Father Richard Rohr describes the necessity of attending to our emotions while not clinging to them:  

Emotions are necessary weathervanes, in great part body-based, that help us read situations quickly and perhaps in depth. But they are also learned and practiced neural responses, often ego-based, which have little to do with objective reality and much more to do with the storylines that we have learned and created. Our separate self loves to hold onto such emotions to justify and defend itself and assert its power. 

Much of the work of emotional maturity is learning to distinguish between emotions that give us a helpful message about ourselves or situations and emotions that are merely narcissistic reactions to the moment. I dare to say that, until we have found our spiritual center and ground, most of our emotional responses are usually too self-referential to be helpful or truthful. They read the moment as if the “I,” with its immediate needs and hurts, is a reference point for objective truth. It isn’t. The small, defensive “I” cannot hold that space. Only Reality/God/Creation holds that space.  

Naming any emotion, even if it is negative, as a “sin” is not useful, because guilt and shame, or any sense that “God is upset” with us, usually only increases our negativity and fear—which causes us to close down all the more. In other words, when we try to shut them down, our emotions become more complex, more conflicted, more repressed—and thus less honest “reflections” of reality. If an emotion does not help us read the situation better and more truthfully, we must release it, let it move through us—for our own advantage.  

Most of us are naturally good at attachment, but few of us have training in detachment or letting go. Practicing detachment is one of the great tasks of any healthy spirituality, but, when carried to extreme, it’s counterproductive. (It almost took over in much of early Christianity, which was not helpful.) We must take the risk of legitimate attachment (fully feeling the emotion), learn its important message, and then have the presence and purpose to detach from that fascinating emotion after it has done its work. This is the gift and power of an emotionally mature person. [1] 

To be truly conscious, we must step back from our compulsive identification with our unquestioned attachment to our isolated selves—the primary illusion. Pure consciousness is never just me, trapped inside my self. Rather, it is an observing of “me” from a distance—from the viewing platform kindly offered by God (see Romans 8:16), which we call the Indwelling Spirit. Then we see with eyes much larger and other than our own.  

Most of us do not understand this awareness because we are totally identified with our passing thoughts, feelings, and compulsive patterns of perception. We have no proper distance from ourselves, which ironically would allow us to see our radical connectedness with everything else. Such radical connectedness is holiness. 

A Gift for Experiencing Reality

Father Richard suggests how we might honor our emotions without overly attaching to them:  

When it comes to honoring our emotions, we have to say both a strong “yes” and a strong “no.” We must begin with “yes” because so many of us were trained, by family and religion, to not feel our feelings. They thought they were doing us a favor, because they didn’t want emotions to rule our life. Unfortunately, that gave a moral connotation to even having feelings, not just the “negative” ones like anger, resentment, or fear, but the positive ones too, like pleasure, happiness, and even desire. The overt or subliminal messaging “That’s wrong. That’s bad” stunted our capacity to appreciate, and to suffer or to allow the full meaning of reality. Emotions are, first of all, a gift from God so that we can touch reality by a way other than our brain.   

Pastor Peter Scazzero affirms that our emotions are central to our humanity and to our relationships with God and people:   

Like most Christians, I was taught that almost all feelings are unreliable and not to be trusted. They go up and down and are the last thing we should be attending to in our spiritual lives. It is true that some Christians live in the extreme of following their feelings…. It is more common, however, to encounter Christians who do not believe they have permission to admit their feelings or express them openly. This applies especially to such “difficult” feelings as fear, sadness, shame, anger, hurt, and pain. And yet, how can we listen to what God is saying and evaluate what is going on inside when we cut ourselves off from our emotions?   

To feel is to be human. To minimize or deny what we feel is a distortion of what it means to be image bearers of God. To the degree that we are unable to express our emotions, we remain impaired in our ability to love God, others, and ourselves well. Why? Because our feelings are a component of what it means to be made in the image of God. To cut them out of our spirituality is to slice off an essential part of our humanity. [1] 

Richard considers the risk of overemphasizing the importance of our feelings:  

Because emotions were so repressed and denied and thought to be always faulty, it’s probably one of the major reasons we moved into overly heady Christianity. We’re rediscovering the value of emotions now, but this has the danger of swinging the pendulum to the other side—assuming that emotions are always right, always good. But when taken at face value, emotions don’t have any cognitive balancing. We aren’t asking “Is that a sensible response? Is that a reasonable response?” So, we have a lot of sentimentality and drama, the pumping up of emotions about nothing. We spend hours creating outer dramas, particularly when there’s no inner drama, no inner aliveness or contentment. Inside the frame of the smaller self, we tend to make everything a big deal.

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The Rich Young Ruler’s Second Chance: A John Mark Conspiracy Theory By Anthony Parrott

I’ve long been fascinated by the rich young ruler—not because of what he did, but because of what we assume he didn’t do next.Picture him walking away from Jesus in Mark 10, shoulders heavy with the weight of unmet expectations. The text says he went away “grieving, for he had many possessions.” But what if grieving was just the beginning? What if walking away sad wasn’t the end of his story, but the necessary prelude to understanding what it actually costs to follow love? Here’s my favorite biblical conspiracy theory: the rich young ruler came back. And his name was John Mark. The Case for John Mark John Mark first appears in Acts 12, where we learn his mother Mary owns a house in Jerusalem—not just any house, but the house where the early church gathers. Prime real estate: big enough to host the Last Supper, spacious enough for Pentecost when the Holy Spirit shows up like wind and fire, central enough to serve as headquarters for the early Jesus movement.In Acts 13, John Mark joins Paul and Barnabas on their first missionary journey. Then, in Acts 15, he abandons them halfway through. Paul gets so pissy he refuses to work with John Mark again.But years later something shifts. Later, in Colossians 4 and 2 Timothy 4, Paul calls John Mark “like a son to me” and “useful in ministry.”The earliest church tradition about Mark comes from Papias of Hierapolis (around 125 CE), who wrote that Mark “became Peter’s interpreter and wrote accurately all that he remembered of the things said or done by the Lord.” This tradition—that Mark’s Gospel is essentially Peter’s memoirs of following Jesus—was picked up by later church fathers like Irenaeus and Clement of Alexandria. So we have this wealthy young man with serious family money and connections to the Jesus movement, who has a documented pattern of saying yes to following Jesus, then walking away, then coming back again.The Rich Young Ruler’s QuestionIn Mark 10, an unnamed wealthy young man approaches Jesus with a question that sounds spiritually mature but reveals something desperate underneath: “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”Jesus’ response cuts through the performance. After the young man claims he’s kept all the commandments since his youth, Mark tells us Jesus “looked at him and loved him.” Then comes the challenge: “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”The young man walks away grieving “for he had many possessions.” Many sermons end there, with the rich young ruler as a cautionary tale about the seductive power of wealth. Which, you know, we need those sermons. But what if that’s not where his story ends? What if the grief was the beginning of transformation?Hidden Signatures in Mark’s GospelMark’s Gospel contains these strange little details that feel like signatures by the author—moments where the writer seems to insert himself into the narrative.In Mark 14, during Jesus’ arrest in Gethsemane, most of the disciples have fled, but there’s this random detail found only in Mark’s account: “A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a linen cloth. They caught hold of him, but he left the linen cloth and ran off naked.”Why include this seemingly irrelevant detail? What if it’s not irrelevant at all?You have two unnamed young men in Mark’s Gospel: one who owns expensive possessions and walks away from Jesus sad, another who follows Jesus wearing expensive linen and literally leaves his costly garment behind when he flees. Both are wealthy. Both are young. Both are unnamed. Both walk away.What if they’re the same person? What if John Mark is writing his own origin story into his Gospel—not as the hero, but as the one who kept getting it wrong before he finally got it right?This reading reframes John Mark’s later story. His abandonment of Paul and Barnabas during their missionary journey isn’t just youthful irresponsibility—it’s part of a larger pattern of walking away when the cost gets too high, then finding his way back to saying yes.Think about the psychological weight Mark might have carried. If he was the rich young ruler, he’d lived with the memory of walking away from Jesus when directly challenged. He’d experienced the grief of choosing security over transformation. But then Jesus uses his family’s house for the Last Supper. The Holy Spirit shows up at Pentecost in the same space. The early church makes its headquarters in his mother’s home.That’s what conversion looks like—not a single moment of decision, but a series of choices to keep showing up even after you’ve failed. Faith isn’t about getting it right the first time, but about learning that love keeps offering second chances. Why This Matters I love this theory not because it’s provable (it’s not), but because it reframes failure as part of the journey rather than the end of it.The traditional reading of the rich young ruler story often feels like condemnation—see what happens when you choose money over Jesus? But if John Mark is our rich young ruler, the story becomes about redemption. It becomes about a God who doesn’t give up on us when we walk away sad.Jesus told his disciples, who were astounded by the difficulty of wealthy people entering God’s kingdom, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”All things. Even rich young rulers who need multiple chances to learn what it costs to follow love. Even those of us who keep walking away and coming back, saying no and then yes, abandoning and returning.If John Mark really was the rich young ruler, then his Gospel becomes something beautiful and subversive—a testimony written by someone who knew intimately what it felt like to fail Jesus, and also what it felt like to be welcomed back. No wonder Mark’s account feels particularly human, so willing to showcase the disciples’ failures and fears.It also means our stories can be read differently. The times we’ve walked away grieving aren’t the end of our spiritual narratives—they’re the necessary prelude to understanding grace.Following Jesus can’t be about getting it right the first time. It’s about learning that love keeps calling our names even after we’ve walked away sad, keeps setting tables even after we’ve abandoned ship, keeps writing us into the story even when we’re convinced we’ve edited ourselves out.

