20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B, RCL)

Wonder Bread seems a good analogy for much of popular Christianity.

The Greek word sarx could well be translated as “hamburger” rather than “flesh.”

How do you make God smile?

Solomon has everything—and still, he seeks transformation.

Forgoing congregational singing as a spiritual discipline

The church doesn’t always value people as God does. Not even Mary.

Communion is not the only time we seek Jesus like a hungry baby.

God invites us to live out an authentic prophetic ministry truly guided by God.

When Martin Luther wrote, "I have so much to do that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer," I don't imagine that he meant to squeeze another three hours of work and relationships into the hours that remained.

If Solomon were an older and more experienced ruler when God appears to him in his dream, I wonder if he would ask for wisdom.

The lectionary has focused our attention on bread for a very long time. One might think that five barley loaves transformed into a feast plus baskets full of leftovers would be news enough, but Jesus goes on to talk about the bread for another 36 verses. He would be a dream interview for today's 24-hour news shows, with their incessant need for commentary on the latest attention-grabbing headline.

Perhaps we should not be too hard on the people who ate their fill on the mountain and chased Jesus down on the other side.

Reconciliation requires relocation. To see the effects of our food choices, we have to get close to the land.

Do we play semantic games when we try to explain the words away? The mention of fear is typically wrapped up in abusive relationships, but we can also fear disappointing someone we love dearly.

How do you know that God is great? You study the things God has done! You might even call it data-collecting concerning God's salvation.

Which would you rather do, contemplate belief or consume the flesh and blood of Jesus?

It made a lot of sense for Jesus to use the metaphor of animal sacrifice—at least, it did in the first century.

When my daughter was in grade school, her teacher included a unit on table manners. The rule that amused me was, “When served food, you should never ask, ‘What is this?’” I don’t think I’ve asked that question aloud, but I’ve certainly thought it, especially at potlucks.

In the days before every district superintendent carried a cell phone, driving the charge conference circuit was a great opportunity to listen to the radio. My favorite station was NPR. More than once I found myself totally enthralled by a broadcast story. Sometimes I would pull into my own driveway but be unable to get out of the car because I was a prisoner of a story. I sat on the edge of my seat, my hand ready to turn the car key, unable to move. Maybe it was the story about the little boy caught in a moral dilemma: he needed to tell his mother the truth about a neighborhood crime, but could not betray a confidence. What would he do?