During college, I taped a
religious poster on my dorm room wall. Under a photo of a white country church
against a green, timbered hill were the words, "I lift up my eyes to the hills
from whence cometh my help."
I liked the Bible verse, the scene was pretty, and I enjoyed the peaceful
reminder of rural home places. But a friend who was knowledgeable in scripture
said the poster was theologically incorrect.
enemy curses me. No enemy raises fists at me. No enemy persecutes me.
No enemy hates me. I doubt anyone in the enemies of my state - Taliban
or Al-Qaeda - care much about a stay-at-home dad living in a suburb of
nothing in Texas. Frankly, I'm not important enough to have enemies in
this world, and I'm not doing anything important enough that might make
me any, either.
If Barbara Kingsolver's masterpiece The Poisonwood Bible has formed your image of Christian missionaries in the 20th century, you need an equal and opposite set of characters to round out (not replace) your historical, theological and literary imagination.
I'm beginning to think that Luke suffered from Macular Degeneration or
some other disease that slowly took away his ability to see. I have no
historical evidence to support this except for the importance of seeing
in his gospel.
Jesus asks Simon the Pharisee, "do you see this woman." The priest and the levite see the man laying broken and battered in the ditch.
The nuns at the Abbey of St. Walburga in northern Colorado have been raising and selling grass-fed beef for about seven years. They always have a waiting list for the organic beef. One sister sees a relationship between cattle and their life of prayer. “Praying with the scriptures is like chewing your cud,” she says. “So all through the day, we’re ruminating on it. We chew, chew, chew, swallow, regurgitate. So it’s not just ‘the Lord is my shepherd,’ it’s ‘the Lord is my cowboy’” (NPR, December 22).