6). Jesus promised “Every who seeks, finds” (Matthew 7:8). The writer suggested a valuable way to find God – become familiar with the way he has helped his people in the past. The Bible records the history of God’s people. In searching its pages we will discover a loving God who is waiting for us to find him.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4 (NLT)
God Offers Comfort to All
3 All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. 4 He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.

 

Theologian Dr. Obery Hendricks Jr. describes the Jesus he was introduced to in his church communities as a meek and gentle Savior: 

I was raised on the bland Jesus of Sunday school and of my mother’s gentle retellings, the meek, mild Jesus who told us, in a nice, passive, sentimental way, to love our enemies, and who assured us that we need not worry about our troubles, just bring them to him. He was a gentle, serene, nonthreatening Jesus whose only concern was getting believers into heaven, and whose only “transgression” was to claim sonship with God.… 

Yet for all my trust and love and fervor, something in the portrayals of Jesus and his message did not seem quite right; something just didn’t make sense. Was this meek, mild Jesus the same Jesus who defiantly called the Pharisees “a brood of vipers” and described them as “whitewashed tombs full of every unclean thing”?… And if he was so meek and mild, how could he get anyone’s interest in the first place…? And what did Jesus mean by sayings like “I have come not to bring peace, but a sword”? I tried my best to understand, although questions like these were frowned on by my parents and every believer I knew as evidence of weak faith or, worse, of the devil’s confusion.  

Outside communal worship, Hendricks came to know a prophetic and revolutionary Jesus: 

I have been blessed to experience the adoration and worship of Jesus in every aspect of his person and grandeur … except one: Jesus the political revolutionary, the Jesus who is as concerned about liberating us from the kingdoms of earth as about getting us into the kingdom of heaven. Yet the Gospels tell us that is who Jesus is, too. And what he was crucified for. This is the Jesus that called me back to the Church—the revolutionary Jesus. 

Yes, Jesus of Nazareth was a political revolutionary. Now, to say that he was “political” doesn’t mean that he sought to start yet another protest party in Galilee. Nor does it mean that he was “involved in politics” in the sense that we know it today, with its bargaining and compromises and power plays and partisanship. And it certainly doesn’t mean that he wanted to wage war or overthrow the Roman Empire by force.  

To say that Jesus was a political revolutionary is to say that the message he proclaimed not only called for change in individual hearts but also demanded sweeping and comprehensive change in the political, social, and economic structures in his setting in life: colonized Israel. It means that if Jesus had his way, the Roman Empire and the ruling elites among his own people either would no longer have held their positions of power, or if they did, would have had to conduct themselves very, very differently…. It means that Jesus had a clear and unambiguous vision of the healthy world that God intended and that he addressed any issue—social, economic, or political—that violated that vision. 

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Fred Rogers: The Television Preacher We Need

Fred Rogers didn’t fit the stereotype of a charismatic television preacher, but that is exactly what he was. His preaching was done with puppets, simple songs, and subtle storytelling rather than big hair, exciting sermons, or signs and wonders—but that doesn’t mean his ministry didn’t produce miraculous healing in both children and adults struggling with brokenness and anger. Deeply shaped by his faith in Christ, seminary educated, and ordained by the Presbyterian Church in 1963, Fred Rogers saw his PBS children’s program, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, as a ministry to a generation of wounded, frightened children and their families.The casual observer of Fred Rogers’ daily television show, which ran from 1968 until 2001, might not have noticed the profound theological depth informing every aspect of the program. I certainly did not as a child in the late 1970s, but as an adult, I was amazed to discover that Rogers designed the show around his doctrine. He often taught children about the value of different jobs, which flowed from his theology of vocation. He used the language of “neighbor” because of its deep biblical roots, particularly in Jesus’ teaching. Even the familiar show opening where Mr. Rogers enters, changes his shoes, and puts on his sweater was intended to be a formative liturgy to help children enter a different kind of sacred space.Fred Rogers was also unafraid to tackle some of the most difficult personal and controversial social issues in American culture like war, racism, death, mental illness, and divorce. As a result, he was more pastoral and more prophetic than many pulpits in America. He understood and sympathized with the fear children felt in turbulent times, and brought each child the assurance that your feelings mattered and that you are loved exactly as you are.In a recent biography by Shea Tuttle, I discovered another part of Fred Rogers’ ministry that went beyond his television show. In his daily times of Bible reading and prayer, Rogers would often feel what he called a “strong urge” to visit someone, and would then arrive unexpectedly at their door. In 1987, he traveled from his home in Pittsburgh to Baltimore to be with a girl he learned was having brain surgery. When Dr. King was assassinated in 1968, Rogers drove down to the home of Francois Clemmons, an African-American actor on his program. Race riots had erupted outside his building. “I was upstairs in my apartment, but I was scared to death,” Clemmons recalled. But then Fred suddenly appeared.Lisa Hamilton, who worked as a director on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, explained how Fred ministered to her young family during her 31-year-old husband’s battle with cancer. Hamilton thought her husband was recovering, but woke up one morning to discover he had died in their bed during the night. With a 4-year-old son at home, Hamilton was overwhelmed. “I was really panicky,” she said, “And then the doorbell rang.” It was Fred Rogers.“I was praying,” Fred explained, “and I felt you needed some help.” He didn’t know Hamilton’s husband had just died. He stayed with Hamilton and her son, wept with them over her husband’s body, and was the one to call the funeral home.Fred Rogers died in 2003, but the last few years have seen a resurgence in his popularity through biographies, documentaries, and a 2019 film starring Tom Hanks. Some think it’s the product of a generation raised with his television show reaching adulthood. I suspect there is something more than nostalgia at work. Fred Rogers was a powerfully gifted minister who brought the calming, healing presence of Jesus to both children and adults. In our own turbulent times marked by aggression, anger, and division I think we all sense a need for more ministers like Fred Rogers. DAILY SCRIPTURE ISAIAH 42:1-9 GALATIANS 5:16-23 MATTHEW 11:25-30 WEEKLY PRAYER from Desmond Tutu (adapted from an original prayer by Sir Francis Drake) Disturb us, O Lord when we are too well-pleased with ourselves when our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little, because we sailed too close to the shore. Disturb us, O Lord when with the abundance of things we possess, we have lost our thirst for the water of life when, having fallen in love with time, we have ceased to dream of eternity and in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of Heaven to grow dim. Stir us, O Lord to dare more boldly, to venture into wider seas where storms show your mastery, where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars. In the name of Him who pushed back the horizons of our hopes and invited the brave to follow. Amen.

