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.

Life has a way of testing our faith. Like Job, we might be doing all we know to honor God and care for those around us. Even so, things seem to unravel around and within us. Job’s story reminds us that even the righteous can face hardship. We can know loneliness. Our friends, family and the world can misunderstand us, too.

And in our lives, there are moments when God seems distant. Perhaps it’s a struggle to provide for your family. Maybe there's a marriage in difficulty, or an overwhelming grief. We might feel like all our praying is only met with silence from God.

Job felt abandoned and frustrated in all these ways, too. That's why his story is important for us. I'll offer to you Job's story is an invitation to the boldness that Hebrews 4:14-16 encourages us to have.

I've heard adults say that kids today know too much about anxiety. It feels like the anxiousness of the world is new. It is not.

In Psalm 94, the psalmist knows the reality of anxiety. He says that the cares of his heart are many. That feels familiar. We know what it's like to be awake in the middle of the night worrying about what could go wrong. We rehearse every negative scenario and we carry stress so much it carries into every conversation. Faith does not mean those feelings disappear. It means we learn where to take them.

Notice what the psalmist trusts, that his many cares are met with God’s consolations. I take “consolations” to speak to the ways God reassures us. It's the promises we read of in scripture, God's presence we experience and the affirmation that we are not alone. Faith is no magic trick and these consolations do not always erase our problems. But they steady us within them.

Notice, too, what the psalmist experiences from God's consolations. He says they "cheer my soul." Not just relief, not just a temporary break, but joy. The psalmist testifies that he has come to know that God’s presence can transform anxiety into delight. That doesn’t mean his worries vanish. It does mean he has discovered something greater than his worry: God's steadfast love.

As Christianity grew from a movement into a formal institution, the lines between church and empire began to blur. For some, this was evidence of God’s blessing. The faith was spreading. But others worried that, when tied too closely to political power, the church’s morality and witness would be compromised. Out of that tension came a deep desire for a purer devotion to God, which gave rise to the monastic movement.

One of the earliest and most influential figures was Anthony of Egypt, also known as Anthony the Great. Taking seriously Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:21, Anthony sold his possessions and gave the money to the poor. He then devoted himself to a life of solitude. While others before him had sought solitude for spiritual growth, Anthony became known as the father of monasticism because he helped shape and guide communities that embraced this way of life.

Now, I share this piece of Christian history as a reminder that asceticism has long been one path to grow closer to God. To be sure, it is not an easy path. Don't think those in the monasteries had it easy. Even Anthony, with his deep commitment, wrestled with memories of his old life and the temptations that followed him into the desert. Plus, monks and nuns took vows of poverty and worked to serve the poor and the church in other ways.

I shared a picture online this week I had seen making the rounds. In light of the week's tragedy, I had seen it posted several times and felt an inclination to say something. The picture compared the faith of Mr. Rogers and of a warrior for Christ type. Here is what I said:

"The picture suggests that being a “Mr. Rogers” kind of Christian isn’t enough, and that what we really need is to suit up as warriors. But that’s not the gospel.

Fred Rogers embodied the way of Jesus more than we realize. Kindness takes grit. Patience takes discipline. Loving your neighbor, even the one who offends you, takes real courage. That’s not weakness. That’s following the way of Jesus.

The call of Christ is not to put on armor and fight battles of our own making (Read that last part again!). The call is to love. To forgive. To show mercy. To walk humbly. That’s harder than swinging a sword.

So here’s the challenge: Don’t belittle the way of gentleness. Don’t dismiss kindness as soft. Empathy is not a sin or misguided notion. It is a doorway to our healing. The world doesn’t need more Christians who think they’re crusaders. The world needs more Christians brave enough to follow Jesus all the way to the cross."

And here's how I think that relates to our reading today. 1 Timothy 1 is one of those passages we misunderstand, perhaps. When we hear "fight the good fight," it's tempting to take this to mean combat. Taking up arms, putting others in their place and leaving no prisoners behind. But I don't think that's the fight that's supposed to come to mind.

Psalm 78 envisions an experience that churches can use to model intergenerational practices. The psalm underscores the importance of remembering God's past acts of salvation and deliverance. Included in that remembrance is the often unfaithful response of the people.

Most notable in this psalm is the insistence that this recounting be shared among all generations. The older generations have heard of God's deeds from their ancestors. Now, they shall not "hide" these experiences from their children but share them. This sharing will spread to the "next generation." As a result, they will "set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments."

