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There must have been some Lutherans sitting in that conference room when the Revised Common Lectionary was birthed. That is the only explanation that I can come up with for Ephesians 2:1-10 having a role on the Fourth Sunday in Lent, Year B.

I’ve been meaning for some time to come back to a topic that has been garnering attention, the news that some Bible translations aimed at predominantly Islamic contexts were not using the phrase “son of God,” ever since I circulated an online article mentioning the news and was met with expressions of concern because that particular piece posed the matter in an inflammatory manner. (See Eddie Arthur’s blog post and longer pdf for more information.) When it comes to this issue of translation, I think that replacing “son of God” with something else can be not only appropriate, but in keeping with the spirit of the history of biblical translation.

When Abby Kelley, a 19th-century abolitionist, expressed a desire to address the Connecticut Anti-Slavery Society, this is how a local minister argued against her right to do so: No woman will speak or vote where I am moderator. It is enough for a woman to rule at home… she has no business to come into this meeting and by speaking and voting lord it over men. Where woman’s enticing eloquence is heard, men are incapable of right and efficient action. She beguiles and binds men by her smiles and her bland winning voice… I will not sit in a meeting where the sorcery of a woman’s tongue is thrown around my heart. I will not submit to PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT. No woman shall ever lord it over me. I am Major-Domo in my own house.

Christendom is built on a weekly gathering model. It’s not, of course, the only way. Monasteries meet daily, while the Old Testament festival pattern suggests three times a year. (Deuteronomy 16:15-16: “For seven days celebrate … Three times a year you must appear.”)

I’m taking a class on the Gospel of Luke this semester, and one of my assignments is to engage in an ongoing spiritual practice related to that particular Gospel. So for the entire semester I am reading the Magnificat daily. It’s a passage that I’ve been drawn to in recent years, but it has been particularly illuminating to be dwelling on it during Lent this year, since it is typically confined to the Advent season. Somehow the triumphal language of the justice that God has already accomplished fits with the modern treatment of Advent as a celebratory season. But Lent is a season of penance, which puts an entirely different spin on the text.

Recently I had a conversation with one of the young parents in my congregation.  We were having a far-reaching discussion that included Sunday School, next summer's Vacation Bible School Program, and the changing nature of our culture and church attendance.  When I offered the idea that "going to church" is not as culturally normal now as it was when I was growing up, she replied, "That's right!  I think we are the only ones who go to church among all of our friends."  She continued that she knew that her friends had a wide variety of opinions and emotions regarding faith, from some who clearly were not interested, to others who were more ambivalent.  I blurted out, "So, you're sort of like missionaries to your friends." I immediately regretted the statement.

Two articles crossed my screen recently about the Internet and its effect on community.

Which is to say:  all I have is stories. I noticed a young family gone absent from worship. She is a gifted musician and actress; they have two young children. She did a benefit concert here once full of wonderful musical numbers; all the proceeds went to cancer research. I had been somewhat connected with them and eventually found her on Facebook, where I noticed that her religious affiliation was "atheist." Oh.

When I became a stay-at-home father several years ago, I slowly realized that all the theology I had studied in seminary, if I were honest, didn’t connect with my new reality of diapers, spit-up and frozen breast milk.

It was after a funeral. I was sitting with a couple who were visiting our congregation, but it turned out they had connections with my husband's church, so we began to chat.  And (here's where I get fuzzy) I don't know how this came up or what I said exactly, but I must have said something about "the historical view" or "the critical view" of the Bible, and they both got this stricken, deer-in-the-headlights look.