Luke 22

If our faith cannot help us escape tribulations, then what should we do when we face them?

In Oberammergau, the keepers of a centuries-old tradition have made
big changes—including efforts to expunge antisemitic material.

“Each of the typical approaches has problems. The best solution would be to change the lectionary.”

If so, what did he mean?

We betray Jesus for far less than was offered to Judas.

We recognize ourselves in those who accompany Jesus on that longest, hardest night.

God is the encounter we can't control.

In the face of mob violence, a six-year-old responded with love.

Luke's text for Reign of Christ Sunday is a searing critique of leaders who are powerful but not vulnerable.

During Holy Week, it's common for worship leaders to ask people to consider their place in the drama of Jesus' final days. To what extent do we betray him, deny him, insult him, crucify him? When do we, like the crowds, find ourselves gawking at suffering with prurient glee? When do we, like the thieves, alternately ridicule the truth, then believe in it? When do we, like the centurion, make our confession--though perhaps a moment too late?

Our culture's foundational sin is to make gods of ourselves, to find any excuse to go our own way rather than follow the Lord of life. We are weak. And yet in this Gospel story, so is Jesus.

Sacramentality is the breath of Christian life—life that springs from the sacraments and life that yearns to return to them.

When Jeanne Bishop learned of her sister's murder, she found herself saying aloud, "I don't want to hate anybody."

John 13 begins with imminent betrayal, suffering, and death. Understandably, we envision the scene with somber images. But I wonder if we overlook Jesus’ joy.

This week my Century lectionary column focused on the text from Luke. Here are several threads I found useful but could not weave into the final piece.

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