What the Tide Teaches Us About Faith

The Lord grants his loving-kindness in the daytime; in the night season his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. Psalm 42

I am thinking of taking a trip sometime this summer, although it may not happen until autumn. I don’t know what’s happening with me. There was a day I could spontaneously get a wild hair up my nether regions, toss a few essentials into my rolling duffle bag, and take off on some wild and bizarre adventure. Not anymore. My spontaneity gene has up and left town without me.

Now I plan and plod. I check out long-range weather forecasts and astronomical charts, put my finger on the calendar, seeking a day where the roads won’t be clogged by tourists or (worse) three day weekends where I’ll have to add a slug of inebriated jack-a-lopes to the mix and, since there is nothing that actually stirs the soul, fold up the map, toss it back into the cupboard, and decide that maybe next year I’ll feel more like traveling.

The paralysis of analysis is a real thing. So is depression (clinical or otherwise). Life is cyclical and sometimes we are just so worn down and beat up by the constant pounding of the surf that we find the bank of the soul eroding and washing away like the banks of the Yellowstone in full flood. The psalmist knows this. 

Life – both regular life and the spiritual life – has its ups and downs. People of faith are often surprised to find the feelings of warmth, love, and joy they might have experienced early on ebbs and flows. They may feel guilty when they discover their faith becoming lukewarm or, God forbid, even cold and icy. They wonder if there is something wrong with them, or if their faith is genuine, or if they have some unknown sin that has disappointed God enough for the good Lord to withdraw favor. Ouch!

No. Feelings are real. The love of God is there whether or not we feel it, just as the sun is there when the clouds or night obscure the fact.

I live close to Puget Sound, and there are times I see nearby Padilla Bay lapping the shoreline next to the roadway, and other times there is a mile or more of mudflats exposed by a tide that has gone out – way out. I love the freshness of the salt-air at high tide, but when the tide goes out, blech!

Sometimes the tide is out in life, and that’s OK. The psalmist doesn’t try to hide his face in shame. He doesn’t try to power through it as if it isn’t OK to feel what he feels. I suspect he might even be willing to punch the nose of any peer who suggests he just “buck up” or “turn that frown upside down!” There are three things I get from this psalm.

First, be genuine. Don’t worry about what others may think or say you should feel. Own your life. Acknowledge what’s happening. There is a commandment that we are not to bear false witness, so we need to be true and honest to self and to God. Putting this stuff down on paper or sharing it with a trusted friend often relieves some of those internal pressures.

Secondly, the psalmist remembers better and brighter times. He remembers that God is eternal, but our circumstances and feelings aren’t. “In the night season his song is with me.” The presence of God often grows warmer and more real in the midst of the assembly, so he makes a point of surrounding himself with the faithful, depending on the warmth of their presence to warm his own soul.

And finally, he listens for the voice of God singing. God sings life into creation. God sings resurrection to a cold, dark, dangerous, and deadly world. When I hear the voice of God singing in the night, I know God is calling. 

Unlike the Sirens who called sailors to their destruction in the ancient fables, God calls us to new life, and if we need to rest a bit, God changes the tune to the lullaby we need and, like the psalmist, I find that very kind, sweet, and loving here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

God Dances With Whales

“Come, Love! Sing On! Let me hear you sing this song – sing for joy and laugh, for I the creator am truly subject to all creatures." Mechtild of Magdeburg

The other day I set about replacing the power antenna on my car with a new unit. The original mast had been snapped off and it seems I can’t do anything lately without getting sliced and diced by anything sharper than a gummy bear. My blood may be O-Negative, but it is positively attracted to anything sharp, especially jagged metals.

I peeled back the carpeting in the trunk and managed to find and remove the two bolts that held the original antenna in place; it all disassembled and came out neatly enough and, I’m delighted to report, without my shedding any blood (yet).  The new device isn’t exactly like what I had removed, so I fiddled with it a little bit to see how it would fit, made the wire connections and, before mounting it, decided to test it to make sure I’d wired it correctly. 

I turned on the car’s power supply, then turned on the radio and – Voila! – the power mast extended … and extended … and within seconds the mast and gear-cable exited the housing! Oops. It turns out the antenna should have been mounted to keep the mast from leaving home. Now THAT would have been a helpful bit of information to include in the instructions, don’t you think?

Warning, do not test the unit without mounting it first!