United in Our Need for Grace

Friday, August 15, 2025

Brian McLaren reflects on Paul’s challenging task of implementing Jesus’ inclusive message in a growing spiritual community:  

Paul wasn’t trying to define or explain the gospel at all; rather, he was trying to clean up a mess that Jesus had created through his gospel. By mess I mean Jesus had quite effectively ruined the tidy conventional categories of his religious community. In his mind, some prostitutes and tax collectors were closer to God than some Pharisees and priests—and the greatest faith Jesus could find in all Israel was found in the heart of a political enemy who belonged to another religion (Matthew 8:10). Similarly, Jesus broke the rules about clean and unclean, and he kept raising wild and revolutionary new proposals—about the Sabbath, about what’s kosher…. How do you work out a deep shift like this in a community of faithful people who have always defined themselves in exclusive ways?  

McLaren highlights Paul’s Letter to the Romans as an example of Paul’s unifying message: 

Romans aimed to address a more immediate, practical question in the early Christian movement…: How could Jews and gentiles in all their untamed diversity come and remain together as peers in the kingdom of God without having first- and second-class Christians?…

Paul, like Jesus, is not a modern Western linear-argument type of guy. He’s Middle Eastern. He thinks in circles and speaks in parables. Paul is … the kind [of poet] who understands the power of imagination and has a way with words. His letter (contrary to dominant readings) is no more of a well-reasoned, linear, logical, analytical argument than Jesus’s sermons were. And that’s not a bad thing….  

What we have is not a premeditated work of scholarly theology, edited and reedited, complete with footnotes. Rather, Paul is dictating a letter to some people he loves on a subject he loves, expressing the honest, unedited, natural flow of his thoughts and feelings…. If we read Romans keeping these realities in mind, I think we will become more sensitive than ever to the wonderful dance of the Spirit of God and the mind of a man in the context of a community in crisis. Together, the Holy Spirit and Paul make move after move toward the single goal of justifying the gospel as good news for gentiles and Jews alike…. 

Paul asserts that God doesn’t play favorites. All human beings are on the same level, whatever their religious background. All violate their own conscience, all fall short of God’s glory, all break God’s laws. None can claim an inside track with God just because they have mastered a body of religious knowledge, avoided a list of proscribed behaviors, or identified themselves with a certain label. In this way, Paul renders every mouth silent and everyone accountable to God (Romans 3:19). There is no us versus them, no elite insiders and excluded outsiders. There’s just all of us—Jews and gentiles—and we’re all … united in our need of grace.   

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John Chaffee 5 On Friday

1.

“We have all our beliefs, but we don’t want our beliefs.
God of peace, we want You.”

– Four Word Letter (pt.2) by mewithoutYou

mewithoutYou has been in my top 3 bands for most of my life.  I am hard-pressed to say it, but I think they might be my favorite band of all time. 

Sonically, they are all over the place.  There are elements of post-punk, but also orchestral pieces with ranting poetry over them.  Lyrically, they are mystical and experiential, and I love it.

2.

“There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

– Earnest Hemingway, American Author

Yes, I have written five books now.

However, I rarely consider myself a writer or author.

Why?

Call it imposter syndrome?  I have no idea.

That said, there is serious truth to this idea that to write is a matter of bleeding.  My first attempts at writing lacked my voice.  They were my attempts to teach something about life, but it was an attempt to do that without bleeding, without sharing myself, without being vulnerable.

However, the best writers are the ones who are ruthlessly honest about their own experience of life.  Yes, they may have an impressive vocabulary, but the real je ne sais quoi is the life they pour out of their veins and onto the piece of paper in front of them.

Ironically, writing is the easiest and most challenging thing.

3.

The spiritual journey is like an archaeological dig through various stages of our lives, from where we are back through the midlife crisis, adult life, adolescence, puberty, early childhood, infancy. What happens if we allow that archaeological dig to continue? We feel that we are getting worse. But we are really not getting worse; we are just finding out how bad off we always were. That is an enormous grace.”

– Fr. Thomas Keating, Trappist Monk

An archaeological dig, huh?

I like that.

For Keating, healthy spirituality is a matter of Divine Reparenting.  It is allowing God to heal the life wounds we inherited at different times throughout our lives. 

Of course, it is all well and good to think that the Christian life is about service to others and living a moral life, but what if we are doing those things out of a distorted need to prove something?  What if wounds and trauma taint our motivations for living out the Christ-life?

It is for this reason that many of us are terrified of doing legitimate work in the spiritual life.  Understandably, we might be averse to doing an “archaeological dig” back through different seasons of our lives to figure out and heal what needs healing.

4.

“Follow your dreams.  Unless they are stupid.”

– David Lynch, Movie Director

This one just made me chuckle.

I just had to pass it forward to you. 

5.

“You have only one master now…But with this ‘yes’ to God belongs just as clear a ‘no.’ Your ‘yes’ to God requires your ‘no’ to all injustice, to all evil, to all lies, to all oppression and violation of the weak and poor, to all ungodliness, and to all mockery of what is holy. Your ‘yes’ to God requires a ‘no’ to everything that tries to interfere with your serving God alone, even if that is your job, your possessions, your home, or your honour in the world.”

– Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German Lutheran Pastor and Martyr

Bonhoeffer was the first Christian theologian I ever read.

I can distinctly remember the summer after graduating college, sitting in the backyard by the lagoon with a Heineken in one hand and The Cost of Discipleship in the other. 

And so, it is fair to say that Bonhoeffer’s approach to ethics is firmly set within me.  With Bonhoeffer, there is no middle ground between loyalty to Christ and loyalty to anything else.  No nation, political party, figure, or ideology can or should ever stand equal to that of Christ.  If anything, loyalty to Christ demands an inevitable disruption of all other loyalties and ultimately a dismissal of them.

Bonhoeffer teaches us that anything that rivals our loyalty to Christ is an idol that deserves to be smashed.

In our day and age, some people have conflated loyalty to the nation, political party, figure, and/or ideology with being the same thing as being loyal to Christ, which is an insidious and misleading heresy.

In the words of Bonhoeffer, our “yes” to God demands a solid “no” to everything else.

