I'm careful with the phrase, "The Bible says." Because the Bible says a lot of things. And if I'm not careful, I can easily twist the Bible to say things I want it to say. We all can. It's easy to shrink down God to match our opinions or our politics. Too often, "The Bible says" becomes a conversation ender, a weapon we use when we want to win an argument.

The prophet Jeremiah shows us that false prophets say "The Bible says," and it sounds convincing. But what they really mean is, "I say." So, we'll have to discern when what the Bible says sounds like them and not the other way around.

The truth of God we find in scripture doesn't just comfort us. It also rocks our worldview. It doesn't just inspire us. It's supposed to interrupt our regularly scheduled living. What the Bible says is supposed to free us. Free us to love and serve God with all of our being. To burn away lies of hate and division and break apart systems of injustice.

If I visit you in the hospital, there's a good chance I'll read from Psalm 91 while I'm there. Hospitals aren't easy places to be. No one really likes being there. Doctors tell you to rest, but that's impossible. There's always a noise or a check-in. And how do we get that beep to stop!

Of course, when you're dealing with illness and injury, that's where you need to be. It's a place of healing and restoration. But it sure can feel like you are trapped in the snare of a hospital bed. That's why when I knock on the door and offer a prayer, I want to remind you of where your heart is.

The psalmist helps us find the words we need when we feel trapped, even in a safe place like a hospital room. When we feel confined, vulnerable or uncertain, he says we can say to God, "My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust." So, God isn't just a belief. God is not only a conviction. God is a place of comfort and security, too. No matter where you are, God is there. And God is always ready to care.

Preachers love the story of the widow's mite when it's time to ask the church for money. Her example is compelling. She gave everything she had for God's glory. We should all have a desire to do the same, the preacher says.

But as it's been pointed out before, this story may not be best used to support your next capital campaign. This is an instance where Bible chapters and verses hinder our understanding of Jesus. Luke 21 begins with the widow putting her two small copper coins in the temple treasury. Jesus seems to praise her for this act of generosity and obedience. But his focus may not be on her. Instead, Jesus actually wants you to notice the people he just finished talking about in Luke 20. The two passages go together.

In Luke 20, Jesus says to beware of particular religious leaders. The ones focused on prestige and recognition. These are the same people who "devour widows' houses." So, the widow's contribution is not the point. Her act exposed a system that exploited the most vulnerable people. Those who already have so little to give.

In that light, this isn't a story about generosity. It's about injustice, maybe even injustice at the hands of religion.

There's an online trend that caught my attention recently. For fun, kids call an aunt or uncle or grandparent with a big ask to solve a big problem. Here's the set up. They just got a bad grade on a test. Now, the teacher wants a signature from their parents, but they don't want to face the music. Their big ask is: Will you sign it for me instead?

As you might expect, people respond differently. Some family members laugh and say they'll do it. Others lay down the law and tell the kids they have to own up to what they did.

But one video got me. One kid called Grandma. Grandma wasn't going to let them off the hook, but she did offer something else. She said she would be there when the parents got home and saw the grade. She'd be there to support the child, and "stand up" for him.

When Grandma said she'd be there, I balled. That's presence. That's love. That's incarnation. And that's everything.

How desperate the times must've been for the psalmist to say, “There is no longer anyone who is godly.” It’s an exaggeration, yes, but it reveals a deep concern that people had abandoned what is right. For the psalmist, the problem wasn’t abstract. It was the lies swirling all around him, spoken with flattering lips and deceitful hearts.

And this wasn’t just a personal grievance. It carried weight for the whole community.

In the psalm, God responds: “Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up.” Lies and deceit always bring a social cost. And when truth disappears in the streets (and on our screens), it is the poor who suffer first and suffer most. That is why God speaks for them.

That reminds me of a political cartoon I once saw. An average voter sits on a bench between an elephant and a donkey. The animals hurl insults at one another in front of him while, behind his back, they’re holding hands. Their attacks are a coordinated effort to keep the voter confused, distracted and controlled.

Isn't that where we are today? I think many of us sense it’s true, but we still fall for it. We fall hard for it and are left to endure its ugly consequences.

But notice something in the psalm. The people trapped in the middle aren’t folks like you or me. God sees the poor and the vulnerable caught in the crossfire. They are the ones who bear the brunt of manipulation and dishonesty.