Life is like that. Not everything comes with warning labels and, while the antenna snafu may be a bit irksome, it isn’t the end of the world. It was assembled by someone somewhere. What one person can do, another can do. I decided not to tackle the re-assembly at that moment because, to be honest, I was fighting allergies, exhausted from all my coughing and sneezing, blowing through reams of facial tissue, and somewhat brain-dead from the antihistamines that seem to stop up gray matter more effectively than yellowish-green matter.

Fortunately, I learned a long time ago not to take things too seriously. None of us is getting out of here alive, so take time to smell the proverbial roses. Life without joy, song, and playfulness is dullishly incomplete. 

Even God plays. The Bible tells us God created Leviathan (a whale or sea monster) “for the sport of it.” Amazing; God plays. God wallowed in the mud one day playing patty-cake with the angels and next thing you know, God created Adam, and then had a rib-tickling idea to create a playmate. Oh, I know you sticklers for the scriptures will say the word is “helpmate,” but the focus of the passage is “goodness” – and for that, God created a woman precisely for goodness’ sake. The purpose of Sabbath (the day of rest) is also for re-creation. God did not make the gift of Sabbath solely to stop our labor, but to promote our well-being and happiness.

Since we were created in God’s image, it seems to follow that we need to play, too – and sing, and dance, and hop, skip, and jump!

There are, to be sure, times for grieving. The past few columns have touched on matters of grief, anger, frustration, death, destruction, wars, and violence. They are certainly constants in our lives, but it seems that if that’s all we look at, that’s all we will ever see, and I’ll be darned if I am going to let the stupidity of dunderheads and transmissibility of viruses get the better of me. 

There is a wonderful church song called The Lord of the Dance. I am not one given easily to cry, but the dam always bursts open when I get to this point in the song: “They buried my body / And they thought I'd gone, /But I am the Dance, / And I still go on …” (© Bardis Music) 

Life is wonderful, despite the woes we see. Greater is the One we do not see! Music, joy, dance, and fellowship enrich our lives. I may find myself spending two years before the (antenna) mast; it may never ever retract, but it’ll never let that get me down here in this, our valley. Dance on!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Let Us Whistle Whilst We Work

 “Clap your hands, all you peoples; shout to God with a cry of joy!" – Psalm 47

I like to whistle as I work. Why? Because I enjoy work; I enjoy labor (as long as it’s not too intensive, laborious, or hot outside); and I enjoy being productive. 

When one is happy, it is most natural to sing, whistle, or demonstrate the joy one is feeling through the outward manifestations of song and dance. Joy really isn’t joy until the body is involved. If you don’t believe me, just look at your dog’s tail when she’s about to get a treat, or when she hears the family car pull up into the driveway. Her joy is full and uncontainable, and her tail lets you know it. 

My lips are my tail, so to speak. When I’m happy, I whistle. Whistling has the added benefit of letting people know I’m around. It lets them know where they can find me. On more than one occasion my whistling has saved me from getting a door flung open into my oncoming face – and from inflicting grievous bodily harm on others while rounding a dark, blind corner. 

I don’t think anyone else in the family whistles – or at least not that I’ve heard, but that’s OK. Not all are called to whistle. Some hum; others bebop to the beat of whatever’s playing through their earbuds; still others work quietly, letting the peace and tranquility of silence serve notice to the world of an inner harmony. After all, when it comes to happiness, there are no rules – there’s “just right.” 

I think God is a whistler. Astronomers and astrophysicists tell us that they can hear the music of the universe – the music of creation – through their huge radio telescopes. Although I don’t understand the technology they utilize, I understand what they’re saying. The music of the spheres bears witness to the glory of our Creator. 

I don’t think there is nearly enough whistling these days – real or figurative. It seems to me that too much time is wasted firing off diatribes on social media or moaning over news and commentary that assails us 24/7. We need to become a fellowship of Steves (a character in To Have and Have Not, 1944) invited and encouraged to whistle: “... you put your lips together, and blow!”

We live in serious times, of course, but I’m not sure that seriousness is the problem. Life is a serious business; keeping a roof over one’s head and food on one’s table is certainly challenging and trying. It’s nothing to be laughed at or scoffed at, but does it require folks to act so dour and sour all the time? 

