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There is no telling what mess and depths you or me or this world might be in today. Wherever we are, may we remember God is still with us and still hears our cries.
Holy One, we pray to you from the belly of a pandemic. We don’t know how we will come out of this, but we pray we too will be converted.
We all go a little reptile-brained once in a while, especially these days. It’s OK. It’s also never too late to hitch your thinking back up into the ole prefrontal cortex.
Perhaps our calling in this moment isn’t to point fingers at skeptics but to create a world where truth and love are ever-present.
There’s a difference between resurrection as a doctrine, and resurrection as a word with our name on it. It is often amid grief and confusion that resurrection becomes personal.
Nobody loves being last. But Paul wasn’t ashamed of being the last and the least admirable. We too are latecomers, yet even to us, Christ appears.
One lot – one life – is no more and no less than what God promises. Just one – not two or three or five or all. Just one. And these limits are good. These limits are godly.
The days that followed the Boston Marathon bombing on this date in 2013 were the first time I heard the phrase ‘shelter in place.’ Afterward we wondered: would it ever be the same?
All this physical distancing makes this a good time to go through my literal and metaphorical closets to make sure they reflect who and whose I know myself to be.
The original Easter story has still never ended. It goes on, in endless song, above earth’s lamentations.