Friday, November 27, 2020

An Advent Meditation

I have been thinking a great deal about my Advent message this year. The Twitterverse and internet are seemingly filled with conversation about the need for repentance this Advent as a way to prepare for the feast of the Incarnation and Christmastide. This may be so. 

However, I have really been moved by the Advent readings and especially those from Isaiah. Specifically, I am thinking of God’s invitation to comfort the people. From Isaiah 40, beginning at the first verse: “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem…”

Advent has several themes but as a pastor among pastors, shepherd among shepherds, this passage speaks to me deeply. If I question it, God continues with these words, “…Cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” Here God asks Isaiah to see the people in their pain and suffering. To see how they suffer now and how their long-suffering has cost them dearly.

The prophet continues, “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”

I was inspired by the short essay on this passage by The Rev. Todd Weir, found on his Bloomingcactus blog entitled: "Straight Highways," He reminds us that the highway Isaiah may be referring to is the one that began in Heliopolis, Egypt, and went East to the land of Moab and then North to the Euphrates. The Highway Isaiah is remembering may be the highway that literally put Israel on the map and speaks to the people who would have heard this prophecy of a time of greatness in the past. Moreover, the prophet would be intimating of a future return home and again a return to the past.

Such an image would have been a comfort. It would have reminded the people of a return home and a return to renewed age of stability. In the Gospel of Mark, we find that the passage is also a passage of hope.

Mark’s message to the people is that they have long been suffering and that Christ comes bearing a new Gospel for a hurting people. Luke reminds us that this good news and comfort is for all people. Isaiah’s prophecy was meant for a nation, but that in the revelation of Christ we see the comfort is meant for all people.

This Advent I am thinking that after months of COVID and a continuing crisis of managing the disease, after months and even years of party politics, and a struggling economy we may need to lift our eyes to see the people before us. God may this Advent be inviting us to comfort each other.

Perhaps we are to comfort those doctors and nurses who continue to fight this disease. Comfort for those who get it and struggle to live. Comfort for the hundreds of thousands of families who have lost loved ones to COVID. Comfort each other who have loved ones but see no longer with resurrection hope.

Maybe we are to see the families and friendships ripped asunder by political fights. Those wounded by hate speech and those who feel the pain of being forgotten by a system that is supposed to care for them.

We are called to comfort our brothers and sisters of color as they continue to fight for recognition in a system that is blind to the integration of structural racism.

Possibly Advent is for us to understand the economy is made of people. That in our state 20% of the people feel hunger on a regular basis. That the joblessness itself is a pandemic of epic proportions. That there is a fair amount of hopelessness and fear. That our suicide rate in Texas has been rising all year. Might we comfort with the wisdom that there is nothing that separates us from God's love. 

Perhaps the message of Advent needs to be one of comfort. We are invited to comfort each other not only with words but through actions.

I believe comfort implies more than empathy. Too often, as Rabbi Ed Friedman wrote, “Empathy [can be a] disguise for anxiety, a rationalization for the failure to define a position, and power tool in the hands of the sensitive.” What we learn from Friedman is that sometimes empathy falls short of aiding people to learn from their experience. We need an understanding of comfort that does not stymie maturity and spiritual growth. Comfort, as proposed by Isaiah, or in the mind of the Gospel authors, invites us to actively participate in each other's life.

God invites us to an active pastoral response of comfort. This is a comfort that reminds us that this crisis and trauma is not the axis upon which our world revolves. This is a comfort that continues to develop the church community as a support system for our people. The comfort we are to preach is one the reminds us of the highway that is yet before us – the continuation of mission through evangelism and service. We are to pray with each other and walk with each other at this time. Our comfort is one of joy and love. Comfort also includes holding the answer for the trouble before you lightly. We are to comfort each other as we try new things and comfort each other when they don’t work.

We are to do something about the hungry. We are to do something about division. We are to do something about the pain and suffering people are going through.

We have been experiencing our own Babylonian captivity since March – or longer in some of the cases of suffering we face. We have yet before us a good amount of wilderness journey. Indeed with rising cases, we know that the good news about the vaccine is tempered with the long months until we can receive it.