The Mystery of the Cross

Thursday, August 14, 2025

Richard Rohr describes how Paul’s understanding of Jesus’ death critiques both the conservatives and liberals of his day:  

One of the dialectics that Paul presents is the perennial conflict between “conservative” and “liberal”, to use today’s terms. In his writings, Paul’s own people, the Jews, are the stand in for pious, law-abiding traditionalists; the Greeks provided his model for liberal intellectuals and cultural critics. Paul sees the Jews trying to create order in the world by obedience to law, tradition, and kinship ties. The Greeks attempt order through reason, understanding, logic, and education. Paul has a unique vantage point, with a foot in each world—as both a Jew and a Roman citizen.  

Paul insists that strict adherence to neither worldview can finally succeed because they don’t have the ability to “incorporate the negative,” which will always be present. He recognizes that the greatest enemy of ordinary daily goodness and joy is not imperfection, but the demand for some supposed perfection or order. There seems to be a shadow side to almost everything; all things are subject to “the principalities and powers” (Ephesians 6:12). Only the unitive or nondual mind can accept this and not panic; in fact, it will grow because of it, and even grow beyond it. 

Neither a liberal pattern nor a conservative pattern can deal with disorder and misery. Paul believes that Jesus has revealed the only response that works. The revelation of the cross makes us indestructible, Paul says, because it reveals there is a way through all absurdity and tragedy. That way is precisely through accepting absurdity and tragedy, trusting that God can somehow use it for good. If we can internalize the mystery of the cross, we won’t fall into cynicism, failure, bitterness, or skepticism. The cross gives us a precise and profound way through the shadow side of life and through all disappointments. 

Paul allows both conservatives and liberals to define wisdom in their own ways, yet he dares to call both inadequate and finally wrong. He believes that such worldviews will eventually fail people. He writes, “God has shown up human wisdom as folly” on the cross, and this is “an obstacle that the Jews cannot get over,” and which the gentiles or pagans think is simple “foolishness” (1 Corinthians 1:21–23). 

For Paul, the code words for nondual thinking, or true wisdom, are “foolishness” and “folly.” He says, in effect, “My thinking is foolishness to you, isn’t it?” Admittedly, it does not make sense unless we have confronted the mystery of the cross. Suffering, the “folly of the cross,” breaks down the dualistic mind. Why? Because on the cross, God took the worst thing, the killing of the God-human, and made it into the best thing, the very redemption of the world. The compassionate holding of essential meaninglessness or tragedy, as Jesus does on the cross, is the final and triumphant resolution of all the dualisms and dichotomies that we face in our own lives. We are thus “saved by the cross”! Does that now make ultimate sense?   

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Sarah Young

Jesus Calling: August 14th

I am yours for all eternity. I am the Alpha and the Omega: the One who is and was and is to come. The world you inhabit is a place of constant changes--more than your mind can absorb without going into shock. Even the body you inhabit is changing relentlessly, in spite of modern science’s attempts to prolong youth and life indefinitely. I, however, am the same yesterday and today and forever.
     Because I never change, your relationship with Me provides a rock-solid foundation for your life. I will never leave your side. When you move on from this life to the next. My Presence beside you will shine brighter with each step. You have nothing to fear because I am with you for all time and throughout eternity.

RELATED SCRIPTURE:

Revelation 1:8 (NLT)
8 “I am the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end,” says the Lord God. “I am the one who is, who always was, and who is still to come—the Almighty One.”

Additional insight regarding Revelation 1:8: Alpha and omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet. The Lord God is the beginning and the end. God the Father is the eternal Lord and Ruler of the past, present, and future (see also Revelation 4:8; Isaiah 44:6 and 48:12-15). Without him, you have nothing that is eternal, nothing that can change your life, nothing that can save you from sin. Is the Lord your reason for living, “the Alpha and the Omega” of your life? Honor the one who is the beginning and the end of all existence, wisdom, and power.

Hebrews 13:8 (NLT)
8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Additional insight regarding Hebrews 13:8: Though human leaders have much to offer, we must keep our eyes on Christ, our ultimate leader. Unlike any human leaders, he will never change. Christ has been and will be the same forever. In a changing world, we can trust our unchanging Lord.

Psalm 102:25-27 (NLT)
25 Long ago you laid the foundation of the earth
    and made the heavens with your hands.
26 They will perish, but you remain forever;
    they will wear out like old clothing.
You will change them like a garment
    and discard them.
27 But you are always the same;
    you will live forever.

Additional insight regarding Psalm 102:25-27: The writer of this psalm felt rejected and tossed aside because of his great troubles (Psalm 102:9-10). Problems and heartaches can overwhelm us and cause us to feel that God has rejected us. But God our Creator is eternally with us and will keep all his promises, even though we may feel alone. The world will perish, but God will remain.

Psalm 48:14 (NLT)
14 For that is what God is like.
    He is our God forever and ever,
    and he will guide us until we die.

Additional insight regarding Psalm 48:14: We often pray for God’s guidance as we struggle with decisions. What we need is both a map that gives us directions and a constant companion who has an intimate knowledge of the way and will make sure we interpret the map correctly. The Bible is such a map, and the Holy Spirit is our constant companion and guide. As you make your way through life, use both the map and your guide – the Holy Spirit.

Enabled to Do All Things

What is a Mystic? From the Canadian Anglican Church Newsletter

The earliest documentary witness to Jesus Christ which we possess is the witness of mysticism; and it tells us, not about His earthly life, but about the intense and transfiguring experience of His continued presence, enjoyed by one who had never known Him in the flesh.  
—Evelyn Underhill  

Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice so tender
My need for God absolutely clear. (Hafiz)

Can you recall a time when you knew you needed God, and nobody else, nothing else, could fill that need? These are the words of Hafiz, a Mystic, describing the heart of every mystic.

How do you respond to this need? Do you push it back and try to ignore it, or do you spend some time trying to connect with the one who can fill that need? Do you try and clear space in your busy inner world and invite God to fill that need?

If you make the time to connect with God, you are a mystic. I define mystics as all who seek a deeper connection with God and live into that deeper connection. The church recognizes some people as mystics, for example, Hildegard of Bingen, and Julian of Norwich. Many others have not been officially identified as Mystics, just as the church recognizes some people as Saints. The number of saints is not limited to those formally recognized by the church. The Apostles Creed refers to the Communion of Saints: a large number.

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We can read the stories about Mystics, Theologians, and others in two ways. We can read to learn the details of their lives and to gain knowledge about their teaching. We become scholars. Or we can read their stories with the eyes of our hearts – asking: “What is God wanting me to hear, to see, to feel, through what I am reading?” As we ponder what God is saying to us, we are mystics.

Anglican mystic and author Evelyn Underhill (1875–1941) is convinced that the apostle Paul’s writings are often misunderstood because we weren’t taught that he is a mystic:  

To obtain a true idea of St. Paul’s personality … we must correct the view which sees him mainly as a theologian and organizer by that which recognizes in him a great contemplative. For here we have not only a sense of vivid contact with the Risen Jesus, translated into visionary terms—“I fell into a trance and saw him saying to me” [Acts 22:17]—but an immediate apprehension of the Being of God…. 

We misunderstand St. Paul’s mysticism if we confuse it with its more sensational expressions. As his spiritual life matured his conviction of union with the Spirit of Christ became deeper and more stable. It disclosed itself … as a source of more than natural power. Its keynote is struck in the great saying of his last authentic letter: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). This statement has long ago been diluted to the pious level, and we have ceased to realize how startling it was and is. But St. Paul used it in the most practical sense, in a letter written from prison after twelve years of superhuman toil, privation, and ill-usage, accompanied by chronic ill-health; years which had included scourgings, stonings, shipwreck, imprisonments, “on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger from my own people, danger from gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, … in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked” (2 Corinthians 11:26–27). [1] 

These, and not his spiritual activities and successes alone, are among the memories which would be present in St. Paul’s consciousness when he declared his ability “to do all things.” 

Underhill emphasizes Paul’s sense of himself as a mystic:  

Much of the difficulty of St. Paul’s “doctrine” comes from the fact that he is not trying to invent a theology, but simply to find words which shall represent to others this vivid truth—“I live, yet not I … to live is Christ … Christ in me…” [Galatians 2:20].  

