Liminality

One day in college (I remember this vividly) I was overcome with sins of the world and sins of my flesh. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I found myself weeping on my knees on the floor of my freshman dorm. With a tearful prayer I looked up to God and said, “I can’t keep living this way. I need you. I want you.” I can’t adequately express to you the rush of emotion I felt at that moment, but in not enough words, I felt as if something that was holding me down was released. I felt forgiven. I felt redeemed. Is this redemption? Does God intersect with humanity on a spiritual, interior level? Over eight months ago one of the most horrific natural disasters occurred in my lifetime. Haiti was hit by a devastating earthquake and then another demoralizing aftershock. Hundreds of thousands of people killed. Thousands of people injured. Houses blown down. Capital city and governmental buildings destroyed. People smashed under rubble. It’s horrifying from every angle. Wh

David Kelsey, Professor of Theology at Yale Divinity School, asks a very simple, yet tormentingly powerful question: What earthly difference can Jesus make here? I’m in my eighth year of higher theological education; attempting to complete my third degree that carries theological weight; I’ve been ordained by and am pastoring a community of grace and together we help each other discern how to partner with God in the ongoing creation of the world. We claim our allegiance to a king and to a kingdom. We sing and pray to the God of the Universe. We pray intercessory prayers expecting this God to affect us, move us, change us, encourage us, sit with us, help us, and love us. Our theology is biblical. Our effort is true. Yet at the core of who I am . . . the center of my being I keep asking the question: What earthly difference can Jesus make here? I think about the woman who found out her husband (the man who was supposed to be her best friend and confidant) cheating on her wi

Here she is pleading before the heartless, faithless judge . . . widowed, alone, and in desperate need for help. In the Levitical Law, communities are supposed to rally around widows and help support them, vindicate them. The early church is supposed to allow widows to live in the courtyards and buildings of the sanctuaries and use tithing to purchase food, water, and daily goods. But our widow in Luke 18 isn’t getting any of these things. The religious community doesn’t recognize her humanity, and she’s just unfortunate enough to be in the one town where the judge hates God and couldn’t care less for the vitality of humanity. In other words, our widowed woman needs help, needs relief, needs God. It’s almost unimaginable to be where this widow is. She has no husband. No family. No money. No land. No future. No promise. No life. Her faith tells her she has rights to her basic needs. But those have been stricken from her too. And God seems nowhere to be found. Wha

This week the Associated Press released an article stating that a Southern Baptist leader does not believe Yoga reflects anything Christian. Click here  to read the article.  I am not interested in arguing with this article but rather raising a point of interest. How could anything that helps authentically channel you towards the divine be unChristian? And why is it bad to use outside religious forms of meditation to help enhance our experience with the Holy? When did Christianity put parameters on prayer? When did adjusting into a downward dog become a religious, yet anti-Christian, practice? I submit that it is not. Yoga - although not created to be a Christian, spiritual practice - can be an incredible catalyst in helping one center their heart, mind, body, and soul in order to focus more intently upon God. Engaging in Yoga does not mean you are anti-Christian. It means you are stretching. Yoga can be an awesome tool to help one experience silence and meditation. And