So, I write to you. I invite you this Advent to engage in Comfort with each other. See where we have come and embody comfort for all the people you come into contact with. Be a comforting presence, offer a comforting word, take on comforting action this Advent.

Comfort, comfort my people. Comfort them in COVIDtide, in the political arena of family and friends, and as people struggle with hunger, joblessness, and hopelessness.

There is a highway that even now is being brought near and stumbling blocks that are being brought low. There is hope in that COVID, politics, and even our struggles economically will not have the last word. The Church is here. The people are here. We are here to receive and share a comforting word.

Wednesday, November 18, 2020

Abundant Grace

Jesus's kingdom is not run in a respectable way. It's an extravagant amount of grace, an extravagant and imprudent amount of hope.

When we truly grasp God's generosity and extravagance for ourselves, which looks completely like mismanagement to the rest of the world, we will see that God is for people; and so the follower of Christ becomes for people too, sharing the extravagance of grace and mercy with others.

A sermon preached for Church of the Holy Apostles, Katy.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Monday, November 2, 2020

All Saints' Miracle

As we remember in our all Saints Day celebration, the celebration of faithful departed, here is the love we proclaim in faith atthe grave side of our beloved sisters and brothers: the miracle of kinship.Sermon for Trinity Episcopal Church in Midtown, Houston, on All Saints' Sunday 2020.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Tuesday, September 1, 2020

A God of History

Like Moses, we stand at the precipice of tomorrow. We are given opportunity to change - to work beyond our own individual flourishing, for the flourishing of others, for God’s vision. For a history-making God.

This sermon was originally preached for Emmanuel, Houston, on Exodus 3:1-15.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Thursday, July 16, 2020

Marketplace Gods

A sermon about gut reactions, rooted in magical thinking - not so different from worshipping the marketplace gods in Paul’s time.

The truth is, the lesser stories are addictive and never enough.

God answers you and bids you hear, and see - the age of the marketplace gods has come to an end.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Thursday, July 9, 2020

The New Thing God is Doing

Imagine: exiled in Babylon for 70 years. What does it mean to return? There are multiple generations who only have stories of Israel; there are many ideas and many unknowns. They know they must leave behind them Babylon; change is before them, a new thing.

The new thing that God is doing.

Today, we stand on a precipice; we are looking into a changed world. The new thing must come. I invite you to hear God’s voice in the world around you. Yes, the wilderness is before you; but God is there with you.

Sermon originally delivered to the 2020 Colorado Clergy Conference.


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Tuesday, June 30, 2020

A Good Word for the Sick: Easter

We have a good word for the weary world, for the sick, for those who seek to heal, to those who care, to those who sit with the dying. A good word to the fearful and anxious even in a time of pandemic, of physical isolation from one another- even in this time of the coronavirus.

Audio from Bishop Doyle's Easter 2020 sermon.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Saturday, June 27, 2020

Meditations on Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" Part 2: Why am I in Birmingham

We continue here with Martin Luther King's letter written to those pastors who questioned his presence in Birmingham.

He writes, "I think I should indicate why I am here in Birmingham since you have been influenced by the view which argues against 'outsiders coming in.'"

I am struck first by the notion that this is a similar complaint made against prophets and Jesus. Why are you here? What business is it of yours? We were fine until you agitated? There is a bit of incarnation theology here. What does it mean for the church to enter a situation in need of attention? Is it not the church's business to enter the public sphere and to participate in the work of holding powers of this world accountable to higher visions of community life? I believe so. The idea that there is a private sphere and that the church and Gospel is spiritual and belongs captivated within the buffered individual's life is part of secularity.

The powers have always said, "Leave us alone." But Jesus confronts the powers directly, peaceably, and with a vision of freedom, food, and healing.

King continues that it is sometimes necessary for friends to join in local causes. This is what he says, that he is there because of the network of affiliates and friends who have come together to work for the movement of human rights. Moreover, he and others were invited to be present.

