There will be lots of celebrating red, white and blue this week, as there ought to be. We have so much to be grateful for and to celebrate in the United States.
That is how we are addressed in the Apostle John’s letters to the churches. In some of our Bible translations, “beloved” has been lost in translation. The more neutral “Dear friends” has been chosen, but this is a really unfortunate choice in an age when it’s possible to have 1,147 friends.
As the wandering fly-fishing pray-er David Hansen has rightly observed, “Sometimes those who love Jesus don’t get what they want.”
I lift up my eyes to the hills – from where will my help come? From the mountains? “Nope,” says the writer of Psalm 121, “my help comes from the Lord who made those mountains.”
So you’re born again. Praise God! Now the hard work of growing up is at hand.
The prophetic mystery of a helpless child, entering the world through the womb of a poor, unwed, teenager from a backwoods town, and placed in a feeding trough amidst the sounds and smells of a first century barn is nothing less than God’s astounding expression of solidarity with the poor.
“I know God is with me. I know God is with me.” These were the words she repeated over and over as she slid in and out of sleep, barely conscious. Her body was shutting down on her. She was confused.
First, raging waters are instantly calmed. Then a demon is cast out. Third, a woman is healed of her chronic hemorrhaging. And finally, a tween is resurrected from the dead. These rapid-fire miracles can all be found in Luke 8, along with the diverse responses of those who experienced it all.