[His] letter [to the Romans] is the work of a man who has fully emerged into a new sphere of consciousness, has been “made free by the Spirit of Life,” “a new creature,” and enjoys that sense of boundless possibility which he calls “the glorious liberty of the children of God.” He knows the mysterious truth, which only direct experience can bring home to us, that somehow even in this determined world “all things work together for good to them that love God” [Romans 8:2, 21, 28].  

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AUG 13, 2025 The Problem with Applying Scripture. (Skye Jethani)

Studying and applying scripture is difficult. As a result, some traditions discourage Christians from engaging the Bible, fearing its misapplication, and instead reserve the study of scripture for those trained to handle it correctly. Of course, this doesn’t guarantee the correct use of scripture either, as there is no shortage of bad biblical scholarship throughout church history. Other, more populist traditions do the opposite by encouraging everyone to read the Bible, interpret it, and apply it for themselves. While this may lead to some wackadoodle interpretations—and frequently does—the belief is that broad biblical engagement ultimately does far more good than harm. One of the interpretive challenges for both Bible scholars and Bible populists is determining which of Jesus’ statements are universally applicable and which are not. For example, I have heard many sermons in which Jesus’ call to Peter, James, and John to become “fishers of men” (Luke 5:10) has been broadly applied to all believers. On the other hand, I’ve yet to hear a sermon in which Jesus’ command to a rich man to “sell all that you have and give it to the poor” (Luke 18:22) is imposed on every Christian. Why do we universalize Peter’s specific calling and not the rich young ruler’s? Sometimes the application of Jesus’ commands has changed over time. For most of Christian history, for example, the Great Commission passage at the end of Matthew’s gospel was seen as a specific calling to the remaining eleven Apostles to whom Jesus said, “Go and make disciples of all nations…” (Matthew 28:18). Only later, with the modern missionary movement, was this passage broadly reapplied as a commission given to the whole church. In my life, I’ve never heard it taught any other way but go back just a few hundred years and the interpretation assumed by nearly all modern evangelicals would have been unknown in most churches. This same interpretive challenge applies to many parts of Jesus’ farewell discourse. It’s clear from John’s gospel that Jesus was addressing his closest disciples concerning his death, resurrection, and return to the Father, but how do we know which of Jesus’ promises apply only to those gathered with him that night and which apply to us as well? For example, in John 14:26, Jesus says the Holy Spirit will “bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” Some have taken this verse to mean the Spirit’s role in every believer’s life is to recall and illuminate Jesus’ words. Throughout history, some have even used this verse to claim they’ve received new revelations from God and new commands from Jesus himself.But what if Jesus intended this promise only for those with him in the upper room? Those affirming this view believe the Spirit, while promised to all believers, was also given to Jesus’ first disciples for a special purpose. Specifically, so they could remember all he said and did and record it for future generations. In other words, some believe John 14:26 anticipates the writing of the gospels and the rest of the New Testament. When understood this way, our job isn’t to seek the Spirit for new revelations from Christ, but to engage the words given by the Spirit to his Apostles as authoritative scripture (see 2 Timothy 3:16). In the context of the farewell discourse, I find this interpretation far more convincing.Still, the ambiguities of Bible interpretation remain real, and we should all be more self-aware of the biases and interpretive traditions we carry with us when we open the scriptures. Our tendency to universalize the promises and commands we like, while dismissing the ones we don’t as not applying to us, is very real. Minimizing this error requires learning from both the Bible scholars and the Bible populists. The scholars can teach us history, context, and language so we read the Bible as its authors intended, while the populists remind us that even with education and training, we still need the Spirit’s guidance to lead us into all truth. And I would beware of any Bible teacher who insists only one or the other is necessary. DAILY SCRIPTURE JOHN 14:25-31 2 TIMOTHY 3:10-17 WEEKLY PRAYER. From Robert Leighton (1611 – 1684) Grant, O Lord, that I may be so ravished in the wonder of your love that I may forget myself and all things; may feel neither prosperity nor adversity; may not fear to suffer all the pain in the world rather than be parted from you. O let me feel you more inwardly, and truly present with me than I am with myself, and make me most circumspect in your presence, my holy Lord. Amen.

Richard writes of conversion as an experience of participating in divine reality: 

Before conversion, we tend to think God is out there. After transformation, God is not out there, and we don’t look at reality. We’re in the middle of it now; we’re a part of it. This whole thing is what I call the mystery of participation. Paul is obsessed with the idea that we’re all participating in something bigger than ourselves. “In Christ” is his code phrase for this new participatory life. In fact, he uses the phrase “in Christ” 164 times to describe this organic unity and participation in Christ. “I live no longer, not I; but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). “In Christ” is his code phrase for this new participatory life. 

It’s a completely different experience of life. I’m not writing the story by myself. I’m a character inside of a story that is being written in cooperation with God and the rest of humanity. This changes everything about how I see my life. A participatory theology says, “I am being chosen, I am being led, I am being used.” After conversion, you know that your life is not about you; you are about life! You are about God. You’re an instance of both the agony and the ecstasy of God that is already happening inside of you, and all you can do is say yes to it. That’s conversion and it changes everything.  

After conversion, you don’t experience self-consciousness so much as what the mystics call pure consciousness. Self-consciousness implies a dualistic split, with me over here thinking about that over there. The mind remains at that dualistic, either/or, and “othering” level. When we have a mystical experience, the subject/object split is overcome. Of course, we can’t maintain it forever, but we’ll know it once in a while, and we’ll never be satisfied with anything less. In unitive experience, we’re freed from the burden of self-consciousness; we’re living in, through, and with another. It’s like the experience of truly being in love. Falling and being in love, like unitive experience, cannot be sustained at the ecstatic level, but it can be touched upon and then integrated throughout the rest of our life. 

True union does not absorb distinctions, but actually intensifies them. The more we give of ourselves in creative union with another, the more we become our authentic self. This is mirrored in the Trinity: perfect giving and perfect receiving between three persons who are all still completely themselves. The more we become our True Self, the more capable we are of not overprotecting the boundaries of the false self. We have nothing to protect after transformation, and that’s the great freedom and the great happiness we see in converted people like Paul. As Paul puts it, “Because of Christ, I now consider my former advantages as disadvantages.… All of it is mere rubbish if only I can have a place in him” (Philippians 3:7–8). 

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the shape of a soul (when the shine fades)

CHUCK DEGROATAUG 11

You’ve been told the lie
(though not in so many words)
that if you don’t shine
You’ll disappear.

That you won’t be seen
if you’re not on.
That digital space is crowded
and the algorithms demand your sacrifice.

Feed the glow, they say
Curate brilliance
(even if you don’t have it in you)
The digital egosphere requires its offering. 

So you polish your moments,
(and trim the ragged edges)
filter the light until it flatters,
until you are palatable enough to trend.

Yet in the quiet
when the screen dims
and the crowd scrolls past
You feel the hollowing.

What good is being seen
if I am no longer here?
What worth is relevance
if it costs me presence?

I want you to step back
let the glow fade
let the silence swell
until you remember the shape of your own soul.

To shine, not for them,
but because 
the light within
is enough.

Mystical Conversion

Father Richard Rohr describes the apostle Paul’s transforming encounter with the risen Christ, which changed Paul from a vengeful zealot into a universal mystic.  

Paul is probably one of the most misunderstood and disliked teachers in Christianity. I think this is largely because we have tried to understand a nondual mystic with our simplistic, dualistic minds.  

It starts with Paul’s amazing conversion experience, described three times in the Book of Acts (chapters 9, 22, and 26). Scholars assume that Luke wrote Acts around 85 CE, about twenty years after Paul’s ministry. Paul’s own account is in his Letter to the Galatians 1:11–12: “The gospel which I preach … came through a revelation of Jesus Christ.” Paul never doubts this revelation. The Christ whom he met was not identical to the historical Jesus; it was the risen Christ, the Christ who remains with us now as the Universal Christ. 