This is important too. It makes me think of the Christian vision that we are all apart of God's creation. We are all members of God's world. That we are intimately connected. Our lives impact the lives of others. Our choices impact the lives of others. Our presence means something. Jesus himself points out those who are being mistreated or left in the shadows in the wake of the Pax Romana - which brought no peace. He said I see the poor and their lives matter. I see the hungry and their lives matter. I see the cast out and their lives matter. I see the ill and their lives matter. From Moses and the prophets people have gathered and pointed out to the powers that be: the Israelites matter, this widow and orphan matter, these bound and carried away to Babylon matter. There are times when we do not say and the Romans matter, and the Egyptians matter, and the Babylonians matter. There are times when we gather together with the oppressed and say - these people matter. These black lives matter. This is what King does. He and his staff go to Birmingham with others to point out that these black lives matter.

God has a vision for how people are treated. God has a vision for how these people are to be freed from oppression. God has a vision for how these people may gather, pray, and sing. But also, God has a vision for how they may work, and ride a bus, and go to school, and sit at a counter.

Jesus, the prophets, the church has gone to Birmingham because "injustice is here."

King writes, "Just as the prophets of the eighth century B.C. left their villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far beyond the boundaries of their home towns, and just as the Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to the far corners of the Greco Roman world, so am I compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my own home town. Like Paul, I must constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid."

What King has done is locate the church's work outside the confines of a building and invited with curiosity the notion that the work of the Gospel has an impact on the life of the world around us. King tells us, just as the first apostles worked for the widows and orphans because the government was ignoring them in the distribution, so we need to be aware. We as a church must have our eyes open.

Is vigilante justice on the streets of our neighborhood part of God's vision? No. what happens when the police become judge, jury, and executioner? This is not a role the police want, and I don't believe that we want our streets patrolled by vigilantes with their own ideas of justice. The problem is deepened when we see that this is happening to one group within our community over and over again - black people. The Church is invited to point out and to call out a higher vision of society. We are invited, as was King, to join people in our wider society and make the changes needed.

As society wakes to say "no more" and "things must change" we cannot let those be words alone. King was invited to go to Birmingham. He said yes, I support your cause for justice there in Birmingham. But his were not words alone. He went, and he joined the people there in seeking justice. The church at this time cannot let its words be words alone, it must lean in and engage the wider society in the work of justice-making for the sake of the black lives that matter to God.

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Shepherd on Our Darkest Hills

The cross is a banner on our darkest hills, signaling that the instrument of disgrace and death is now a beacon of hope - in the face of an unjust world filled with the vestiges of racism and white supremacy, truly filled with every kind of violence and suffering that we know. Jesus knows our suffering and comes as our shepherd.

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"Slow Burn" by Kevin MacLeod (
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Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Meditations on Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" Part 1: Dear Fellow Clergyman

I have decided to do a few meditation blog posts on Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail."

The Rev. King begins: "My Dear Fellow Clergymen." He writes to his fellow pastors. In this manner of beginning, he reminds us that we as pastors/priests are bound together. We are bound because we know this ministry. We understand the nature of pastoring and loving our people. We know the trials and burdens. King reminds us we are in this together and though we don't all have the same context we know what it means to carry and represent the burden of one's people.

Moreover, King recognizes in our common work for Christ and the Gospel that we have a profound impact upon our people and how they receive the Good News of freedom, love, and hope. He understood that not only are we bound by our vocation, but we are bound by a Gospel meant for all people. And, from time to time, good Christians have had to point out who was being hurt by the wider society. No sooner had Christ ascended into heaven than the first Christians are confronting the government for ignoring the widows and orphans in the distribution of food.

He continues with these words, "While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my present activities 'unwise and untimely.'" A group of eight clergy who pastored in Birmingham wrote an open letter entitled "A Call for Unity." They did not like the fact that "outsiders" were coming in and speaking out about racism in Birmingham. His letter will be a defense of his actions. But here I wish to simply reflect that the status quo always argues, when it comes to human rights, that protests disrupt a peace. While Martin Luther King was a peaceful protestor the adversaries supporting racial discrimination were not. This PBS article reminds us of how peaceful protests were met violently by authorities. The newspapers carried headlines that echoed people's sentiments at the time, "Violence Explodes at Racial Protest in Alabama," and "New Alabama Riot: Police Dogs and Fire Hoses Halt March." The marches were indeed peaceful but met by violent police attacks, fire hoses, and dogs. I feel as though these patterns have repeated themselves today.