It isn’t a question of seriousness, but a lack of thankfulness or heart-felt gratitude (failing to appreciate what we do, indeed, have). I need to ask my more somber brothers and sisters: When faced with a challenge, would you rather find yourself in the company of those who wring their hands and fret, or with those who eagerly roll up their sleeves and dive into the fray with gusto? 

Teddy Roosevelt was one of those people who delighted in diving into a problem whole-heartedly. He was convinced it was far better to try mighty things and fail, than to try nothing and succeed. Life is a great and wonderful gift, given to us by God, and it would be a terrible waste of that good gift if we could not approach life with humility and grace, and tackle the challenges before us with a certain élan begotten by love, joy, peace, happiness, and thanksgiving. 

If I have a choice – and I think we all do – I prefer to live life as a happy fool who dares great things, rather than to live so carefully and soberly that the only evidence of my having passed this way would be a wan, gray trail of veritable slug slime. 

I believe God whistled this, our valley into existence; we do not honor God by slugging our way through life. Rather, we honor God best when we whistle, dance, or clap our hands before him. You and I are God’s Opus; how tweet it is! 

From my lips to your ears, O Lord: Hallelujah!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Watch Where You Shine the Light

 “Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights" – Psalm 148

The world we live in is an angry world. We live in an angry day and age. I don’t know if it has ever been NOT that way, but if there ever was a peaceful time, this ain’t it. I talked last time about breaking chains that divide us, and as unlikely as that seemed to be two weeks ago, events have transpired to make it seem even less likely today.

Don’t worry, though. I don’t do punditry. As a theologian, my job is to shine light into dark spaces. It’s like when I was a child helping my dad work on the car. My job was to hold the flashlight and, as a child, I seldom put the beam where he wanted it, but his fingers were experienced, so as long as the light was in the ballpark, he could do what he was doing and the job got done well enough to keep the car operational for another week.

I think that’s a lot of what priests and pastors do. We shine the light as best we can, and the beam may not land exactly where the people – the laity – the workers – want it, but it’s close enough. Right?

There are times I am overwhelmed by the news, of course. My blood pressure is excellent (honestly) and my healthcare suppliers are always pleased and amazed. However, when I read the news, I can feel it go straight up from whack to Paddy Whack! The temptation is to stop watching and reading the news, but I don’t believe God has called us to withdraw from the world, but to hold on to it even tighter.

Every now and then, children growing up will find themselves overcome with grief, anger, or frustration. Some parents may invite them to stop crying “or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Those parents and guardians do exist, sad to say. What I found more effective, though, was gently pulling the child in for a warm, loving embrace, and just absorbing their angst as long as it might take them to “get it out of their system.” 

Kids need to know they can feel what they feel. Part of a healthy relationship is being open and honest with what’s going on. As I said last time, the world often operates on a transactional level: What I can do for you, and what you can do for me, and what’s it going to cost? Transactional living leads to holding our cards close to the vest, and not knowing who can be trusted and, worst of all, thinking our value is related to the value others place on us.

“Not so among you,” says Jesus. “You are not to lord it over one another like the heathens.”

And that’s the key. So much anger and frustration arises out of our need to be in control, and control is an illusion. I can’t control the weather, or the way my team plays. I can’t control dictators, judges, or politicians. I certainly can’t control the traffic or the people around me. Truth be told, I have a hard enough time controlling myself.

Jesus is the light of the world. Reversing roles, he points the light and wants our fingers to gain experience doing the job that needs to be done. Our role is to be honest and faithful, but more than that, to be loving and kind.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus and his disciples find themselves one day passing through an area where the people have rejected him and his message. James and John are miffed and ask Jesus if he wants them to call down fire from heaven to consume that town and those people. That’s their testosterone talking. Jesus (I assume he did an eye-roll at that moment) answered them, saying simply, “No.”

Like a traffic cop, Jesus swings the flashlight and says, “There’s nothing to see here. Just keep moving, folks.”

That is good advice when we find we’ve gotten our panties in a twist. Take a deep, cleansing breath, offer praise to God like the psalmist, and move along – wherever you are in this, our flash-lit valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Wait! There's MORE!!!

Photo found on Tumblr. Photographer unknown and uncredited.

How’s your Easter going? If you’re like me, you may have trouble thinking of Easter as a Season. With Lent, at least you feel like it's a season. Those daily meditations Jen McCabe pulls together help knit the season of Lent together, makes it feel more cohesive.

