Ephesians

The one who puts all things under his feet is doing something in the world.

Excellent Christian preaching names and explores the shadows in order to declare that the light shines in the darkness.

There are lots of ways to talk about the relationship between sports and religion.

The opening scene of Bull Durham comes to mind. As does the cultic quality of America’s obsession with football.

Sport as the center of personal and communal piety has a long history in many cultures, with the U.S. perhaps—to keep the competition motif alive here—winning the prize for the world’s most zealous devotees of the faith.

David stares at us out of a mirror and shows us our capacity for sinning.

Dhini didn’t ask to be adopted. That's the way grace works.

God's "consuming fire" is the fire of holy love. It doesn't await sinners in the future; it burns up sin itself.

There must have been some Lutherans sitting in that conference room when the Revised Common Lectionary was birthed. That is the only explanation that I can come up with for Ephesians 2:1-10 having a role on the Fourth Sunday in Lent, Year B.

Christ "has broken down the dividing wall. . . . that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it."

Our armor always loses because our weapons are consistently one step ahead of our protection.

What is manna? Is it a Hebrew pun on mah hu, or as Everett Fox suggests, “Whaddayacallit”? Is it mountains of sweet insect excrement, as proposed by some scholars, or the stuff of legend?

For decades, my students have failed to grasp the resurrection of the body as an article of faith.

For decades, my students have failed to grasp the resurrection of the body as an article of faith.

This week the lectionary offers foundational verses of our faith. But the faith cannot live on a couple verses alone.

The world is full of walls. Everywhere we go, there are fences, gates, partitions and other ingeniously constructed barriers—all aimed at keeping something or someone in and keeping something or someone else out. We need walls.

The other day I was sitting in a coffee shop and couldn’t help overhearing an interesting and intense debate on the other side of the room. An older gentleman was trying his best to aid an inquisitive college student who had some hard-hitting questions. She asked about scripture, about authority and about the church. One question kept popping up: “What is the difference between truth for you, truth for me and truth with a capital T?”

As much as we might like to make the faith about spiritual enlightenment or ethical ideals or the broad love of God that inspires tolerance, the fact of the matter is that the gospel is at root a rescue story.

As long as the ascension is in any way related to upward movement (like an elevator going to the clouds), I am and will continue to be unmoved. The vertical directional imagery just doesn’t do it for me. I am not even moved to argue about whether or not “it” happened.

Samuel, the Billy Graham of his day, was adviser to the political leader Saul, the Pete Rose of ancient Israel. Samuel anointed Saul to be the first king of Israel. But soon (to quote James Thurber), “confusion got its foot in the door” and went through the entire “system.” Samuel observed Saul disobeying the explicit word of God, and it became Samuel’s job to inform Saul that God had rejected him as king.