Easter Sunday stands before us this weekend, and with it comes a decision: Will we be drawn into the moral vortex of vindication and punishment? Or will we rise to the resurrection vision of Jesus?

The vitality and health of a congregation is dependent on the Holy Spirit. It is hard to measure, but not impossible to see. During her recent visit, Bishop Amy Current entered Café Koinonia (where we have coffee and donuts) and was moved by how vibrant and connected people were as they shared this time of fellowship. She said it was an extension of our joyous worship. Simple gifts from God – water, wine, bread, coffee, donuts, and conversation – manifest unity, love, compassion, and hospitality.

With the NCAA basketball tournaments in full swing, I have found myself reflecting on the invaluable contributions of those who may not stand in the spotlight of greatness but hold the fabric of our communities together—the "sixth player" individuals, if you will.

First Published November 2019.

​​Once in a great while I write something that has “legs” (at least I think so).  I offer again a reflection on fear in an age of fear.  ​C.S. Lewis, in his book “Screwtape Letters,” took on the voice of a demon trying to spread evil in the world. The book is a series of letters instructing how best to advance the cause of Hell in the face of the Kingdom of Heaven.  

Sometimes, we miss what’s right in front of us. That’s what happened on the road to Emmaus.

Two disciples walked with Jesus after the resurrection, but they didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t just that they didn’t expect to see him; Luke tells us, "their eyes were kept from recognizing him." At first, it sounds like God was preventing them, but looking deeper, it becomes clear—they were blinded by their own expectations.

We don’t like to admit it, but so much of our self-worth gets wrapped up in external things—the opinions of others, our performance, our success, even our failures. We search for validation, hoping that if we achieve enough or do enough, we’ll finally be seen, finally be enough.

The command to love your neighbor is constant in the Holy Scriptures. We humans, however, are a contentious lot and we’re pretty sure we don’t want to love everyone. I mean, there are certain people that just don’t deserve our love, right? This propensity to restrict the definition of a neighbor leads us to dehumanize anyone we’re sure we shouldn’t love. There is perhaps no better example of this kind of moral gymnastics than in a story from Luke’s gospel:

Over the last month we’ve received a steady stream of prayer requests related to the changes wrought by the new administration in Washington. Uncertainty, fear, and a sense of chaos seem pervasive for a lot of people. The prayer requests call for reason, reconciliation, and some way to find hope when the future seems so bleak.

Joyful individuals aren't always the ones cracking jokes or wearing a perpetual smile. Their joy transcends mere optimism; it's rooted in a profound understanding of life's complexities. They confront the harsh realities of human existence with eyes wide open, acknowledging the presence of evil forces that seek to harm; “looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). Yet, crucially, joyful people refuse to be imprisoned by despair.

This past Tuesday the appointed psalm for the morning was Psalm 12. As we gathered as staff to pray, I read these words: 
Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly;
the faithful have disappeared from humankind.
They utter lies to each other;
with flattering lips and a double heart they speak. (Psalm 12:1-2)