In Galatians, Paul describes his pre-conversion life as an orthodox Jew, a Pharisee with status in the Judean governmental board called the Sanhedrin. The temple police delegated him to go out and squelch this new sect of Judaism called “The Way”—not yet named Christianity. Saul (Paul’s Hebrew name) was breathing threats to slaughter Jesus’ disciples (see Acts 9:1–2). He says, “I tried to destroy it. And I advanced beyond my contemporaries in my own nation. I was more exceedingly zealous for the traditions of my fathers than anybody else” (Galatians 1:13–14). At that point, Paul was a dualistic thinker, dividing the world into entirely good and entirely bad people. 

The Acts account of Paul’s conversion continues: “Suddenly, while traveling to Damascus, just before he reached the city, there came a light from heaven all around him. He fell to the ground, and he heard a voice saying, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’ He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The voice answered, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting’” (Acts 9:3–5). 

Paul must have wondered: “Why does he say ‘persecuting me’ when I’m persecuting these other people?” This choice of words is pivotal. Paul gradually comes to his understanding of the Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:12–13) as an organic, ontological union between Christ and those whom Christ loves—which Paul eventually realizes is everyone and every thing. This is why Paul becomes “the apostle to the nations” (or “gentiles”). 

This enlightening experience taught Paul nondual consciousness, the same mystical mind that allowed Jesus to say things like “Whatever you do to these least ones, you do to me” (Matthew 25:40). Until grace achieves the same victory in our minds and hearts, we cannot really comprehend most of Jesus and Paul’s teachings—in any practical way. It will remain distant theological dogma. Before conversion, we tend to think of God as “out there.” After transformation, as Teresa of Ávila wrote, “The soul … never doubts: God was in her; she was in God.

Meeting the Risen Christ

Father Richard explores how Paul’s mystical encounter with the risen Christ led him to embrace paradoxical thinking. 

Meeting the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus changed everything for Paul. He experienced the great paradox that the crucified Jesus was in fact alive! And he, Paul, a “sinner,” was in fact chosen and beloved. This pushed Paul from the usual either/or dualistic thinking to both/and mystical thinking.  

The truth in paradoxical language lies neither in the affirmation nor in the denial of either side, but precisely in the resolution of the tug-of-war between the two. The human mind usually works on the logical principle of contradiction, according to which something cannot be both true and false at the same time. Yet that is exactly what higher truths invariably undo (for example, God is both one and three; Jesus is both human and divine; bread and wine are both matter and Spirit). Unfortunately, since the Reformation and the Enlightenment, educated Western people like myself have lost touch with paradoxical, mystical, contemplative thinking. We’ve wasted at least five centuries taking sides—which is so evident in our culture today! 

Not only was Paul’s way of thinking changed by his mystical experience, his way of being in the world was also transformed. Suddenly this persecutor—and possibly murderer—of Christians is Christ’s “chosen vessel,” sent “to carry my name before the gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel” (Acts 9:15). This dissolves the strict line between good and bad, between in-group “Jews” and out-group “gentiles.” The paradox has been overcome in Paul’s very person. He now knows that he is both sinner and saint, and we too must trust the same. These two seeming contradictions don’t cancel one another. Once the conflict has been overcome in ourselves, we realize we are each a living paradox and so is everyone else. We begin to see life in a truly spiritual way.  

Perhaps this is why Paul loves to teach dialectically. He presents two seemingly opposing ideas, such as weakness and strength, flesh and spirit, law and grace, faith and works, Jew and Greek, male and female. Dualistic thinking usually takes one side, dismisses the other, and stops there. Paul doesn’t do that. He forces us onto the horns of the dilemma and invites us to wrestle with the paradox. If we stay with him in the full struggle, we’ll realize that he eventually brings reconciliation on a higher level, beyond the essential struggle where almost all of us start. [1] 

Paul is the first clear successor to Jesus as a nondual teacher. He creates the mystical foundations for Christianity. It’s a mystery of participation in Christ. It’s not something that we achieve by performance. It’s something that we’re already participating in, and often we just don’t know it. We are all already flowing in this Christ consciousness, this Trinitarian flow of life and love moving in and around and through everything; we just don’t realize it.

Dr. Gary Paul Nabhan describes how Jesus’ parables invited listeners to find wisdom in their daily agricultural circumstances: 

When we look afresh at the parables through the eyes of Middle Eastern farmers, fishers, herders, and orchard keepers … we can clearly see that Jesus was offering them both the intangible gift of hope and tangible options for survival. Jesus guided his hearers into rethinking for themselves how to survive and build community at the very moment that they felt overwhelmed by unprecedented pressures.…  

The imagery and cadence we find in the aphorisms and parables of Jesus are those of a gifted storyteller who reached his listeners through colorful but cryptic symbols, curious riddles, and circular plots that engaged listeners as participants in the process of making the story whole. There was no need for Jesus to stand behind a podium or pulpit to pontificate. Instead, he interacted with his listeners’ hearts and minds in a manner that became integral to the story itself. The only way the story could be made whole and would make wounded listeners whole was by engaging them with deep participation.  

Nabhan helps us hear Jesus’ lively, earthy storytelling in his retelling of the parable of the Sower and the Seed:  

Hey! Listen up, those of you who think you have ears!…
A farmer went out to sow,   
and from his hand he would throw…  

[Jesus] gestured with his hand, as if flinging seeds out toward them in every which way.   

…a broadcasting of the seeds,   
           but most of them landed  
far from the sower and too close to the barren road….   
           Some of the seed they cast out  
fell where bedrock reached the surface.  

He knelt upon the stony ground before them, knocking his knuckles against the hardened earth to demonstrate its impermeability. They heard a low thud. They knew all too well that seeds cannot penetrate very far into compacted earth…. 

Others of the seeds he sowed  
           landed among some thorny brush….   

He grabbed a branch of spiny, tangled crucifixion thorn and forced his fist up through its barbs until the skin on his hand dripped with blood. The people themselves had felt their own arms and legs scratched and bloodied by the piercing of these thorns….  

At last, the sower came to a place  
where the earth felt welcoming, full of tilth,   
where he could gently fling some seeds into sweet spots  
where they made their way to deeper, richer soil.  

He knelt down again and used his bloody hand as a trowel, but this time, he brought up fragrant, richly textured, glistening humus from beneath the stones on the surface. He raised it up, then he bowed to the fellaheen [food producers] who had gathered to hear him. He stretched out his other arm out toward them and opened his hand in deference, as if to remind them that they themselves were essential elements for sustaining the fecundity and generative energy of this earth.   

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Hey COfew. (from Andrew Lang) A few years ago, my partner-at-the-time came home and found me sitting on the floor of our house with papers scattered all around me.I was curplunked on the ground, my face scrunched up, with a whiteboard packed with ideas and connections and names in front of me. Being new to the city we now lived in, I was making an elaborate plan for how to plug into the activist scene and who I needed to build relationships with to understand more about Tacoma politics. It was – to quote her, even though I hated hearing it in that moment – “a lot of words.”Looking back, that moment with the whiteboard illustrates a truth I still wrestle with frequently: I’m often afraid of “getting out there;” of doing the wrong thing; of not doing enough; of using my already-limited time, energy, and money in a way that isn’t actually that impactful.And so instead, I ruminate, I whiteboard, I plan, I doomscroll, I simmer – and sometimes I boil.Does that sound familiar to you at all?It’s a frustrating dynamic – a strange combination of wanting to act, while using planning, overthinking, and “needing to learn more” to ensure I never do; of using my “lots of words” to protect me from taking a step into the possibly-uncomfortable terrain of the unknown.And when I consider the broader societal forces that work to pull us away from our communities and collective action and toward individualism, saviorism, and the status quo, this analysis paralysis and drive to think too-big-to-be-actionable feels very much by design.For me, the way I’ve learned to counter this is to 1) prioritize actions that support folks already doing amazing work, rather than starting things on my own, and 2) look for daily actions in my own life I can take that are relational and community-focused.I’m reminded of David Whyte’s words from his poem “Start Close In: ”Start close in, don’t takethe second step  or the third,  start with the first thing close in, the step you don’t want to take. Here are two questions I’m working with right now to help me take these small, “close in” steps that move me from my own thoughts and into action: Who is already working on [the issue I care about] and how can I amplify, support, or join them this week? What action can I take today that helps move my community and myself toward healing? I invite you to work with these questions for yourself this week. Or if they don’t quite connect, see if there is a unique question alive in you that might help push you into the discomfort of taking action – no matter how small.

