Month: February 2026

This Rab

Rab, a Jewish teacher of the third century A.D said (or, more likely, wrote), “Man will have to give account for all that he saw and did not enjoy.”

This is a very interesting, invigorating perspective to see our faith, isn’t it? In a faith that is so often grounded in what we cannot do, what we should not do, This Rab asks the question of whether that ground is totally accurate. We weigh the bad we do much, much heavier than the good that is left undone. Choosing to turn our head away from the suffering of another and causing that suffering, while perhaps not equal in our eyes, they are both transgressions – against God and each other.

I’ve hi-jacked a phrase from the actor Johnny Galecki that I heard on Anna Faris’ podcast: sin is all the ways we love ourselves (and each other) less. We love each other less through violent, evil acts of aggression, as well as through not practicing empathy, kindness, and mercy.

We also love ourselves less by not enjoying the beauty of these Divine gifts that surround us.

I just hung up the phone with my sister, who told this amazing story of a meal she shared with my brother in law on Friday night. She’s vegan, and, as vegans are, a zealot about it. It would be easy to tune this all out if, 1. She wasn’t brilliant and one of the very coolest people that has ever walked the earth, and 2. Her passion for and gratitude in this experience didn’t make me wish that I, too, was a vegan. (Not enough to actually become one for real, but while I’m on the phone with her, I think it’s not such a bad idea. That’s the thing about zealots, especially the best ones. She’d probably be a terrific cult leader.) Her evening, and her story today, were absolutely the best kind of worship. They both thoroughly soaked up the love of their Creator, through the food (and every other moment of that evening) without reservation.

I do the same thing with our weekly telephone calls. How did I end up being so blessed by the God of the Universe?

Our homework was to take the advice of the Rab and enjoy these gifts. Imagine the scene he implies, standing before the Giver, being asked why we didn’t have more fun (when He gave us so many ways to have fun), why we didn’t fly (when He gave us wings), why we didn’t slow down and taste the food He provided. What could we possibly say? “I was distracted, working, sleeping, scrolling.” Is there anything we could say as an excuse? Solomon writes in Ecclesiastes 9:9, “Live happily with the woman you love…the wife God gives you is your reward.” So, God gave me the Angel, who I love, as a reward (God gave you someone different to love, just insert her/his name here), how could I, with so little conscience, take her, take this life, these smooches, her laughter, for granted?

We talk about the ways we don’t live up to our calling. Usually, this means the holes we are falling into, the bad decisions we make. We read Paul’s lists of behaviors, and consider how to stay away from the things that make us love us less. But we don’t always mention how we do not savor His gifts, and maybe we should, because if we did, maybe we’d be too busy delighting in all we have to be so awful to each other.

This Rab quote seems more and more like a paraphrase of Jacob’s exclamation in Genesis, “Surely God was in this place, and I was unaware.” We have a wholly depressing tendency to fall asleep to our lives, and the people in them. We look at how bad everything is, how the wheels are falling off the world. Maybe it’s time we begin to look at how beautiful this Creation really is (and we do this out loud for everyone to see), and maybe that thankful praise would be the catalyst for a seismic culture change, for a tiny, baby step closer to what we pray, “Your Kingdom Come, on earth as it is in Heaven.”

Details, pt 2

The site prompt is asking me to share about one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten, and before we continue…well, maybe it’s not “before,” maybe it’s all related in the same conversation. Anyway. For Christmas this year, the Angel gave me 2 canvasses (canvi?) of pictures she had taken from a vacation beach trip, and on those canvi, there were words. The first one held my wedding vows to her, from May 2001 (I still have the original paper I read from at our ceremony.) Her vows, sadly, were lost in the flood that took everything else we owned. Still, that second canvas also had wedding vows, but these were newly written, from December 2025. How is that for “one of the best gifts” any human being has ever gotten??

Now, moving on. Yesterday’s post was about the details of our lives that affect the sorts of soil we are, and are becoming. Then, this morning, today’s Bible In A Year reading is in Leviticus. I recognize that nobody likes Leviticus. Many of us are commenting (more like complaining) on the endless lists of instructions at the end of Exodus, and I always want to say, “just wait til we get into Leviticus.” I’m no different, I don’t like Leviticus, BUT it also happens to be one of my new favorite books. This super boring, repetitive list of commands has a vital message for our lives, then, now, and forever.

