The Little Friar

It may seem odd to most, but Ash Wednesday has always been one of the most important days of the church year to my spirituality.  Lent provided me time to stop and reflect -- intentionally to pray about my own sin (usually busy-ness) and ponder the meaninglessness of my own work.  Without the Spirit, pastoral work simply doesn't make sense and isn't possible over the long term. So it's probably not a surprise that Ash Wednesday is one of the liturgical acts I miss most.  Ash Wednesday was such a formative experience on my pastoral ministry, precisely because of its intimacy.  I recall, as a grad student, ministering ashes to one of my profs.  That pastoral act was a humbling, intimate experience that shaped me in ways I never realized at the time. And its therefore one of the pastoral acts I most miss. I was reflecting this year on that, and wrote the following poem.

I first read Matthew Vines' God and the Gay Christian: The Biblical Case for Same-Sex Relationships soon after it was published in 2015.  I was excited to read it, in light of the 2012 video that had made its rounds on social media from the author on some of the same themes. Like I said, I was excited to read the book.  I had huge hopes that he would do for a new generation what Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? had done in 1977 -- offer a clear evangelical voice to the discussion about the nature of human relationships from an evangelical perspective. In the end, however, I was let down.  I had hoped that Vines would give us a far more compelling theological foundation.  He didn't.  Instead, he absolutized his experience as the theological argument in support of "same-sex relationships".  In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have been too surprised of the let-down.  I've come to realize that so long as Christians have a sexual ethic that merely a...

I've been reflecting on the accusation often made against the Christian universalism to which I hold (and which I've laid out in several books, beginning with The Fire and the Rose ).  After all, what could possibly be more liberal -- more accepting and politically correct -- than insisting that there's no such thing as eternal punishment in the fires of hell and everlasting salvation for every person, ever? To be sure, there are squishy, politically correct visions of universalism, the belief that we're all on different religious paths journeying up the same mountain.  That liberal notion that "All roads lead to God". But this universalism -- I'm going to call it mine just for simplicity's sake -- is not one of those.  I've come to call it a confessional ( or evangelical) universalism .  In my vision, Jesus Christ really is the Lord of History.  Jesus is the Door, and the only door, through which the sheep can enter the sheepfold.  Ther...

From the Hoosoyo (Prayer of Forgiveness) of the Maronite liturgy for the First Weekday Cycle of Lent (and thus celebrated on Ash Monday and, when liturgies are celebrated on Ash Wednesday in Maronite Churches, for Ash Wednesday as well): O Christ, Lover of all people, you gave the Church the holy season of Lent as a shield of protection and a healing remedy.  Your fasting and sacrifices taught us to fast, and to understand the purpose and essence of life, the meaning of the world and its existence, and the greatness of your love and compassion.  Shower your mercy on all people that they may repent, and soften their hearts that they may return to you, know you, and love you.

I have never really given much of my own ink spilled for thoughts about Karl Barth's alleged affair or John Howard Yoder's sexual abuse , but both of those realities have tainted how I read the theologians' very important work.  I've never sworn off use of Church Dogmatics or The Politics of Jesus , but I do believe serious questions have to be asked and answered by theologians who use the work of Barth or Yoder often and with any ethical commitments to the Gospel. To be honest, that's probably because I never confronted their sin of the abuse of power and sex in any real way. But the report that surfaced over the weekend about John Vanier's sexual sin have had me caught in the grips of grief -- and to be honest, existential questioning -- since comments first arose Saturday.  Vanier, I (like so many others) now believe, initiated sexual relations with at least six (non-disabled) women, usually in the context of spiritual friendship/direction as a pastora...

The autumn leaves are falling brown and dusty on the road, the winter chill is beating like a hammer on the brain, the sun perhaps forever-lost is hiding, veiled by cloud. A dull and aching boredom rules, worse than any pain, and time -- the word is inexact, but we may call it 'time' -- time is bare, oppressive; it smothers the sublime. We itch to walk and wander, inquire, think, and ponder -- we itch but do not scratch, for where is there to journey when the sameness never ceases (brown below and gray above) and life in bits and pieces knows not peace nor joy nor love? All drained of every color, now fades life and light, and all without reprieve await an all-elusive night. Yet in a little building, quiet, tucked away, a little light of day through dismal day is breaking, a single subtle ray of sunlight bright and pure like water to the thirsty, to the ill a cure: like bread plain and unobtrusive yet of endless grace diffusive, like red wine upon ...

Someone asked that I write a prayer of intercession to be used in their congregational liturgy for Sunday morning that addressed the division we see in our current American cultural climate.  This is what I wrote.  Text is bold is meant for congregational response.

I had an idea today -- write the most romantic poem ever, using the first line of the most romantic poems ever.  Here is the product of my imaginations.  My poetry nerd friends will probably roast me tomorrow.

Now here's the kind of thinking we could do with more of. This is Paul Tillich preaching in a University Chapel on the text "What is Truth?"  He finishes with these words: Distrust every claim for truth where you do not see truth united with love; and be certain that you are of the truth and that the truth has taken hold of you only when love has taken hold of you and has started to make you free from yourselves. Imagine being told that as you come to the end of a worship service.  That you can get a handle on who you are and what your life is about if you take seriously the connection between truth and love.  How does that work?  Well here's Tillich earlier in the same sermon: If you seriously ask the question, 'Am I of the truth?', you are of the truth.  If you do not ask it seriously, you do not really want, and you do not deserve, and you cannot get, an answer!  He who asks seriously the question of the truth that liberates is already on the way ...

The life and thought of Dietrich Bonhoeffer persists as an essential and critical voice even seventy five years after his death.  There are so many reasons to pay attention to the occasional writings and speakings of Bonhoeffer; but in our time of fractious politics, slow and sometimes blatant power grabs, growing support for right wing populism and uncritical adulation of the strong leader, it is the radically uncompromising call and cost of discipleship in following Jesus that challenges Christian communities to decide where ultimate allegiance lies.  This is Bonhoeffer the pastor, preaching a Confirmation sermon in 1938. The date is essential context, and the words are explosive in their political as well as theological and spiritual reverberations: You have only one master now ... But with this 'yes' to God belongs just as clear a 'no.'  Your 'yes' to God requires your 'no' to all injustice, to all evil, to all lies, to all oppression and violat...