Beyond a Gentle Jesus

Theologian Dr. Obery Hendricks Jr. describes the Jesus he was introduced to in his church communities as a meek and gentle Savior: 

I was raised on the bland Jesus of Sunday school and of my mother’s gentle retellings, the meek, mild Jesus who told us, in a nice, passive, sentimental way, to love our enemies, and who assured us that we need not worry about our troubles, just bring them to him. He was a gentle, serene, nonthreatening Jesus whose only concern was getting believers into heaven, and whose only “transgression” was to claim sonship with God.… 

Yet for all my trust and love and fervor, something in the portrayals of Jesus and his message did not seem quite right; something just didn’t make sense. Was this meek, mild Jesus the same Jesus who defiantly called the Pharisees “a brood of vipers” and described them as “whitewashed tombs full of every unclean thing”?… And if he was so meek and mild, how could he get anyone’s interest in the first place…? And what did Jesus mean by sayings like “I have come not to bring peace, but a sword”? I tried my best to understand, although questions like these were frowned on by my parents and every believer I knew as evidence of weak faith or, worse, of the devil’s confusion.  

Outside communal worship, Hendricks came to know a prophetic and revolutionary Jesus: 

I have been blessed to experience the adoration and worship of Jesus in every aspect of his person and grandeur … except one: Jesus the political revolutionary, the Jesus who is as concerned about liberating us from the kingdoms of earth as about getting us into the kingdom of heaven. Yet the Gospels tell us that is who Jesus is, too. And what he was crucified for. This is the Jesus that called me back to the Church—the revolutionary Jesus. 

Yes, Jesus of Nazareth was a political revolutionary. Now, to say that he was “political” doesn’t mean that he sought to start yet another protest party in Galilee. Nor does it mean that he was “involved in politics” in the sense that we know it today, with its bargaining and compromises and power plays and partisanship. And it certainly doesn’t mean that he wanted to wage war or overthrow the Roman Empire by force.  

To say that Jesus was a political revolutionary is to say that the message he proclaimed not only called for change in individual hearts but also demanded sweeping and comprehensive change in the political, social, and economic structures in his setting in life: colonized Israel. It means that if Jesus had his way, the Roman Empire and the ruling elites among his own people either would no longer have held their positions of power, or if they did, would have had to conduct themselves very, very differently…. It means that Jesus had a clear and unambiguous vision of the healthy world that God intended and that he addressed any issue—social, economic, or political—that violated that vision. 

In a teaching for the CAC’s Living School, Dr. Barbara Holmes (1943–2024) invites the students to reflect on Jesus’ prophetic tasks:   

What did Jesus the prophet do? As a prophet, Jesus performed miracles, exercised authority over nature and spiritual entities, walked on water, and turned water into wine. As a prophet, Jesus healed. As a prophet, Jesus fed the hungry. As a prophet, Jesus taught prophetically.… He sat at the feet of elders, but he also taught with his heart: he heard the whispers of the Holy Spirit and allowed it to speak through him. If teaching is not anointed by the Spirit, it is just the ego strutting and repeating information. Teaching prophetically goes beyond facts and material. It reaches into the unutterable and allows silence and Spirit to do the teaching.   