Faith and discipleship take root in a community's shared experiences. Psalm 78 doesn't imagine an accidental gathering of the generations. Instead, it sees a deliberate effort to form young people in the knowledge and trust of God while also affirming and encouraging the faith of the older generation as well.

There is a point about the goal of Christian teaching made clear in 1 Timothy 1. The goal is not knowledge for knowledge’s sake, and it's not rule-keeping even for order’s sake. The aim is love. It always has been. And, as we are faithful, it always will be. Everything God reveals, every word of instruction, every act of grace, draws us deeper into love. The love we experience in Christ is love rooted in God's goodness and leads to a faith that is genuine.

Ilia Delio, in The Unbearable Wholeness of God, describes creation itself as moving toward unity in God’s love. She sees the universe not as random fragments of space matter but as a whole. The universe is bound together in divine energy, divine love that always leans toward connection and communion. What Paul said to Timothy two thousand years ago, Delio reminds us again today: the point of it all is love.

Now, our temptation, then, is to fragment. To separate faith from daily living. To split knowledge from wisdom. To let convenience dull greater conscience. But love resists this pull. Love draws together what is divided. Love heals what is broken and brings wholeness.

A wealthy ruler came to Jesus with a decent question. He asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” The Lord pointed him to the commandments. That seems appropriate enough. Who wouldn't tell you to remember what God has commanded? Confidently, the man assured Jesus he had followed God's commands since his youth.

But Jesus didn't stop where most teachers might have. It's good that the rich ruler remembered the commandments. Then came the hard part: “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

You can almost see his smile disappear in that moment. Luke tells us the very rich man walked away sad. He did because his wealth meant more to him than the invitation to follow Jesus.

Now, you and I hear this story and we might want to excuse ourselves. We think, "I don’t have that kind of wealth, so it doesn’t apply to me.” It's been highly noted that Jesus talked a lot about money. In reality, though, Jesus’ words aren’t solely about money. They're about whatever we hold tighter than him. For this man, it was possessions. For us, it might be success, control, reputation, security or even our idea of how life should be.

The first week of football season didn’t disappoint. My favorite team faced that other team, and the rivalry was alive before kickoff. Sparks flew when one of our star players was ejected for spitting. As a loyal fan, I jumped to his defense. If I say, “Dak spit first,” you know exactly what I mean.

But let me step back from fandom for a moment. I remember a teacher who did not put up with our excuses growing up. We had a tendency to blame other people for our misbehavior. We'd say, “He made me do it.” Our teacher's answer was always the same: “No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.” She was teaching us something powerful, that we always have a choice. We decide how we respond, no matter what someone else does to us or says--or even the direction they spit.

Psalm 2 says that in a different way. First, the psalmist acknowledged that “the nations conspire and the peoples plot in vain.” People have always schemed, resisted and rebelled against God. Many of them even succeed at what they do. That hasn’t changed. That won't change. But the psalmist reminds us we don’t have to join in. Instead, the call is clear: “Be wise…serve the Lord… and happy are all who take refuge in him.”

My teacher was right. There are few moments when someone makes you do anything. The choice is yours. Even we adults (and professional athletes) still need to hear that lesson. So today, choose wisdom. Choose the way of God over the vanity of the world. Don't let what others do make you think you don't have a choice to walk faithfully with God.

Stay blessed...john

Our family recently watched a documentary that had us hooked. I’d call it a drama-mentary. It was full of twists and turns that made us question everything we thought we knew about what was happening. At one point, each of us had our own theory about where the story was heading. None of us guessed right. Part of what made it so unpredictable was that, no matter the contradiction, there was always someone ready to affirm a particular version of “truth.”

That’s how life works, too. You can always find someone who will agree with you. It’s tempting to wait until you hear that one agreeable voice that confirms what you already believe. That’s why seeking wisdom and discernment is important. Yes, affirmation from others can be a good sign. You might even sense it as confirmation from God. Many times, it is.

But what about the times we just want agreement? What do we miss when stubbornness dictates what we’re willing to hear?

I'll confess that I'm more of a watch-the-movie than read-the-book person. That's mainly because of my difficulty with reading. But I have learned there is something lost when we forget the story first written.

That's not to say there isn't creativity and depth in the movie. The movie, though, has a timeline it needs to stick to. No one's watching twelve-hour movies--unless it's broken up into episodes on Netflix. Even then, there can be a richness of the story that doesn't come to light without the reading. A movie condenses a book. Characters are trimmed, plots get simplified and details need to be skipped.

