In the Lectionary

Waiting and fidelity are closely connected.

We have many defenses against hearing the Christmas readings and taking them to heart.

My favorite Christmas book is The Donkey’s Dream, which is about the journey Mary and Joseph made to Bethlehem. Meant for young children, Barbara Helen Berger’s story is a brilliant and subtle work of theology. Or perhaps antitheology, as it allows simple images to tell us more than words can convey about what the incarnation signifies.

Mercy is not what we’re about, and I suspect we don’t want our God to be about it, either.

Some 50 years ago, Merton warned us about what can happen when “all words have become alike.”

The preacher must remind those who feel worthless already that Isaiah is not trying to make them feel worse.

Does our discomfort over God’s judgment come from the fear of taking sides? Or the fear of being found on the wrong one?

Perhaps the most insidious byproduct of modern apocalyptic scenarios is that grief is shoved right off the table.

Talanta doesn't refer to a special ability I have, my passion in life, or this little light of mine. It certainly isn’t a mere $100.

Paul can be downright annoying.

Does Paul say "we were gentle among you"? Or "we were infants"?

I was emphasizing to parents of confirmands that the young people should be with their families in worship as part of their preparation for membership. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for worship,” one mother told me after the meeting. Her words were soothing and gentle, yet they sounded condescending, as if she were explaining something to a not-very-bright child. “We’ve committed to soccer and cheerleading for my youngest on Sunday mornings. We have a full plate."

There have always been those who reject the gifts they’re offered.

A missionary friend was scheduled to speak about his mission work at a distant church. He got up before daybreak that Sunday morning and drove 300 miles, preached at two services and spent the afternoon speaking with members of the congregation. As he was leaving that evening, the treasurer of the church gave him an envelope, which he tucked in his pocket for the ride home. It was very late when he returned home. As he undressed, he remembered the envelope. He turned on the light in the bathroom and opened it. Out fell a check with his name written on it in bold letters. Under his name were the words: A million thanks! It was signed by the treasurer.

The first Sunday of October is World Communion Sunday. Christians around the world remember that we are linked with brothers and sisters of all colors and languages. There is no better time to remind ourselves of this truth than in these days, when so much of the world is divided into a multitude of warring camps.

Can’t the landowner see how unfair this is?

Four hundred ninety times? Do we really have to do this?

These six verses of Matthew do not mean that if two or three people agree on something, then they can ignore others and do whatever they want.

Maybe Peter scares Jesus.

As some friends and I ate a picnic lunch, we fell into a rambling conversation about politics, real estate values in an earthquake zone and the virtues of sauvignon blanc over chardonnay. Then I mentioned offhandedly that perhaps I viewed something or other the way I did because I was a Christian. This revelation did not strike me as a big deal. After all, they had been talking about Buddhist meditation, Sufi parables and personal spiritual rituals.