Jesus also exercised spiritual gifts.… Prophecy is a spiritual gift. Paul wrote about the gift of prophecy in his letter to the Romans. He said, “We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us … prophecy in proportion to faith” (Romans 12:6). Although prophecy is mentioned more than any other gift in the Bible, it’s also stated that prophecy will pass away, and the only thing left will be love.… Prophecy comes to life as love. Jesus the prophet is love manifested. We also can be love manifested in the world.…  

As Christians, Jesus is the prophet who guides us. This is what I want to share with you. You don’t have to eat locusts [John the Baptist] or lay on your side in rags [Ezekiel]. Perhaps all it requires is the willingness to offer your life as “a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God” [Romans 12:1]. All we have to do is recognize that the time has come to make full use of our gifts, and that we are the embodiment of a new order. We’re following the example set by the prophet Jesus. During his time, Jesus was the embodiment of a new order, he was a fulfillment of the prophecy of those who had gone before.…  

Jesus has come and truly overturned and overcome the systems of the world, and he beckons us to do likewise. The system says things like, “It can’t be done. You cannot walk on water. Gravity wins.” The system says things like, “Religion is of no use except to placate the people, and you’d better put your money in growth mutual funds.” Jesus says there’s another way, the prophetic way. Even now Jesus beckons, saying, “Step out on the water, come.”    

You may be thinking, “How am I going to walk on water? I don’t even know how to swim.” We offer our gifts to God and our neighbors—that’s how we walk on water. Your gift may be prayer or art or business or teaching, but the prophetic call will hone your gifts so that your very lives are a prophetic witness to the world.   

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Roger Williams: Father of Religious Freedom

The word secularism is scorned by many Christians today. They associate it with the marginalization of faith and the desire to erase religion from the culture, but they forget that devout Christians were the first to invent and advocate for secular government. For example, I believe James Madison, one of the founding fathers of the United States, did a great favor to the Christian faith when he wrote the First Amendment, excluding any government involvement in religion. Madison understood that in order for true faith to thrive, for people’s affections to be stirred for their Creator, they needed freedom. Freedom from state coercion. Freedom of conscience. Freedom of practice. Freedom of speech. Freedom to accept religion or reject it. But these ideas were not original to James Madison, and the United States was not the first secular government to enshrine religious freedom. Madison was deeply influenced by Roger Williams, a Puritan who had lived a century earlier. In seventeenth-century England, many Puritans, like Williams, resented the way civil authorities interfered in religious matters and were particularly upset with having Catholic ideas imposed upon them. With a desire to practice his faith freely, Williams left England in 1630 and was among the early settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, but what he discovered there troubled him greatly. The government of Massachusetts had copied the English model of combining civil and religious authority, only this time it was the Puritans imposing their beliefs rather than the Catholics. This meant citizens of the colony could be fined or imprisoned by the government for breaking the sabbath, not attending worship, or questioning doctrine. Although a devout Puritan himself, Roger Williams understood that when religion, and particularly faith in Christ, is mandated by the state, it inoculates the population from the power of the gospel. It lulls them into thinking they are truly of Christ when they are not. As he said, “Forced worship stinks in God’s nostrils.”Instead, Williams advocated a “wall of separation” between civil authority and religious authority. Referring to the two stone tablets of the Ten Commandments, Williams said the government should have no voice regarding the “first table”—commands about the individual’s relationship with God, but only the “second table”—laws about social order, including murder, adultery, stealing, and lying. For this belief, Williams was banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1636 and cast into the wilderness during a January blizzard. He survived through the compassion of Native Americans who welcomed him into their camp. Experiencing the cruelty of so-called “Christians” and the compassion of so-called “savages” solidified Wiliams’ belief in religious freedom. Rather than conquering those of different beliefs, he saw the importance of a government that allowed each person, even Native Americans, to worship according to their conscience. This was a revolutionary and deeply unpopular idea at the time. Critics said separating civil from religious authority would lead to chaos and social disorder. To prove them wrong, Williams and other outcasts established a small oasis of religious tolerance. Rhode Island became the first secular government in history. And not only did the new colony not descend into chaos, but religion there thrived.Today, many Christians are trapped in a culture war mindset, believing whoever possesses political power can, and will, impose their values and beliefs on society. This echoes the fruitless and bloody battles Roger Williams witnessed 400 years ago, and he also discovered the best way out of them—tolerance. He understood that true faith cannot be imposed, enforced, or policed. As Christians, we cannot, and should not, demand that everyone share our beliefs. But we can, and should, demand that everyone share our freedom. Because where this freedom exists, we know that Christ will be lifted up and draw people to himself. DAILY SCRIPTURE LEVITICUS 19:33-34 1 THESSALONIANS 2:1-13 MARK 6:7-13 WEEKLY PRAYERfrom Desmond Tutu (adapted from an original prayer by Sir Francis Drake) Disturb us, O Lord when we are too well-pleased with ourselves when our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little, because we sailed too close to the shore. Disturb us, O Lord when with the abundance of things we possess, we have lost our thirst for the water of life when, having fallen in love with time, we have ceased to dream of eternity and in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of Heaven to grow dim. Stir us, O Lord to dare more boldly, to venture into wider seas where storms show your mastery, where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars. In the name of Him who pushed back the horizons of our hopes and invited the brave to follow. Amen.