King then continues, "Seldom do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas." Here is an interesting insight into leadership. In his book Leading Change Without Easy Answers, Ronald A. Heifetz writes about how King's leadership as not too hard or not too soft. In this letter, we see that King is not impenetrable. He is leading, but he is listening too. He has heard an important group of people's voices - his fellow clergy. So he listens and he responds.

I wonder in that moment would I have signed the letter "A Call for Unity"? Or, would I have supported King? But there is the question today for us all who pastor our communities, faced with similar injustices and a need to lean towards each other. King reaches out to us, from this not-so-distant past, and invites us to lean in. I hear your worries and concerns he says...I imagine him whispering, "Lean in."

He continues, that he is responding not because they are complaints but because they are pastors like him. They are "men of genuine good," he writes. He believes their lack of understanding is true and he is unwilling to help and speak honestly about the situation. He writes, "I want to try to answer your statement in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms."

As we pause here and ponder this introduction, I wonder will pastors/priests and leaders listen at this moment? Are we a people of goodwill, with genuine concerns, and willing to listen? Or, do we want the agitation to subside so we might return to a nostalgic past was only peaceful for some?

I believe we have work to do. I want to lean in. I am eager to listen. I am willing to hear hard truths. I am willing to work for change and a better community.

Prayer for today:

Good and gracious God, you invite us to recognize and reverence your divine image and likeness in our neighbor. Enable us to see the reality of racism and free us to challenge and uproot it from our society, our world, and ourselves. Amen. (by the Sisters of Mercy)
Find resources from the wider Episcopal Church here.

Tuesday, June 16, 2020

Bishop Michael Hunn - Come on and Zoom! With Bishop Andy Doyle

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"Letter from a Birmingham Jail [King, Jr.]"

Dear All,

A few friends and I over the last few weeks have mentioned in conversation this letter from Martin Luther King, Jr. which he wrote while held in the Birmingham jail. I am posting it here because I think it is worth a read, perhaps a prayer, or even a thought to our work as Christian citizens of the kingdom of God. What is it we need to do? What action might we be called to undertake as churches in the Diocese of Texas? We believe God calls us to our better selves. In the matters before us regarding race and racism - how have we hidden from God's invitation? We are good people, who want the very best for our friends and neighbors, our fellow Christians, and our citizens in this country. So, I invite you to read and consider the silence that often accompanies the cries for help from our black brothers and sisters. 

Faithfully yours,
C. Andrew Doyle

Letter from a Birmingham Jail

16 April 1963

My Dear Fellow Clergymen:

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my present activities "unwise and untimely." Seldom do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas. If I sought to answer all the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would have little time for anything other than such correspondence in the course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work. But since I feel that you are men of genuine good will and that your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I want to try to answer your statement in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms.

I think I should indicate why I am here in Birmingham, since you have been influenced by the view which argues against "outsiders coming in." I have the honor of serving as president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, an organization operating in every southern state, with headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty five affiliated organizations across the South, and one of them is the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights. Frequently we share staff, educational and financial resources with our affiliates. Several months ago the affiliate here in Birmingham asked us to be on call to engage in a nonviolent direct action program if such were deemed necessary. We readily consented, and when the hour came we lived up to our promise. So I, along with several members of my staff, am here because I was invited here. I am here because I have organizational ties here.

But more basically, I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. Just as the prophets of the eighth century B.C. left their villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far beyond the boundaries of their home towns, and just as the Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to the far corners of the Greco Roman world, so am I compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my own home town. Like Paul, I must constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid.

Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds.

You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birmingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city's white power structure left the Negro community with no alternative.

In any nonviolent campaign there are four basic steps: collection of the facts to determine whether injustices exist; negotiation; self purification; and direct action. We have gone through all these steps in Birmingham. There can be no gainsaying the fact that racial injustice engulfs this community. Birmingham is probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States. Its ugly record of brutality is widely known. Negroes have experienced grossly unjust treatment in the courts. There have been more unsolved bombings of Negro homes and churches in Birmingham than in any other city in the nation. These are the hard, brutal facts of the case. On the basis of these conditions, Negro leaders sought to negotiate with the city fathers. But the latter consistently refused to engage in good faith negotiation.