But Easter always feels like a day.

You’ve got the family gathering and feast at home, and there’s everything we can do to make the day special here in church – the flowers, the bells and whistles – David pulling out all the stops on the organ so this place almost feels like Jericho with the walls just ready to come tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down … don’t they?

It’s glorious and mighty. After that, though, everything else is just plain mundane. It is still Easter, but my marshmallow peeps are all gone. The devilled eggs have disappeared. I am down to my last few jelly beans in my candy jar. The lamb from Easter dinner is just a distant memory. 

So Easter is done, at least up here (in the mind). 

It looks like maybe it is done for the disciples, too, doesn’t it?

In the Gospel of John, we have 3 primary resurrection stories; we heard one on Easter Sunday and two more last Sunday. On Easter morning, the women find the empty tomb; they go get Peter and John (who race to the tomb) and they also find it empty. 

John adds a juicy little detail. The napkin that covered the face is folded neatly and set aside. In the ancient near-east, when the Master or the Mistress of the house got up from the table, they would do one of 2 things with the napkin. If they were done eating, they would crumple it up and toss it on the table or plate, and the servants would know it was time to clear the table and clean up.

But if the Master or Mistress folded their napkin, it meant they were coming back (like they had to go “freshen up” or something). So John tells us the napkin was rolled up neatly … In other words, Jesus wasn’t done. It was Jesus’ way of saying: There’s More!!!

It’s like those late night commercials you see on TV. “This is a great product at a terrific price, but WAIT, there’s more! If you buy now, we’ll include a second set absolutely free (just pay the extra shipping and handling)!”

So, there’s an empty tomb and a rolled up napkin. But WAIT! There’s more. The women won’t leave. Mary meets a man she presumes is the gardener. “Where have you taken him?” Jesus calls her by name. “Mary.”

Suddenly, she KNOWS! There WAS more! So she tells the disciples, but they don’t believe her. And John says, of course they don’t, but WAIT! There’s more!!!

John ends the Gospel with those  two final resurrection appearances where Jesus pops in on the disciples in the upper room and says, “Relax. Peace. It’s me. I told you I wasn’t finished. Didn’t you see the napkin? Receive the Holy Spirit – He pours the Holy Spirit upon them right then and there. Just like when God breathed life into Adam in the very beginning, Jesus breathes life into his friends – Take my life and share it with others. Release them from their pain and sorrow. Release them and heal them.”

Poor Thomas, of course, isn’t with them, and he struggles with regret. “I want to believe, but I can’t. What you’re telling me is Science Fiction, fantasy, ghost stories, fairy tales.”

But WAIT … There’s more!

A week goes by. The disciples haven’t moved. The Peace of God hasn’t given them strength to move on. So Jesus appears yet a third time. This time Thomas is there. Wow! There WAS More!!! 

As Deacon Dennis told us last week, Faith and Doubt work together. They really team up to help us wrestle with what it means to be witnesses to resurrection, witnesses to a life unlike anything else we’ve ever really known. Doubt and faith push against each other like those isometric exercises we had to do in grade school. Remember those? Push, pull to strengthen various muscle groups.

So John finishes the Gospel with 3 resurrection appearances: Jesus appears to Mary in the garden and twice in the upper room.

John says, “There’s a lot more I could tell you about Jesus – all the things he said and did – but even the world couldn’t hold it all if I tried to tell you. I just hope this was enough.

And as you and I take a deep breath, John says, But WAIT! There’s More!!!

And that brings us to the lesson today: 

A little time has gone by. At least enough for the disciples to leave Jerusalem and go back home to Galilee (some 80 miles). Easter morning is done. Easter night (without Thomas) is over. Thomas Finding Faith the following Sunday is over. The lamb has been eaten. The wineskins are empty. There’s no more Peeps or jelly beans. The Passover linens have all been put away. There’s no reason to stick around, so the disciples have all gone home.

It’s back to business as usual for them and for us. They’re back on the lake. They’re back to doing what they’ve always done. Fishermen. Tax collecting. Some of them (like Simon the Zealot) might even be back to plotting against Rome. Or maybe they’ve decided to go into this joint venture together, just trying to make a living as fishmongers.

Being followers of the way was fine as long as it lasted, but now what? It was nice to see Jesus pop in those couple of times, but now what? 