Wisdom is another way of knowing and understands things at a higher level of inclusivity, which we call “transformation” or nondualistic thought.  
—Richard Rohr, Things Hidden 

Richard Rohr considers wisdom a path of transformation based on humility and honesty and grounded in reality.    

There is a necessary wisdom that is only available through the liminal spaces of suffering, birth, death, and rebirth (or order, disorder, and reorder). We can’t learn it in books alone. There are certain truths that can be known only if we are sufficiently emptied, sufficiently ready, sufficiently confused, or sufficiently destabilized. That’s the genius of the Bible! It doesn’t let us resolve all these questions in theology classrooms. In fact, nothing about the Bible appears to be written out of or for academic settings.  

We must approach the Scriptures with humility and patience, with our own agenda out of the way, and allow the Spirit to stir the deeper meaning for us. Otherwise, we only hear what we already agree with or what we have decided to look for. Isn’t that rather obvious? As Paul wrote, “We must teach not in the way philosophy is taught, but in the way the Spirit teaches us: We must teach spiritual things spiritually” (1 Corinthians 2:13). This mode of teaching is much more about transformation than information. That changes the entire focus and goal.  

It is very clear that Jesus was able to heal, touch, teach, and transform people, and there were no prerequisites. They didn’t need to have any formal education. His wisdom was not based on any scholastic philosophy or theology, in spite of Catholic fascination with medieval scholasticism. Jesus, as a teacher, largely talked about what was real and what was unreal, what was temporary and what would last—and therefore how we should live inside of reality. It required humility and honesty much more than education. In a thousand ways, he was saying that God comes to us disguised as our life. Later, we learned to call it the mystery of Incarnation and, as Walter Brueggemann called it, “the scandal of particularity.”  

Consider the concrete teaching style of Jesus. He teaches in the temple area several times, but most of his teaching involves walking with people on the streets, out into the desert, and often into nature. His examples come from the things he sees around him: birds, flowers, animals, clouds, landlords and tenants, little children, women baking and sweeping. It’s amazing that we made his teaching into something other than that.  

Jesus teaches with anecdote, parable, and concrete example much more than by creating a systematic theology; it was more the way of “darkness” than the way of light. Yet it was Jesus’s concrete examples that broke people through to the universal light. “Particulars” seem to most open us up to universals, which is what poets have always understood.  

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AUG 5, 2025 The First Paraclete

Although Jesus had spoken frequently to his followers about the Father throughout his ministry, it wasn’t until shortly before his arrest and execution that Jesus emphasized the role of the Holy Spirit. This makes sense because the goal of Jesus’ farewell discourse was to prepare his disciples for his departure and to reassure them that “I will not leave you as orphans” (John 14:18). He promised to send them the Spirit whom he repeatedly identifies using the Greek word Paraclete. Most English Bibles translate the word as “Helper.” While that’s certainly a fair translation, it doesn’t fully capture the meaning of paraclete or the nature of Jesus’ promise.Paraclete is a combination of two Greek words—para meaning “alongside” and kletos meaning “called.” Therefore, a paraclete is literally “one called alongside.” In some extra-biblical writings, the word was used to describe an assistant in a legal proceeding like an intercessor or attorney. That’s why some English Bibles speak of the Holy Spirit as a “Counselor.” But the meaning of paraclete is much broader than this, and its legal usage, while implied, isn’t explicitly found in the Bible itself. Within the New Testament, the most common form of the word is a verb meaning “to encourage.” Applying this to the Spirit means he is called to come alongside and encourage us. That seems consistent with Jesus’ goal in the farewell discourse of comforting and strengthening his disciples after he departs.But there’s an important detail in John 14 we cannot overlook and which profoundly impacts how we understand the Paraclete Jesus promised. He said, “I will ask the Father, and he will send you anotherParaclete…the Spirit of truth” (John 14:16-17). By speaking of “another” Jesus implies the Holy Spirit is not the first one to come alongside and encourage the disciples, and that Jesus himself was actually the first Paraclete sent by the Father. Later, in his letter to the churches, the Apostle John would also refer to Jesus as our “paraclete” (see 1 John 2:1). This means if we are to understand the role of the second Paraclete (the Holy Spirit) in our lives, we should first understand the role of the first Paraclete (Jesus).The New Testament often identifies Jesus and the Spirit as having similar functions in the life of the Christian. In fact, in the farewell discourse, Jesus assures his followers that his role in their lives would be taken up by the Spirit after his departure. For example, the Spirit would be their teacher and lead them into the truth. Like Jesus, the Spirit would convict the world of sin, and encourage and strengthen the disciples. And, like Jesus, the Spirit would be with them and empower their works. In a very real way, the Holy Spirit would take up and fill the role of Jesus in their individual and communal lives.Of course, this does not mean the Son and the Holy Spirit are the same person. As we’ve seen in our exploration of the Trinity, the Father, Son, and Spirit are distinct persons with their own roles. For example, only Jesus took on flesh, died for our sins, and defeated death. These specific functions do not belong to the Holy Spirit. Here again, we discover the mystery and beauty of the Trinity in the farewell discourse. We see the great unity that exists between the Son and the Spirit. They are both Paracletes—those called alongside to help and encourage us, and if we are to understand the work and role of the Holy Spirit in our lives it makes sense to begin with understanding the work and role of Jesus himself. On the other hand, the Son and Spirit are distinct and separate persons within the Trinity. This paradox is why Jesus can both speak of leaving his disciples and also continuing to live within us. DAILY SCRIPTURE JOHN 14:15-24 JOHN 16:12-14 WEEKLY PRAYER. From Ephrem the Syrian (306 – 378) I give you glory, O Christ, because you, the Only-begotten, the Lord of all, underwent the death of the cross to free my sinful soul from the bonds of sin. What shall I give to you, O Lord, in return for this kindness? Glory to you, O Lord, for your love, for your mercy, for your patience. Glory to you, for forgiving us all our sins, for coming to save our souls, for your incarnation in the virgin’s womb. Glory to you, for your bonds, for receiving the cut of the lash, for accepting mockery. Glory to you, for your crucifixion, for your burial, for your resurrection. Glory to you, for your resurrection, for being preached to men, for being taken up to heaven. Glory to you who sits at the Father’s right hand and will return in glory. Glory to you for willing that the sinner be saved through your great mercy and compassion. Amen.

A Wise Rabbi

CAC faculty emerita Cynthia Bourgeault understands Jesus through the lineage of Jewish wisdom teachers:  

When I talk about Jesus as a wisdom master, I need to mention that in the Near East “wisdom teacher” is a recognized spiritual occupation. In seminary I was taught that there were only two categories of religious authority: one could be a priest or a prophet. That may be how the tradition filtered down to us in the West. But within the wider Near East (including Judaism itself), there was also a third, albeit unofficial, category: a moshel moshelim, or teacher of wisdom, one who taught the ancient traditions of the transformation of the human being. 

These teachers of transformation—among whom I would place the authors of the Hebrew wisdom literature such as Ecclesiastes, Job, and Proverbs—may be the early precursors to the rabbi whose task it was to interpret the law and lore of Judaism (often creating their own innovations of each). The hallmark of these wisdom teachers was their use of pithy sayings, puzzles, and parables rather than prophetic pronouncements or divine decree. They spoke to people in the language that people spoke, the language of story rather than law….

Parables, such as the stories Jesus told, are a wisdom genre belonging to mashal, the Jewish branch of universal wisdom tradition, which includes stories, proverbs, riddles, and dialogues through which wisdom is conveyed…. Jesus not only taught within this tradition, he turned it end for end. But before we can appreciate the extraordinary nuances he brought to understanding human transformation, we need first to know something about the context in which he was working. 