Then, last September, came the opportunity to talk with leaders of Birmingham's economic community. In the course of the negotiations, certain promises were made by the merchants--for example, to remove the stores' humiliating racial signs. On the basis of these promises, the Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth and the leaders of the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights agreed to a moratorium on all demonstrations. As the weeks and months went by, we realized that we were the victims of a broken promise. A few signs, briefly removed, returned; the others remained. As in so many past experiences, our hopes had been blasted, and the shadow of deep disappointment settled upon us. We had no alternative except to prepare for direct action, whereby we would present our very bodies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and the national community. Mindful of the difficulties involved, we decided to undertake a process of self purification. We began a series of workshops on nonviolence, and we repeatedly asked ourselves: "Are you able to accept blows without retaliating?" "Are you able to endure the ordeal of jail?" We decided to schedule our direct action program for the Easter season, realizing that except for Christmas, this is the main shopping period of the year. Knowing that a strong economic-withdrawal program would be the by product of direct action, we felt that this would be the best time to bring pressure to bear on the merchants for the needed change.

Then it occurred to us that Birmingham's mayoral election was coming up in March, and we speedily decided to postpone action until after election day. When we discovered that the Commissioner of Public Safety, Eugene "Bull" Connor, had piled up enough votes to be in the run off, we decided again to postpone action until the day after the run off so that the demonstrations could not be used to cloud the issues. Like many others, we waited to see Mr. Connor defeated, and to this end we endured postponement after postponement. Having aided in this community need, we felt that our direct action program could be delayed no longer.

You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit ins, marches and so forth? Isn't negotiation a better path?" You are quite right in calling for negotiation. Indeed, this is the very purpose of direct action. Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. My citing the creation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent resister may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal, so must we see the need for nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will help men rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood. The purpose of our direct action program is to create a situation so crisis packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation. I therefore concur with you in your call for negotiation. Too long has our beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to live in monologue rather than dialogue.

One of the basic points in your statement is that the action that I and my associates have taken in Birmingham is untimely. Some have asked: "Why didn't you give the new city administration time to act?" The only answer that I can give to this query is that the new Birmingham administration must be prodded about as much as the outgoing one, before it will act. We are sadly mistaken if we feel that the election of Albert Boutwell as mayor will bring the millennium to Birmingham. While Mr. Boutwell is a much more gentle person than Mr. Connor, they are both segregationists, dedicated to maintenance of the status quo. I have hope that Mr. Boutwell will be reasonable enough to see the futility of massive resistance to desegregation. But he will not see this without pressure from devotees of civil rights. My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was "well timed" in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never." We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that "justice too long delayed is justice denied."

We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience. You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court's decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all."

Now, what is the difference between the two? How does one determine whether a law is just or unjust? A just law is a man made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. Segregation, to use the terminology of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, substitutes an "I it" relationship for an "I thou" relationship and ends up relegating persons to the status of things. Hence segregation is not only politically, economically and sociologically unsound, it is morally wrong and sinful. Paul Tillich has said that sin is separation. Is not segregation an existential expression of man's tragic separation, his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness? Thus it is that I can urge men to obey the 1954 decision of the Supreme Court, for it is morally right; and I can urge them to disobey segregation ordinances, for they are morally wrong.

Let us consider a more concrete example of just and unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a numerical or power majority group compels a minority group to obey but does not make binding on itself. This is difference made legal. By the same token, a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to follow and that it is willing to follow itself. This is sameness made legal. Let me give another explanation. A law is unjust if it is inflicted on a minority that, as a result of being denied the right to vote, had no part in enacting or devising the law. Who can say that the legislature of Alabama which set up that state's segregation laws was democratically elected? Throughout Alabama all sorts of devious methods are used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters, and there are some counties in which, even though Negroes constitute a majority of the population, not a single Negro is registered. Can any law enacted under such circumstances be considered democratically structured?

Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.

I hope you are able to see the distinction I am trying to point out. In no sense do I advocate evading or defying the law, as would the rabid segregationist. That would lead to anarchy. One who breaks an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law.