It seemed like such a dream. Telling people about what happened – well, they weren’t going to do that! You may as well tell them you’ve seen chariots of fire and wheels within wheels, and fiery bushes, and six-winged seraphim and chubby little cherubim! 

May as well toss in a leprechaun or two while you’re at it and see how many people buy your fish and loaves when you do that!

So they’re out doing what they’ve always done, doing things the way they’ve always done them. They’re running on empty. Their nets are empty. They’re bobbing in boats like corks on a calm day.

But WAIT! What’s this? There’s More!!!

After fishing all night, morning has broken .. like the first morning! While Peter and a half dozen disciples are in the boat near shore, a man walks by on the beach and he calls out to them, “Children, you haven’t any meat, have you?” 

He doesn’t say “fish” by the way. The word is prosphagion, rather than ichthus. It’s what you bring to the table to go with your bread (any sort of meat protein). Jesus says elsewhere, “I am the bread of life … I am the true bread.”

So what Jesus is saying is, “Hey kids, have you got anything to go with me?” But they don’t know that. They don’t know it’s Jesus. Jesus calls them “Kids – Children.” He doesn’t call them friends. Not here. He calls them children. Why?

Because children are curious. They’re young. They’re energetic. There’s a willingness to learn. There’s a willingness to play. 

What he’s saying is, “Kids, you’re taking your business too seriously. Has all your hard work made your lives any better? Besides sweaty armpits, have you got anything to show for it? Have you got anything to bring to the table?”

We sometimes make fun of the disciples, about how slow they were, how dense they could be. But they’re really our stunt-doubles. They’re a mirror we hold up to see what we’re doing, to see how we’re doing. They show us the spinach that’s stuck in our teeth.

But Wait. There’s more!

Jesus doesn’t throw rocks. He rolled away the big stone that plugged up his burial cave. But Jesus doesn’t throw rocks. He plays with his friends like children! 

“The left side didn’t work, did it? Try the right side,” he says.

The professionals know the sea is open. There’s no fence or wall keeping fish from going over here or over there. It doesn’t matter. I don’t even think it’s a matter of whether or not they’ve got anything to lose. Peter, James, John, Andrew, and a couple of other guys throw the nets in, and BANG! It’s like every fish in the sea was waiting for them right there. Their NET profits went right through the roof, And SUDDENLY, John knows it’s Jesus and says to Peter, “It’s the Lord!”

Peter is so caught up in the moment he throws on some clothes and then dives right into the lake and swims to shore. The others just row the boat to shore, pulling the net full of fish with them, and you would think that would be enough. 

But WAIT! There’s more!!!

Time after time after time, Jesus keeps surprising his friends. Jesus keeps surprising us, too. Jesus never wastes his time blaming the disciples for their various shortcomings. He doesn’t berate them for going back to work. Jesus doesn’t stand on the shore going, “Gee, I was hoping you’d have moved on from fishing.”

But Jesus doesn’t do that. He sees what they’re doing, and he helps them find a way to do better. They’ve been working all night, so he invites them to join him for a meal – prosphagion and bread. 

And by now, you know what’s coming, don’t you? Right – there’s MORE!

After breakfast, Jesus knows Peter’s been feeling a little down. And why not? Peter must feel a bit like a loser. When Jesus was arrested, Peter promised to fight, but he ran away, saving his own skin. When Jesus was at trial, big, manly Peter denied knowing Jesus 3 times – to save his own skin. Instead of taking the keys to the kingdom Jesus had given him and building on the mighty work that Jesus had begun, he “turtled,” pulling head and limbs back into the safety and comfort of his shell.

Jesus wants to raise him up, as an outward and visible sign of resurrection, and so he speaks directly to Peter – not to his head, but to HIM. 

So he enters into a brief dialogue that’s hard to communicate in English, because there is some word-play going on in the Greek that translators just don’t know how to open for us, but it involves 2 words that both get translated “LOVE.” Agape, and Phileo. Phileo is the fraternal kind of love we see in families and really close friends – the kind you’d die for, if you had to.

Agape, on the other hand, is less personal. It reflects the kind of love we have for a community, and is better reflected by a sense of fairness and justice. It’s the kind of love we see when there is one drumstick left on the table, and the table rule is this: You must ask if anyone else wants the drumstick FIRST, before reaching out and taking it for yourself. 

That sounds more like LAW than LOVE, but it is what it is. 