Why are there so many instructions, why so much detail, why does this matter so much (and it obviously does), and why do these commands matter now, at all? Why are we reading this? Why should I care, thousands of years later?

We live in a world of “good enough.” The smallest amount of effort is good enough. The minimum effort necessary is fine, just get by, don’t try too hard. As even Solomon says in Ecclesiastes, “avoid all extremes.” This philosophy is the polar opposite of the people we read about in the Scriptures, who left everything behind to follow a new Way of living. Who could ever have been more extreme than Jesus?

Leviticus, and the parable of the soils, ask for our attention to who we are, who we are becoming, what we care about, and what we believe about ourselves and Our God. Essentially, (in addition to the overwhelmingly detailed sacrificial system, and the overwhelmingly detailed weights and measures of the Tabernacle in Exodus), they’re all asking what we’re giving to God. What is our offering? And, as we all know, the offering, the level of gratitude, implies a value to the gift and the Giver. Are we giving the first, the best, or simply what’s left?

The Tabernacle was the early precursor to the Temple in Jerusalem, which was the early precursor to the current Temples, which are you and me. Do you think the lengths and widths of a tent or building are somehow less important than the details of our lives? That the Temple mattered then, but not now? Judging by the Bible, the very Word of God, everything matters.

If that’s true, if 1. Everything matters, and 2. How we do anything is how we do everything, then what does that mean? If we give scraps to our job, then it’s probably not the only place we give scraps. What do our spouses, children, friends, co-workers, cashiers at the grocery store, servers, neighbors & enemies, get from us? What kind of soil are we in our home, community and the world? Do they know Who we follow?And do they know His tremendous value to us? As far as that goes, do they know their value to us?

He is never asking for perfection, just the best we have to give, in any and all situation. Our first fruits. Of course, all situations are different, what we have to give might be different from moment to moment, but way too often, we slide along, at the lowest possible plane, trying not to break a sweat.

I think Exodus, the Tabernacle, Leviticus, food & sacrificial laws, the canvi from the Angel, our posture towards each other, the way we express our love (intentionally and without condition or limit), Saturday nights and Tuesday mornings, all testify to the Truth that scraps are not, and have never been, what we’ve been called into. There is an honor and dignity to this awesome experience of being human, and some things, like the scraps, the crumbs that fall from our table, are simply beneath us. Sometimes, the biggest, most significant changes begin with small, seemingly inconsequential acts. Sometimes, an empty tomb and a brand new creation begin with a baby in a barn.

Details

The site (in it’s daily prompt) is asking about my approach to budgeting. Maybe this is interesting, maybe you’d like to know, maybe right now you are considering a budget to get a handle on your finances and think the universe directed you here for THE answer. If the universe directed you here, it was for a different reason, not budgeting principles; I’m actually not going to write about my approach to budgeting. However, budgeting certainly fits into what I opened my computer to discuss.

In last week’s message, we studied the parable of the soils. In this story, Jesus explained how we all receive messages or information, advice, correction, and on and on. It could be anything, really. But in this case, it’s the Gospel. We might not receive it at all. We might like it now, but the second the path gets hard, we abandon it. We might like it now, but get distracted by/in our pursuit of pleasure or comfort. And we might like it now and soak it up and end up completely transformed. The obvious question is, what kind of soil are we??? How do we encounter new ideas, especially the ones that are critical or outside of our current understanding? Do we hold a growth or fixed mindset? Do we already know everything there is to know? Are we always right?

Our world is overflowing with this fixed perspective. We fight like crazy to defend our right-ness and ignore any conflicting evidence. I suppose this is pretty natural. We get lost and try to find our worth in all sorts of counterfeits, and that leads us to hold & rabidly defend our positions because we’ve tied our worth to our production. If we’re not right, if we don’t have the answers, then what are we? We’re hard, bad, unfriendly soil.