Of course, there is nothing new about this kind of civil disobedience. It was evidenced sublimely in the refusal of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego to obey the laws of Nebuchadnezzar, on the ground that a higher moral law was at stake. It was practiced superbly by the early Christians, who were willing to face hungry lions and the excruciating pain of chopping blocks rather than submit to certain unjust laws of the Roman Empire. To a degree, academic freedom is a reality today because Socrates practiced civil disobedience. In our own nation, the Boston Tea Party represented a massive act of civil disobedience.

We should never forget that everything Adolf Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the Hungarian freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. Even so, I am sure that, had I lived in Germany at the time, I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers. If today I lived in a Communist country where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, I would openly advocate disobeying that country's antireligious laws.

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

In your statement you assert that our actions, even though peaceful, must be condemned because they precipitate violence. But is this a logical assertion? Isn't this like condemning a robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn't this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated the act by the misguided populace in which they made him drink hemlock? Isn't this like condemning Jesus because his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion to God's will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We must come to see that, as the federal courts have consistently affirmed, it is wrong to urge an individual to cease his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because the quest may precipitate violence. Society must protect the robbed and punish the robber. I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: "All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth." Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.

You speak of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergymen would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist. I began thinking about the fact that I stand in the middle of two opposing forces in the Negro community. One is a force of complacency, made up in part of Negroes who, as a result of long years of oppression, are so drained of self respect and a sense of "somebodiness" that they have adjusted to segregation; and in part of a few middle-class Negroes who, because of a degree of academic and economic security and because in some ways they profit by segregation, have become insensitive to the problems of the masses. The other force is one of bitterness and hatred, and it comes perilously close to advocating violence. It is expressed in the various black nationalist groups that are springing up across the nation, the largest and best known being Elijah Muhammad's Muslim movement. Nourished by the Negro's frustration over the continued existence of racial discrimination, this movement is made up of people who have lost faith in America, who have absolutely repudiated Christianity, and who have concluded that the white man is an incorrigible "devil."

I have tried to stand between these two forces, saying that we need emulate neither the "do nothingism" of the complacent nor the hatred and despair of the black nationalist. For there is the more excellent way of love and nonviolent protest. I am grateful to God that, through the influence of the Negro church, the way of nonviolence became an integral part of our struggle. If this philosophy had not emerged, by now many streets of the South would, I am convinced, be flowing with blood. And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as "rabble rousers" and "outside agitators" those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in black nationalist ideologies--a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare.

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the Christian gospel: "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist: "Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God." And John Bunyan: "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." And Abraham Lincoln: "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." And Thomas Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal . . ." So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all three were crucified for the same crime--the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.

I had hoped that the white moderate would see this need. Perhaps I was too optimistic; perhaps I expected too much. I suppose I should have realized that few members of the oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong, persistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it. They are still all too few in quantity, but they are big in quality. Some -such as Ralph McGill, Lillian Smith, Harry Golden, James McBride Dabbs, Ann Braden and Sarah Patton Boyle--have written about our struggle in eloquent and prophetic terms. Others have marched with us down nameless streets of the South. They have languished in filthy, roach infested jails, suffering the abuse and brutality of policemen who view them as "dirty nigger-lovers." Unlike so many of their moderate brothers and sisters, they have recognized the urgency of the moment and sensed the need for powerful "action" antidotes to combat the disease of segregation. Let me take note of my other major disappointment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white church and its leadership. Of course, there are some notable exceptions. I am not unmindful of the fact that each of you has taken some significant stands on this issue. I commend you, Reverend Stallings, for your Christian stand on this past Sunday, in welcoming Negroes to your worship service on a nonsegregated basis. I commend the Catholic leaders of this state for integrating Spring Hill College several years ago.

But despite these notable exceptions, I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I do not say this as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the church. I say this as a minister of the gospel, who loves the church; who was nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiritual blessings and who will remain true to it as long as the cord of life shall lengthen.

When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.

In spite of my shattered dreams, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white religious leadership of this community would see the justice of our cause and, with deep moral concern, would serve as the channel through which our just grievances could reach the power structure. I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again I have been disappointed.

I have heard numerous southern religious leaders admonish their worshipers to comply with a desegregation decision because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white ministers declare: "Follow this decree because integration is morally right and because the Negro is your brother." In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: "Those are social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched many churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the sacred and the secular.