So the dialogue goes like this: “Simon, son of John, do you AGAPE me more than these?”

Peter understands civic pride and how Torah keeps things in balance for the most part, so Peter wants to go a step further. He aims for Jesus’ heart when he says, “Yes Lord, you know that I PHILEO you.”

Jesus nods and says, “Feed my lambs.” In other words, get out of your head and take care of our friends.

You know, of course, there’s more. Jesus says a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you Agape me?” 

Peter’s probably a little confused, so he repeats his answer, “Yes, Lord, you KNOW I PHILEO you.” (What a friend we have in Jesus – that’s where my heart is, Lord).

Jesus nods again and says, “Shepherd my little ones.” In other words, move out of your comfort zone; I have work for you to do. These people need your attention. Sheep need more than green grass and still waters, they need someone to walk through the valley of the shadow, too.

But Peter’s not there yet, is he? The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Isn’t that what we say? So Jesus leaves the Agape of heaven behind, and changes the question: “Simon, son of John, do you PHILEO me?”

Jesus changes the question, and that shakes Peter to the core, because now he’s beginning to understand what Jesus is doing. Just like with the incarnation where God came to us, Jesus now comes to Peter, mano a mano, and Peter says, “Lord, you know everything (how I say I love you, yet over and over I’ve failed you), yet, you know that I PHILEO you.”

Jesus smiles and says, “Feed my little ones. When you were a child, you would go where you wanted and do what you wanted, but the time is coming where that will change. Don’t worry, the cross will find you, but we’ll go through the valley of the shadow together. Follow me.”

That, my friends is the Gospel. Wait, there’s more; follow me!

Prepared to be delivered by Keith Axberg to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Mount Vernon, WA 05/01/2022 (but not needed, after all)

Breaking the Chains that Divide Us

"Though no-one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start now and make a brand-new beginning." – Unknown 

I doubt if there is anyone who would examine his or her life and figure it has turned out perfectly well. No one can go through life without picking up an occasional regret here and there for things said or unsaid; done or undone. 

We all make our choices on the fly, and in reviewing many of those decisions, it would be easy to second-guess ourselves, grieving over mistakes, chastising ourselves for things that, ultimately, do little more than confirm what we ought to know instinctively: that we are human. 

Yes, sometimes we are dunderheads, but that’s not a bad thing. We do not have infinite wisdom, knowledge, or grace. Those are things we have to develop. It takes time; it takes patience; it takes reflection; and it takes the love of a community. 

Strangers do not care whether or not you and I learn anything in life. They don’t care whether we live or die. They don’t care whether or not we have jobs, homes, food, friends, family, or the basic necessities of life. 

Strangers do not care if one is hungry, lonely, in pain, or in desperate straits. Strangers care only for what is on their hearts and minds at any given moment. 

But communities care; true communities truly care. 

God did not make us for estrangement, but for community. The human heart yearns for a home. 

From the moment she is born, a child yearns to be held, embraced, fed, and cared for. Children who are emotionally strong are those who have known the loving embrace of parents – the most basic community – parents who have said in word and deed: You belong. 

Too few of us know that kind of love. Too many people go through life having to prove themselves over and over again. One’s value in our Free-market society, is evaluated almost exclusively on one’s ability to meet someone else’s need, or to advance the other person’s agenda. As soon as your stock drops a point, you are at risk of becoming an apple bobbing alone and out of season in the washtub of life. 

Sadly, that’s the world we live in. Doubly sad is that so many of us buy into that nonsense. We judge as we’ve been judged. Out of a fear of being rejected or tossed out with the bathwater, we devote our lives to finding our bubble and living within it and hoping it will be the other bubbles that pop first, before our own; and why not? Who wants to be hurt over and over again? 

Spiritual growth demands that we take risks, however. As narcissistic as our world is, we must learn to break free of toxic isolation and build fellowships that are genuine in their design to be whole and healthy. We must learn to overcome the shame that binds us and blinds us, and to embrace the One whose love is boundless, who loves each and every one of us without reservation, and who insists we love our neighbor, even if they’re not in our bubble! 

How do we do that? First, we must come to accept that God loves us unconditionally. God does not love us for what we bring to the table; God loves us for being hers. Period. God wants us AT the table. Period. 