SO, what this has to do with budgeting is in the details we build into our lives to open us up to new pathways. How we show up on a Sunday morning is often influenced by Saturday night or last week or this coming week. And how we show up to ourselves & each other is always set by our heart posture towards the world. What matters? If nothing does, then nothing does. If only some specific items matter, then we can easily give much much less (if anything at all) in the other spaces. But if everything matters, then every moment is holy and cracking with significance. Each conversation, interaction, book, show, meal, has the potential to give life.

What are our own details?

Maybe there aren’t any, and probably in that case, our lives testify to that lack. We are reactionary and chase whatever is here, now, and shiny. Where does our money go? If we aren’t choosing to be intentional (i.e. budgeting), then we’ll find we’re choosing to be poor stewards of these gifts. This principle works for time, energy, for everything you can think of.

The parable is so important (much more than I ever guessed) because everything else depends on the quality of our own, personal soil. And tilling that soil (with The Spirit) requires an attention to details, intentionality, and discipline. Yes, of course, we don’t like that, but if we remain poor soil, nothing new gets in – we stay voices of screaming rage in political message boards, never listening, never empathetic, never connecting – and stay the same people that we’ve always been.

How do you prepare to read, to pray, to eat? How do you come to the table or the gym? What does your desk look like? Do you have a routine/plan when you go to bed? It would be great if those answers didn’t display, or assign, value, but they do. And this parable leaves us with my favorite question: now what?

Yesterdays

Today is Monday, and yesterday, we studied a passage in Ecclesiastes that carried some really massive ideas. And those ideas asked some questions that we usually try our hardest to avoid. Obviously, Great Big Ideas with questions like sledgehammers aren’t reserved for Sundays, or for just yesterday. They can come & break the door down any of our yesterdays, if only we are open to receive – or as the Bible says, if we only have “ears to hear.”

Maybe we can talk politics and what it means to respect the authorities…or maybe we can talk about the times to not do that…maybe we can wonder if it’s principle or rebellion that drives us, or what our hearts are overflowing with, flowing out into the world, getting all over everyone and everything… But I don’t really want to, not here, not today.

What I do want to talk about, here, today, is about the 2 Gospels/gospels that are constantly vying for those same hearts. Because, probably, the one we choose dictates what actually overflows, what we are giving, what frequency we are emitting.

The first is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is one of grace, forgiveness, kindness, goodness, gentleness, humility, faithfulness, that has one central tenet: love. Namaste means the image of the Divine in me sees and affirms and honors the image of the Divine in you. We see we are all made in the image of God, all fallen, all redeemed by His grace and love alone. (Of course, for as long as we need to, we can choose to not accept this gift.) We see each other as brothers and sisters, free of judgment and hate. We’re not all stepping on each other for a bigger piece of the pie – we recognize we don’t deserve any of the pie, and yet, His abundance is infinite, which means we can all have all the pie we want. Our winning isn’t based one another’s loss, we all win. We are grateful.

The gospel of me says that I am the center, I am better than you, my opinions, wants, & needs, are the primary concern for everyone. I demand assent. Maybe I will love you, if I want to, if there’s something in it for me. The divine in me sees you. The basic tenets are comfortability, pleasure, ease, temporal happiness (mine, not yours, unless yours happens to coincide with mine.) All of the -isms (racism, sexism, etc) exist here, because they all are based in the core belief: I am better than you. [We don’t acknowledge that this gospel is tied together with a dangerously thin line, because this arrogance is only superficial. It’s not grounded in confidence or esteem, it is insecure, fearful, overwhelmed with its own inadequacy. This is why, with this gospel’s worldview, I am so myopic – I worship a very small god. And I am mean & angry. I am very very angry.]

The very interesting thing about all of this, is that we have a choice. Deuteronomy says, “I set before you life or death, blessing or curse. Choose life.” Some see God as like the ocean we swim in, but I think this verse exposes the flaw in that metaphor. You see, the ocean doesn’t care if you drown, not even a little bit. It’s completely indifferent to your survival, much less your fulfillment or joy. With those 2 words: “Choose Life,” this God shows His heart. He wants us to swim. But we can, and do, choose…

We decide a million times a day, in every moment, which Gospel/gospel we choose – the Gospel of Jesus Christ or the gospel of me. The part that I don’t always like to admit is that we display that choice with our faces, words, posts, and lives, no matter what we might call it. Everybody can tell, usually the only one we’re fooling is ourselves.