I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mississippi and all the other southern states. On sweltering summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at the South's beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward. I have beheld the impressive outlines of her massive religious education buildings. Over and over I have found myself asking: "What kind of people worship here? Who is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped with words of interposition and nullification? Where were they when Governor Wallace gave a clarion call for defiance and hatred? Where were their voices of support when bruised and weary Negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright hills of creative protest?"

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.

There was a time when the church was very powerful--in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators."' But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent--and often even vocal--sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom. They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment. I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with America's destiny. Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here. For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this country without wages; they made cotton king; they built the homes of their masters while suffering gross injustice and shameful humiliation -and yet out of a bottomless vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inexpressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. Before closing I feel impelled to mention one other point in your statement that has troubled me profoundly. You warmly commended the Birmingham police force for keeping "order" and "preventing violence." I doubt that you would have so warmly commended the police force if you had seen its dogs sinking their teeth into unarmed, nonviolent Negroes. I doubt that you would so quickly commend the policemen if you were to observe their ugly and inhumane treatment of Negroes here in the city jail; if you were to watch them push and curse old Negro women and young Negro girls; if you were to see them slap and kick old Negro men and young boys; if you were to observe them, as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our grace together. I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police department.

It is true that the police have exercised a degree of discipline in handling the demonstrators. In this sense they have conducted themselves rather "nonviolently" in public. But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of segregation. Over the past few years I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. I have tried to make clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or perhaps even more so, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends. Perhaps Mr. Connor and his policemen have been rather nonviolent in public, as was Chief Pritchett in Albany, Georgia, but they have used the moral means of nonviolence to maintain the immoral end of racial injustice. As T. S. Eliot has said: "The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason."

I wish you had commended the Negro sit inners and demonstrators of Birmingham for their sublime courage, their willingness to suffer and their amazing discipline in the midst of great provocation. One day the South will recognize its real heroes. They will be the James Merediths, with the noble sense of purpose that enables them to face jeering and hostile mobs, and with the agonizing loneliness that characterizes the life of the pioneer. They will be old, oppressed, battered Negro women, symbolized in a seventy two year old woman in Montgomery, Alabama, who rose up with a sense of dignity and with her people decided not to ride segregated buses, and who responded with ungrammatical profundity to one who inquired about her weariness: "My feets is tired, but my soul is at rest." They will be the young high school and college students, the young ministers of the gospel and a host of their elders, courageously and nonviolently sitting in at lunch counters and willingly going to jail for conscience' sake. One day the South will know that when these disinherited children of God sat down at lunch counters, they were in reality standing up for what is best in the American dream and for the most sacred values in our Judaeo Christian heritage, thereby bringing our nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the founding fathers in their formulation of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence.

Never before have I written so long a letter. I'm afraid it is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure you that it would have been much shorter if I had been writing from a comfortable desk, but what else can one do when he is alone in a narrow jail cell, other than write long letters, think long thoughts and pray long prayers?

If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the truth and indicates an unreasonable impatience, I beg you to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the truth and indicates my having a patience that allows me to settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me.

I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil-rights leader but as a fellow clergyman and a Christian brother. Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood,
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sunday, June 7, 2020

The Embodied Gospel

We cannot begin to dismantle the institutional violence, nor much of the world’s evils, if we do not begin by re-embodying the Gospel.

Let me be clear. We will go nowhere if we do not begin by understanding that bodies and their dignity are to be protected by the community and the nation.

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Thursday, May 21, 2020

Malcolm Guite, Christian Poet - Come on and Zoom!

Malcolm Guite brings poetry to our understanding of current times. Take a moment to rest in this: what can we learn from poets of similar points in history? Listen for good humor, stirring readings, and Quarantine Quatrains.

In this new series, Bishop Doyle interviews experts and asks big questions. Where are we going? What does it mean for the church?

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Thursday, April 30, 2020

Evan Smith, Texas Tribune - Come on and Zoom!

In this new series, Bishop Doyle interviews experts and asks big questions. Where are we going? What does it mean for the church?