I wonder if we try to get the movie version out of life, too. We look for shortcuts, hoping to avoid the hard parts and rush to the end. In doing so, we miss the depth of what God has written into our journey.

Reading takes patience, focus and imagination. These tools help you step into the author's world. Life, as God's gift, asks us for the same. Attentiveness, reflection and full participation help us live into the life God unfolds. Trusting God, then, means leaning into the full story, not just the easy or exciting parts.

Stevie Wonder's song Isn't She Lovely celebrates the gift of his newborn daughter. The joy of the song comes out of life born out of the action and communion of love. Love through connection.

That's what we believe about God, too. Wherever God is, whatever God is, God is with you. God is with us. That's an astounding tenet of our faith. John Wesley said that it was the best of all things on his deathbed. Our faith proclaims a God who is relational, communal and present. That shows us what love truly is.

Often, we reduce love to a feeling. Culture depicts love as mostly emotion. But scripture pushes us deeper. Love isn't less than feeling, but it is so, so much more. Love is connection.

And God is that connection. In the Trinity, for example, we glimpse a God who is love through eternal relationship. That God is willing to connect with us is the greatest signpost to love. God is not distant. God is here, connected to and woven into our lives.

In 2020, we didn’t travel much. After months mostly at home, one day I looked in the mirror and asked myself, “Why am I shaving every day?” That’s when I decided to grow my pandemic beard.

A few months later, I had dinner with friends. One of them wore a beard. He brought me a gift. It was a bottle of beard oil. I had never heard of that. Having a beard was new to me. Then he began to explain the culture I had just joined: beard festivals, beard groups, even beard etiquette. My understanding of beards and the people who wore them grew that night.

When we’re new at something, we often need guidance. Mentors and guides help us navigate unfamiliar territory. Faith is no different.

In Luke 14, Jesus tells the parable of the great dinner. A rich man planned a feast and sent invitations to his peers. For various, almost trivial reasons, they declined. In that culture, refusing an invitation like this was a serious insult. Angered, the man instructed his servants to invite others. People who normally wouldn’t be invited: the outcasts, the poor, the socially overlooked.

It’s easy to imagine that these new invitees didn’t know how to respond. What was expected of them? How could they offer anything in return? Yet they accepted. One subtle detail of the story stands out to me. When the man first becomes angry, he tells his servant to go find new guests. The servant responds, “Sir, what you ordered has been done.”

It's important to remember the infidelity of God's people in the Bible. God made covenant with them, but time and again they turned away from their part in that union. Repeatedly! It makes you wonder what we'd have left in the Bible if they didn't.

Time and time again, the people chose their way of living life over God's wisdom. Scripture also tells of the consequences of those choices. You get what you get when you turn from God. There's no blaming God for letting us face the consequences of our choices. That's on us.

And yet, time and time again God pursues God's beloved. In Jeremiah 3, for example, the Lord describes a vision of an adulterous people. They have taken "many lovers." Still, God says, "Return." To make sure they understood God knew exactly who they were, God says, "Return, faithless Israel."

Faithless. Stubborn. Greedy. Prideful. Spiteful. Petty. Arrogant.

What qualifier might be in front of your name?

No matter what it is or how accurately it describes you, the invitation from God remains the same: Return.

Return to God because the Lord isn't waiting for you to clean up yourself first. So, you don't have to either. God's love isn't reactive. Genuine love always creates deeper love. So, God loves you where you are in whatever condition you're in and makes you new. And if you have to return again tomorrow, God will make you new again.

I recently began a new educational journey. It's something I’ve been considering for a while but only now had the chance to pursue. Several people have asked me how it’s going. Well, I'll answer that by asking you: Have you ever heard of imposter syndrome?

Reading the thoughtful reflections my colleagues are already sharing, I sometimes feel like I’m behind. Maybe even like I don’t really belong.

Do you know that feeling? Many of us do. We’ve all had moments where we felt unprepared, unqualified or unsure of ourselves. And when it comes to faith, we can have those same feelings.

That’s why I love how the letter of Hebrews ends. The entire letter is a call to renewed faith. And it ends with a powerful benediction that reminds us of God’s ongoing work in our lives through Christ. The prayer is that God would “make you complete.” The King James Version says “make you perfect,” but a better sense of the word means to be fully equipped. Made ready for every good work God desires. It’s not about flawless perfection here and now, but about being prepared with everything we need to live faithfully to God's call.