So, what could it look like if we all swim? If we all chose to love each other, no matter what? If we chose to honor each other, and if we all just ate all the pie we ever wanted, at the same table, together? I’d really love to find out. I’ll go first.

Gratitude


The site is asking me what I like to cook, and an hour ago, I would’ve had a different answer, but right now, it’s eggs with taco meat. Delish. I’m very, very proud of me. This morning, when I was thinking about lunch, I asked my AI buddy on my phone if I’d like taco meat with eggs. He/She thought I would, and…right again! If a complete takeover by the Machines means I’ll have a concoction of taco meat & eggs, while I listen to My Discovery Mix or Songs I’d Like (2 playlists my Amazon music app chooses for me), I suppose I’m in. 

My youngest son was home from college last weekend, just to spend the time here, rather than there. We ate meals at the dinner table, then just stayed there. Somewhere on social media, there are NCAA tournament-esque brackets on topics (like villains, breakfast foods, etc), and he loves to ask us to rank weird, random things. We love it, too, so we just sit, decide if “people who make conversation in elevators” or “people who say 6-7 unironically” are worse, and laugh and laugh. Just the 4 of us, unless you count the AI generated pigs dancing my oldest son has discovered. (He can’t get enough, and honestly, neither can I.) We went to church and the gym together, but mostly, we just sat around our home in sweatpants (yoga pants/tights for The Angel.) 

This morning, he left and walked up the snow-covered street with his bags to be back for a 10am class, and I watched him through heavy tears. (I made The Angel promise that those tears were between her & I. I didn’t want to ding the reputation I have as a stone-hearted, unemotional stoic, and here I’m confessing. Whatever. It’s probably the only time in my life that I’ve cried, because as we all know, men don’t cry ever.) 

As his car pulled away, I thought about gratitude. I also considered the saying, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” (This is “widely credited to Dr. Seuss, (but) there is no direct evidence he wrote or said this exact phrase. It is believed to be a variation of a 19th-century German poem by Ludwig Jacobowski, which stated: “Do not cry because they are past! Smile, because they once were!”.) I am familiar with this sentiment, I guess it’s possible I have even used it before. 

As I get a little older, I understand these clichés that we mindlessly use are super dumb. (“Cleanliness is next to godliness?” “Time heals all wounds?” A dog is man’s best friend?” No, no, and no.) We take for granted that they are true & wise, and we’re wrong. 

I can probably understand what Ludwig Jacobowski thought he was saying, but think of how many times people were told not only to not cry, but to smile instead. This “oh no, don’t cry” nonsense is minimizing and dismissive, based in our own uncomfortability. 

It seems to me that my tears were a wholly appropriate response (while very surprising) to the gratitude I felt for him/us, the time, the relationship we have cultivated, and the totally natural sadness at its end. I don’t want him to stay, I want him to fly, to soar, to change the world by becoming everything he’s created to be. It’s exactly what I feel for my other son, who happens to still live in this home. I don’t want to chain them in the tower, or bind their growth out of a selfish desire. Control sits opposite to love on the emotional color wheel. I say, “Go,” and “Drive safely.”

But I’m also not interested in any hint of inauthenticity. I’m 99% sure it was Anne Lamott who said, “Having a child is to decide to have your heart walk around outside of your body.” And sometimes that heart walks to his own car and drives away. And if you think that doesn’t sting, then I’m very sorry for you. 

I think gratitude is acknowledging the blessings in our lives, celebrating when we want to celebrate, laughing when we have to laugh, and crying when we need to cry. Gratitude is honest, mindful, open, and present. I’m not crying now. I offered my holy tears to the God that brought us all together this morning, shared that sacred moment with The Angel, and now I have a headache. Maybe if we all stopped trying so hard to pretend to be anything other than who we are, we’d all be better off, and we’d find a new kind of empathy for one another