Matthew

I know of a congregation that, for many years, provided a “living nativity pageant” in its community. The church is in the center of town and has an expansive front lawn. On a certain December Sunday afternoon each year, it would fill that lawn with live sheep and goats and donkeys, costumed shepherds and wise men, a gaggle of angels, an innkeeper, a manger, and, of course, the holy family.

The Magi's alien exoticism is an intrinsic part of Matthew's story.

I don’t know what a perfect first-century family looked like, but I’m certain that Joseph and Mary didn’t qualify.

If you happen to read the Message translation of Matthew’s beatitudes, you’ll notice that instead of saying “blessed” the word is “happy.”

We have, in fact, been given a simple code for living.

It often feels like a rhetorical game, this question of what belongs to God.

The hyperbole, violence, and abrupt scene changes in Matthew’s parable of the wedding feast have driven most interpreters to treat the story allegorically—thereby turning it from a dangerous puzzle to a reassuring message in code.

What if the agreed daily wage is forgiveness and eternal life?

Jesus' parable of the so-called "wicked tenant farmers" is a textbook illustration—a parody, even—of the economic and political dynamics of empire.

Ezekiel steps right into the middle of a group of people busy at that most ancient of activities, going back to Eden: the blame game.

Church folks will not always agree—nor should we.

The Prodigal Son is often read to mean that God loves sinners, whereas the Jews thought God only loved the righteous. This makes no sense.

Joseph knows what he is seeing. His brothers do not.

Yoder defined violence in terms of violating someone's dignity. This sounds ready made as a description of his own abusive behavior.

Yoder defined violence in terms of violating someone's dignity. This sounds ready made as a description of his own abusive behavior.

Years ago, at a denominational gathering, I heard a visitor from the global South say the following about North American Christians:

They have so many things. They don’t need anything. Yet it seemed like the people were very thirsty, like they were in a desert and we were bringing them drops of water.

These words refuse to leave me.