There has been a strong tendency among Christians to turn Jesus into a priest—“our great high priest” (see the Letter to the Hebrews). The image of Christos Pantokrator (“Lord of All Creation”) dressed in splendid sacramental robes has dominated the iconography of both Eastern and Western Christendom. But Jesus was not a priest. He had nothing to do with the temple hierarchy in Jerusalem, and he kept a respectful distance from most ritual observances. Nor was he a prophet in the usual sense of the term: a messenger sent to the people of Israel to warn them of impending political catastrophe in an attempt to redirect their hearts to God. Jesus was not that interested in the political fate of Israel, nor would he accept the role of Messiah continuously being thrust upon him. 

His message was not one of repentance (at least in the usual way we understand it) and return to the covenant. Rather, he stayed close to the ground of wisdom: the transformation of human consciousness. He asked those timeless and deeply personal questions: What does it mean to die before you die? How do you go about losing your little life to find the bigger one? Is it possible to live on this planet with a generosity, abundance, fearlessness, and beauty that mirror Divine Being itself? These are the wisdom questions, and they are the entire field of Jesus’ concern. 

A Way of Life

To understand the world knowledge is not enough, you must see it, touch it, live in its presence. 
—Teilhard de Chardin, Hymn of the Universe  

Father Richard Rohr illustrates how Jesus’ wisdom differs from intellectual knowledge.  

Suppose a couple superstars of knowledge visit your house. With multiple PhDs, they sit at your supper table each evening dispensing information about nuclear physics, cyberspace, string theory, and psychoneuroimmunology, giving ultimate answers to every question you ask. They don’t lead you through their thinking processes, however, or even involve you in it; they simply state the conclusions they’ve reached.  

We might find their conclusions interesting and even helpful, but the way they relate to us won’t set us free, empower us, or make us feel good about ourselves. Their wisdom will not liberate us, nor invite us to growth and life; indeed, it will in the end make us feel inferior and dependent. That’s exactly how we have treated Jesus. We have treated him like a person with numerous PhDs coming to tell us his conclusions.  

This is not the path to wisdom nor is it how Jesus shared his wisdom with those who wanted to learn from him. Rather Jesus teaches his disciples through his lifestyle, a kind of “seminary of life.” He takes them with him (Mark 1:16–20) and watching him, they learn the cycle and rhythm of his life, as he moves from prayer and solitude to teaching and service in community. As Cynthia Bourgeault explains, Jesus taught as a moshel moshelim, or a teacher of wisdom. [1] He doesn’t teach his disciples mere conceptual information as we do in our seminaries. Rather, he introduces them to a lifestyle and the only way he can do that is to invite them to live with him. He invites us to do the same (see John 1:39).  

“But the crowds got to know where he had gone and they went after him. He made them welcome and he talked to them about the kingdom of God and he cured those who were in need of healing” (Luke 9:11). Can’t you just imagine the apostles standing at Jesus’ side, watching him, noticing how he does things: how he talks to people, how he waits, how he listens, how he’s patient, how he depends upon God, how he takes time for prayer, how he doesn’t respond cynically or bitterly, but trustfully and yet truthfully? Can you imagine a more powerful way to learn?  

Luke tells us that Jesus walked the journey of faith just as you and I do. That’s the compelling message of the various dramas where Jesus needed faith—during his temptation in the desert, during his debates with his adversaries, in the garden of Gethsemane, and on the cross. We like to imagine that Jesus did not doubt or ever question God’s love. The much greater message is that in his humanity, he did flinch, did ask questions, did have doubts—and still remained faithful. This is the path of wisdom.  

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Fools and Their Barns NADIA BOLZ-WEBER AUG 4 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” -Luke 12 NRSV THE GOOD PART Just to get it out of the way, I know it’s not nice to call someone a fool. I mean, I was raised right. But please tell me I’m not alone in sometimes thinking someone’s a fool. Surely some of you have thought (but politely not said) it about that relative who says, “I did my own research,” and then proceeds to spout off something totally unhinged about like, freemasons and the moon landing. The older I get the less hesitation I have about calling myself foolish – Like the other day when I actually responded to an email from someone who said they were my bishop before realizing that whoever bishop7139@ gazoogle.com is, they are for sure not actually my bishop. This is all by way of saying that there’s something particularly cathartic about the parable we just heard. It’s the one Jesus tells after saying “be on guard against all kinds of greed”. The one where a rich man has so much that he has to build bigger barns to hoard all his grain along with his new boat and vintage Harley and all those extra Rolexes and Dubai chocolate bars he bought just for himself. And then, weirdly, he talks to his own soul like he’s its financial advisor. He says, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax.” But then right after he locks the doors of his humongous new barn with all his stuff he is trying to keep all for himself… the guy dies. Just sort of drops dead. And God says, “You fool.”  Mwah. Chef’s kiss, right? A divine smack-down always rings like good news in my ears. Unless it’s about me. Then, you know – less so. Because sure, this is a critique of greed. But not just The Real Housewives of Wall Street greed. Maybe it’s also about the kind of internal hoarding that’s way more relatable. I say this because I’m preaching this text today for Montview Church—in this gorgeous sanctuary nestled in one of Denver’s wealthiest neighborhoods—and also for New Beginnings, the congregation inside the women’s prison that meets in cinder block gym – It’s one thing to speak of hoarding wealth to we who have 401k and stock portfolios and another to those who have $3.75 in their canteen. So for today we are going to expand the lens through which we look at how greed and hoarding shows up because the temptation to store up treasures for ourselves isn’t just a rich people problem. It’s a human problem. It’s a “I’m so scared I won’t have enough” problem.  A “what if I’m not enough?” problem.  A “I have to keep as tight a grip as possible so that something I love isn’t taken from me again” problem. Because we hoard different things depending on our circumstances. Some of us hoard resources. But some of us hoard affection. Some of us hoard compassion for others, some of us hoard our talents as though we can stockpile it all in Ziplocs and store it in the freezer. And life is rough, it breaks our hearts, and people disappoint us, and every day there are new scams to avoid, so it’s understandable that we build barns to try and protect our hearts, our money, our gifts. But of course, as always, Jesus invites us to imagine a different economy than one where we hold back out of fear. In the parable God calls the dead guy with a barn full of stuff a fool. “So it is,” Jesus says, “with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” What does it even mean to be “rich toward God”? Because scripture says that the Earth and everything in it is God’s. So God isn’t in like, financial trouble and needs a bailout or a payday loan. Maybe being rich toward God starts with noticing how rich God has been toward us. How “scarcity” is not in God’s lexicon, scarcity is just something we create for others and fear for ourselves. But God didn’t create the cosmos by being stingy or holding back so they didn’t run out. God created the world with wild, irresponsible generosity. I mean, Eleven thousand species of birds? Over thirteen billion light-years of stars? More kinds of flowers and kinds of landscapes and kinds of humans than we know what to do with? Abundance is written into the DNA of the universe. Which brings me back to the rich man. I’m sure he felt like he’d made it He won the game. He had more than he could ever use. But this week I wondered what he lost by winning. When the rich man died he was alone with his big useless barn of grain. Which meant He never got to meet another person’s need, or experience the freedom from self-obsession that comes from generosity. But he was stingy in more ways than just one. He withheld from his neighbors, not just the abundance of the Earth which by the way, belongs to God, but he also withheld the blessing of his neighbors getting to be of service to him. He didn’t get to experience being given to. Not a single neighbor got to show up with a loaf of Zucchini bread in August, or helped him fix a fence. He lost the chance to be generous—and to be on the receiving end of generosity. Because that’s part of it too. To be rich toward God is to know that our lives are stitched together with other people’s lives…That we were never meant to go it alone. So being rich toward God is not just about giving. It’s also about receiving. Which for some of us is harder. I don’t mind the being of service thing but I don’t love the letting other people take care of me thing. Some of you know that the first sentence I ever spoke was 3 words – Do. It. Self. I will do it myself, I do not like having to rely on anyone else, in fact most days of my life I wear a cuff bracelet inscribed with the word, “independent”. But a couple weeks ago I was inside the prison – meeting with a small group – when my blood sugar dropped. I had nothing with me and the last thing I wanted to do was ask the women for anything. I got a little shaky and light headed before finally saying “I’m so sorry to ask, but does anyone have something I could eat” – I mean, it was humbling – I have so much and they have so little but Nadine was clearly delighted that she could hand me her granola bar. For a moment I felt embarrassed until I realized it would have been stingy of me to be of service to them and withhold the opportunity for them to be of service to me. My dad is my teacher here. He has a progressive neuromuscular disease, so over the last 10 years we have watched as he slowed down a bit, then relied on a cane for support, then a walker and now for several years a wheelchair. Last Summer he took a turn and was in hospital for a week, and I got to spend a day sitting with him in his room. Now, my father was a professor and is a dignified man; tall, handsome, with a certain command of presence. So after a nurse had come to help him with toileting, I said, “Dad it must be really humbling to need other people to do so many things for you.” And to my surprise, his face lit up and he said “No kiddo. That’s the good part.” That’s the good part. The needing. The being needed. The being humbled by our own humanity. The economy of grace that God has given us to live within. Thinking of myself as so independent is a joke by the way. Because all week as I studied this text, my mind wandered to those in my life who did not withhold their gifts of attention and time and encouragement. The woman who gave me a place to live when I got sober, the friend who brought me a lasagna when I was too depressed to leave my apartment, the artist who said I told funny stories and should maybe do that on stage, the community college night class film studies teacher who told me she thought I was smart, the pastor who saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. Each of these people could have kept their time and attention and energy stored away in a barn. I know how easy it is to default to this, trust me. But they were generous with what God entrusted to them. I don’t know what it is God has given you on behalf of others, maybe it’s money, or a killer sense of humor, or the ability to create art or music – which we really need right now, or just the sacred gift of being a really good listener. I just hope none of it ends up in a barn. “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God”, he said. And then, just a few chapters later, Jesus gave away the last thing he had—his own life. He poured it out. Even at the end, when he could have lashed out or shut down or called ten thousand angels, he kept giving – he gave his forgiveness to those who hung him on that cross and then he gave his mother to his friend and his friend to his mother. “You belong to each other,” he said. And in a world that tries to convince us we are alone, maybe that’s all we really need to remember. We still belong to each other. That’s the good part. Amen.

