Matthew

Leadership is big these days. And I've become suspicious of our emphasis on what looks more and more like leadership for leadership's sake.

We are instructed to love our enemies—not necessarily to forgive them.

As I read the headline yesterday, my heart began to pound and my throat closed up: “School Clerk In Georgia Persuaded Gunman To Lay Down Weapons.” This was a good story—ultimately a hopeful one—but all I could see was “school” and “gunman."

James Cowan's book follows the Holy Family's path through Egypt. It is anchored in numerous conversations with monks, nuns, guides and fellow pilgrims.

Isaiah gives voice to God. God is amazed at our epistemic closure.

As I mentioned before, I’ve been reading this strange book called The Spiritual Meadow, written by sixth-century wandering monk John Moschos. One of the last stories in the book was as relevant to my daily existence as any story I have read in a long time. I have only the vaguest idea what it means, but I do know it’s another weird monk joke. And this one was aimed directly at me.

The story goes like this: In the ancient city of Antioch, the church had various kinds of social services. “A man who was a friend of Christ” used to gather supplies and give them out to people in need.

"How can you defend those people?" That's a question we public defenders hear a lot.

Sometimes we grow weary of the same texts as they come up year after year. We may even suggest that maybe this year we should not do the Christmas pageant, but a different story instead.

Bad idea.

“I’m a Christian,” said my oldest daughter, seven-year-old Miriam. 

“Really?” I replied. “So what makes you believe that you are a Christian?”

“Because I love God, God loves me, and I know Jesus came back to life after dying on the cross.”

Public ritual might be construed as a benign relic, as imperialism, or as marketing. Or it might be seen as a form of pilgrimage.

Michael Moore's work is that of a repentant sinner called to bring the news—not all of it good—to folks who would rather do without it.

How do we move from Jesus' core ethical mandate to the complex issues we face in the modern world?

To build stronger communities, we need to get in the habit of recognizing what undergirds our relationships. We can't afford to take it for granted.

The Old Testament and gospel readings for Epiphany function as point and counterpoint. Isaiah offers a word of great comfort to those who have been so long in darkness. Impoverished as the hearers have been, honor and fortune are on their way. It's a message of rejoicing: the light that has dawned will make all who see it radiant.