Secondly, we must come to love ourselves – not with an ego-centric, self-centered love, but a love that acknowledges our human capacity to be stupid, selfish, and unforgiving at times, but equally, our ability to rise above such “stinkin’ thinkin’” for the sake of the greater good. 

Thirdly, we must be able to recognize the full humanity of the person who stands beside us, as well as the one who may stand against us. God died for them, too! Can we dare to do less?

We must be able to look back to see where we’ve been, but more importantly we must be able to look forward to see the world as it can be; for nothing is impossible with God. It just takes time, patience, and a willingness to exchange our reality for God’s reality. 

I love watching bubbles form. I marvel to see them come together, supporting their common existence. I love seeing the rainbow produced by refracted light. The beauty of creation is best seen when the full spectrum of God’s light is present.

What’s true in heaven above is equally true here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

There’s a Price We Pay When Asking God’s Help

Be pleased, O God, to deliver me; O lord, make haste to help me … come to me speedily, O God … O Lord, do not tarry … Psalm 70 

Jean-Pierre Chaussade, SJ writes in The Sacrament of the Present Moment, “When God requires action, sanctity is to be found in activity.”

I have always tried to live my life dancing between faith and action. I’ve never subscribed to the idea that we are saved by faith alone, nor to the concept that we are saved by our works. I prefer to tango down the middle of the road with James, who says that “faith without works is dead.” Of course, someone also once said that those who spend time in the middle of the road are bound to get run over.

In the psalm at the head of this column, we find the psalmist begging God to come to their aid. “I need help, and I need it now,” he pleads.

As I read this psalm, I don’t find myself standing in the sandals of an ancient Jew, but in the ordinary sneakers of a Ukrainian man, woman, or child. I find myself moldering in the body bag of the grandfather who was blindfolded and executed by Russian soldiers for no reason other than being alive and in easy reach of his executioners.

We have the luxury of living in a land far away from the tanks, jets, and missiles visiting death and destruction on the citizens of a foreign land, speaking with a foreign tongue – enduring the devastation of homes and lives there, while we bemoan the rise in price of a loaf of bread, gallon of gasoline, or meal out under the golden arches. Ours are Tesla problems when compared to those living in a travois world.

It is a simple thing to sit in our easy chairs, recliners, or love seats while bemoaning world affairs, inflation, or the slap heard ‘round the world. 

“Be patient” we tell them; our leaders snap their fingers ordering more engines of destruction to be sent out to “help” those in distress. Foreigners. Not neighbors. Far away. Not near.

How do “we citizens of heaven” help, though? Isn’t their pain our pain, too?

“Take it to the Lord in prayer,” we suggest to those whose religion may be, technically, the same as ours, but sure looks and feels different, so maybe this is God’s way of telling them to change, and they should listen, and we shouldn’t interfere with the divine “plan” to fix them. 

Isn’t it an arrogant assumption on our part to assume the one in pain hasn’t thought to “take it to the Lord in prayer.” Maybe they have; maybe their pain is there to force open our eyes and hearts – to recognize our common humanity in the face of those atrocities.

“Who, me?” we ask, like Moses (the Murderer), or Rahab (the Harlot of Jericho), or Jeremiah (the Prophet), or Esther (the Queen), or John Wesley (the Minister), or Harriet Tubman (the Runaway Slave). 

“Yes, you,” says God. 

Saint Augustine reminds us, “Without God, we cannot; without us, God will not.” We cannot, in good conscience, look to God without realizing, simultaneously, that God is also looking at us, fully intending to involve us in answering prayer. If we want God to hurry up, we need to suit up, mount up, scramble into the presence of God and declare without grumbling or hesitation, “Present! What are your orders?”

As you read this, we are in the midst of Holy Week. This is the final week of Jesus’ human ministry. He declared to the masses, “My House is a House of Prayer, but you’ve turned it into a buzzing hive of thieves and cut-throats.” Jesus didn’t ask God to fix things. He rolled up his sleeves, tossed ne'er-do-wells out on their ears. He continued to teach. He fed the masses, helped the hopeless, healed the oppressed and, on Good Friday, gave his back to the smiters and, on the cross, gave his “last full measure of devotion.”

The question we are left with is simply this: Will we, too, consecrate ourselves to the great tasks that lie before us? Will we resolve ourselves to live as he lived and, if necessary, die as he died? When God requires action, will sanctity be found in our actions?

I pray it will, God helping, here in this, our valley. 

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)