Isaiah

Years ago, at a denominational gathering, I heard a visitor from the global South say the following about North American Christians:

They have so many things. They don’t need anything. Yet it seemed like the people were very thirsty, like they were in a desert and we were bringing them drops of water.

These words refuse to leave me.

Years ago, at a denominational gathering, I heard a visitor from the global South say the following about North American Christians:

They have so many things. They don’t need anything. Yet it seemed like the people were very thirsty, like they were in a desert and we were bringing them drops of water.

These words refuse to leave me.

A particular verse of scripture has been haunting me lately. I hear it as an indictment of an aspect of my personal life.

First, it was a lectionary text in Epiphany. Then I found it in the unifying passage of a devotional book I read.

“Bring the homeless poor into your house,” we read in Isaiah 58:7, part of a passage on genuine fasting.

Does the divine expression, the word, really work? Does it make a difference in our lives and in the world?

My yearning for the difference-making word drew me to James Crockett’s work in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago.

Most of us do not take criticism well. We get defensive, make excuses, or blame others. Nor do we engage in much self reflection or acknowledgement of our personal failings.

A lot of churches have deleted the prayer of confession from their Sunday morning orders of worship because of complaints that “those prayers are too depressing,” or “those things don’t apply to me.”

It’s not quite Lent, but we can see it from here.

What do these words from Isaiah ben Amoz mean for us?

My first instinct is to meditate on Isaiah 9 in light of its historical situation, which is bound up with the geopolitics of the late 8^th century BCE.

What do these words from Isaiah ben Amoz mean for us?

My first instinct is to meditate on Isaiah 9 in light of its historical situation, which is bound up with the geopolitics of the late 8^th century BCE.

What do these words from Isaiah ben Amoz mean for us?

My first instinct is to meditate on Isaiah 9 in light of its historical situation, which is bound up with the geopolitics of the late 8^th century BCE.

Come to the river, wash away your sins, start a new life. Now—because something is coming.

In my Century lectionary column for this week, I focused on the reading from Isaiah 65. It’s a text I find baffling, frustrating and hopeful. If space were limitless, here are some other things I might have included.