In this episode, Evan Smith of Texas Tribune fame shares his thoughts about lessons from 2020, election predictions, and more.

Bishop Doyle asks: how do we form Christians to be good citizens, even amidst governmental chaos?

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Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Come Out of Your Self Made Lands

When we walk miles and miles with God, we reclaim our kinship with God, from whose heart we were shaped. We can no longer divide the human community into “friends” and “others,” and we discover rather quickly that there are no strangers or aliens in God’s country.

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Prophetic Citizenship of Renunciation

What can we learn from the Devil?

Jesus rejects all forms of dominion and power over one another than enrich individuals at the expense of the broader community. God rejects all religious, social, political power that demands total allegiance. And by this rejection, we are invited to reject such power as well - and entrust ourselves to God.

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Monday, March 2, 2020

Ash Wednesday: Raise the White Flag

It’s good to have an intro rock anthem. My new fave right now is Sarah McLaughlin’s White Flag.

Anthems buttress us whatever others might do, if we feel alone, outnumbered, and we need a little something to encourage us forward.

But that is not what Ash Wednesday is about. We need to raise the white flag and be ready to put our hope in God.

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Charged with Grandeur

We are often fooled into believing in different narratives. School, politics, Twitter, whatever. They buttress our own buffered selves, souls, and egos, reassuring us: "no, really, you are alone."

The Gospel offers something very different. God beckons us into God’s community - and invites us to imagine the grandeur of God and God’s hope for us.

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Thursday, February 27, 2020

The Center of Community

No one can live perfectly - and that’s the point.

What we understand immediately is that we cannot possibly achieve these things without Jesus.

Not a community that has escaped from the world, but a community that is engaged in remaking itself for the sake of the world.

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Monday, February 10, 2020

Our Work is a Body of Art

The church is not the sum of the people who call themselves Christian. The church is the sum of people who do these things:

Find in the world Christ and to join God there, pointing God out, revealing and living the narrative where God is the primary character. Perform acts of service; intervene in the world.

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Thursday, January 30, 2020

"Follow" is More of a Command

God as christ Jesus literally enters the world and commands the fishermen to follow.

When churches become escapes and spiritual temples separated from the world, buffered from the goings on outside their doors, they are all too easily silenced by the principalities and powers of the world.

But Jesus will not let us go.

Matthew 4:12-23

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Monday, January 27, 2020

God Intervenes in a Retreating World

It's a radical notion in a world of unreality, with all manner of worldly opportunities to withdraw from each other:

We are not spiritual beings having a human experience - no, we are humans made of spirit and flesh, and we are meant for one another.

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Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Listen to Hannah's Song

There can be no socio-religious indifference, no Christian solitary life, in a community that sings Hannah’s song.

Preached at Virginia Theological Seminary.

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Monday, January 13, 2020

God Chooses - Just Like That

The Holy Spirit comes down then, on everybody. Peter’s friends are so astonished - what does all this mean? They come to understand. God’s Spirit falls upon whoever God’s Spirit wishes to fall upon. God loves even “these” people. Even “these” people. Just like that.

You and I don’t get to decide who God loves. God decides - just like that.

Acts 10

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  • "Christianity is not a theory or speculation, but a life; not a philosophy of life, but a life and a living process." Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  • "Most people are willing to take the Sermon on the Mount as a flag to sail under, but few will use it as a rudder by which to steer." Oliver Wendell Holmes
  • "Perfection, in a Christian sense, means becoming mature enough to give ourselves to others." Kathleen Norris
  • "Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." John Wesley
  • "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried." G. K. Chesterton
  • "One of our great allies at present is the Church itself. Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean the Church as we see her spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners. That, I confess, is a spectacle which makes our boldest tempters uneasy. But fortunately it is quite invisible to these humans." C. S. Lewis
  • "When we say, 'I love Jesus, but I hate the Church,' we end up losing not only the Church but Jesus too. The challenge is to forgive the Church. This challenge is especially great because the church seldom asks us for forgiveness." Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey
  • "Christians are hard to tolerate; I don't know how Jesus does it." Bono
  • "It's too easy to get caught in our little church subcultures, and the result is that the only younger people we might know are Christians who are already inside the church." Dan Kimball