The Thorn Is a Gift

Friday, August 1, 2025

Struggling to overcome her persistent envy of another writer, author Anne Lamott found comfort in St. Paul’s struggle to accept his own imperfection:  

Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, where he talks about the thorn in his side [2 Corinthians 12:7–10], is his spiritual autobiography, his confessing out loud to how shaming life in the flesh was for him. And in his letter to the Christians in Rome, Paul wrote that he hated the things he couldn’t stop doing [Romans 7: 15, 19]…. He had what I have, something awful and broken and stained inside. He was a powerful, learned man, teaching and following the Torah, reaping power’s rewards, yet it all left him desperate….  

[Paul] asked God over and over again to remove this thorn, but God said no. God said that grace and mercy had to be enough, that nothing awful or fantastic that Paul did would alter the hugeness of divine love. This love would and will have the last say. The last word will not be our bad thoughts and behavior, but mercy, love, and forgiveness. God suggested, Try to cooperate with that. Okay? Keep your stupid thorn; knock yourself out.  

What was the catch? The catch was that Paul had to see the thorn as a gift. He had to want to be put in his place, had to be willing to give God thanks for this glaring new sense of humility, of smallness, the one thing anyone in [their] right mind tries to avoid. Conceit is intoxicating, addictive, the best feeling on earth some days, but Paul chose instead submission and servitude as the way to freedom from the bondage of self. 

Lamott explores the challenge of tolerating our imperfect selves and the mercy that saves us anyway:  

Our secrets sometimes feel so vile and hopeless that we should all jump off a cliff. Then we might remember something quirky and ephemeral once restored us or a beloved to sanity when we were in a very bad way. We remember that an unlikely invisible agency made up of love, truth, and camaraderie helped with the alcoholism or debt or heartbreak a few years ago. And we practice cooperating with that force for change, because who knows—it might help again now.  

Micah says to do justice—follow the rules, do what you’re supposed to do—but to love mercy, love the warmth within us, that flow of generosity. Love mercy—accept the acceptance; receive the forgiveness, whenever we can, for as long as we can. Then pass it on…. 

Love and mercy are sovereign, if often in disguise as ordinary people…. Over and over, in spite of our awfulness and having squandered our funds, the ticket-taker at the venue waves us on through. Forgiven and included, when we experience this, that we are in this with one another, flailing and starting over in the awful beauty of being humans together, we are saved.  

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John Chaffee 5 On Friday

August 1, 2025

1.

“For, in a word, if one thinks himself made beautiful by gold, he is inferior to gold; and he that is inferior to gold is not lord of it.”

– Clement of Alexandria, 2nd Ct. Early Church Father

We as human beings experience a sense of lack, of not being enough of ‘something.’  That elusive ‘something’ leads us down odd and sometimes terrible pathways to find something to fill that sense of lack.

But what if the Gospel is not that there is something that can fill that lack, as if there is something outside of ourselves that we can be promised to have someday, and instead is that we are loved infinitely, even with our lack.

Our lack is not something to run from or to pathologically chase after a solution for.

Our lack does not mean that we are inferior to anything.  Our lack reminds us that we are human, and that to be human implies the need for a certain amount of humility.

2.

“Hypocrisy is not a way of getting back to the moral high ground. Pretending you’re moral, saying you’re moral is not the same as acting morally.”

– Alan Dershowitz, American Law Professor

It is the second sentence here that struck me.

“Pretending you’re moral.”

Wow.  That is the temptation, isn’t it?  To project out a False Self that is more moral than we are, because we want the reputation of being moral without the responsibility or the integrity necessary to be moral?

As I have said in other newsletters, the older I get, the more I appreciate the classical virtues.  It is a lighthearted thing and eases the conscience to live a life that does not need to be hidden or defended.  It is, in my life experience, so much better to live a moral life for the benefits it gives us in the here and now.

Every so often this past week, I have thought about situations in which people in the news are not living integrated lives of virtue.  For instance, when a politician, community leader, or even a family member has their darkness unveiled for all to see, there is probably a strange sense of terror at people’s responses, but also a sense of relief that their fabricated life is no longer necessary.  This is probably also the moral of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. 

3.

“Everyone of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self…  We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves.”

– Thomas Merton, Trappist Monk

The ability to tell ourselves the uncomfortable truths is a hallmark of maturity, and possibly also holiness.

4.

“A monk is a man who considers himself one with all men because he seems constantly to see himself in every man.”

– Evagrius Ponticus, 4th Ct. Turkish Ascetic

According to St. Paul, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  (Galatians 3:28)

The more and more we hold ourselves as separate and different and other than our neighbors or enemies, the more fractured the world becomes.

I guess what stands out to me is that for Evagrius Ponticus, a “monk” is an integrated and spiritually mature human being, and such a person identifies WITH others rather than APART from others.

5.

“The wicked flee though no one pursues,
    but the righteous are as bold as a lion.”

– Proverbs 28:1 NIV

I once had this verse come to mind in the middle of the night.

I awoke and sat up, and said to myself, “Proverbs 28:1,” and immediately fell back asleep.  In the morning, though, I remembered what I said to myself and looked up this passage.  I had no recollection of ever reading that verse.

That morning, nearly twelve years ago, was the first and only time that I think God spoke to me in a way that I could not comprehend.  A Scripture reference out of nowhere?  It was odd and yet beautiful.

The righteous person has no reason to flee, even if everyone is chasing them.  The wicked, on the other hand, will desperately run away even if no one is chasing them.

Man, I’d love to hear a whole sermon about that.

Or I’ll make a podcast about it.  Stay tuned.