“God speaks to us. Our answers are our prayers.”
— Eugene Peterson
Let it be true that my prayers are always answers to God’s speaking. But when I first read the quotation, which I found in a Krista Tippett interview, I read it as: “The answers we seek from God are the prayers we pray,” as if He is the one providing the food for prayer.
“We cannot be too careful about the words we use. We start out using them, and they end up using us.”
– Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places
Instead of God taking responsibility for creating, what would happen if we view God as taking responsibility for being created? That is, in Christ, God the human being fulfills humanity’s responsibility before God to present itself humbly, obedient and trusting in the face of all the vicissitudes inherent in that nature, and fulfills human nature’s calling and purpose. In this case Jesus’ death fulfills created nature, loving and trusting God within the constraints of created finitude. Christ, the God-Man, represents creation to God, takes responsibility for being creatED (not for creatING), unites creation to God, and in so doing reconciles the world to God, not God to the world.
— Tom Belt, “God takes responsibility for sin – or not.”
Now there’s a thought.
“I no longer spend most of my time with college professors like myself. I’ve traded in the PhDs for Kristi and my friends at Highland.”
“The dark paradox, then, is this: the more we seek to alleviate our loneliness through digital connectivity, the more lonely we will feel. Along the way, we will forsake solitude as a matter of course. Curiously, it may not even be loneliness as a desire for companionship that the design of social media fosters in us. Rather, it is a counterfeit longing that is generated: for stimulation rather than companionship. In the end, we will be left with the most profound loneliness: perpetually feeling a need for connection that we cannot satisfy and finding that we have not even our own company. To recap: no abiding sense of companionship, no solitude, no place for thought.”
— Michael Sacasas, “Solitude and Loneliness”
“I’m not Atlas, on any conceivable level.”
— Tom Belt, in a pithy, poetic expression of our dependency of God and others
“Next time, before you proclaim that ‘we never talk about X’—remember this only unveils how small your ‘we’ is.
“Now I know only in part; then I will know fully”—and in the meantime, it drives me my ignorance drives me crazy.
“God loved us while we were yet monsters.”
“Sexual puritanism is an attempt to safeguard possessions more valuable than pleasure. The good that it does outweighs the evil, the English knew this. They were seriously repressed, largely because repression prevented them from carelessly throwing away those things—chastity, marriage and the family—which slip so easily from the grasp of people whose natural tendency is to keep each other at a distance.”
— Roger Scruton, “English Character” in England: an Elegy
“Being incarnate was an embarrassment, a design-fault that God may have intended in the Italians but surely not in the English.”
— Roger Scruton, on the supposedly English “quiet suspicion of sensuality”
“I often think our broken church/social structures reflect our homes. Families teach us that even when are different and disagree, we are one.”
Scripture is not a room filled with clairvoyant theologians who have the same ideas and agree on every point. It is better understood as a room of wise elders, each an invited guest because of his unique voice and relation to God. Every elder has insight, but no elder has all of the answers, nor are any of them wholly liberated from humanity’s broken, sinful condition. Every voice is of value, but each will perhaps push too far in one direction and not enough in another, and each will push, in some way or another, in the wrong direction. When we read Scripture well, we listen in on the conversations of these elders, and, in conversations with other readers, seek as best we can to understand God’s voice. It is through this communal reading experience that God points us to his one and only solution for our broken condition: Jesus Christ.
—Kent Sparks, “Genesis 1-11 as Ancient Historiography,” from Genesis: History, Fiction, or Neither?, via Pete Enns
“Your faith has saved you” (Luke 7:50). I realized the other night that there is a sensical way of summarizing faith’s role in healings and miracles: It’s not always necessary (cf. Acts 12:12-16), and it’s not always sufficient (cf. life), but sometimes, it’s definitely the clincher.
Ps 148 gives us a picture of how we might ‘rule’ and ‘serve’ simultaneously. In that Psalm, the psalmist summons all creation to give God praise—all angels, sun, moon, stars, sea monsters, fire, hail, mountains, wild animals, flying birds, kings, young and old. What if our rule in creation means that we ensure that creation can voice its praise to God? And how does hail praise God? By doing what hail does—crash down upon the earth. And how does the cheetah praise God? By chasing a Thompson’s Gazelle at 60+ mpg around a tight curve, keeping its tail steady, stretching out over 22 feet per stride. William Brown follows the environmental logic of this psalm:
Is there any doubt that God delights in watching the fastest land animal? That creation’s goodness is bound up with their plight?
I know that we all have our causes, and not all people are called to protect the cheetah. But some are, and it matters to God.
—Matt Lynch, “Genesis and Endangered Species”
Here’s why accusing God when he doesn’t save a baby about to drown in a swimming pool is casuistry: “While we may sometimes be blameworthy for failing to use our bodies to prevent genuine evils, the God without a localized divine body is not culpable” (Thomas Jay Oord).
“Think thoughts that are as clear as possible, but no clearer; say things as simply as possible, but no simpler.”
— William Sloane Coffin, Jr.
“Questioning involves courage, refusal to allow one’s beliefs to be challenged involves fear. And so which should be called ‘faith’ and which should be called ‘doubt’?
– James F. McGrath, “Doubt in Faith’s Clothing”
“[T]o say that God turns away from the wicked is like saying that the sun hides itself from the blind.”
– St. Anthony the Great, as quoted by Stephen Freeman in making the point that the talk in the Bible about God’s wrath is metaphorically referring to the natural consequences of separate from Him, not Him actually whooping us
You say you care about the poor?
Then tell me, what are their names?
— Gustavo Gutierrez, as tweeted by Jarrod McKenna
“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
— Maya Angelou
“Trust is important, but trustworthiness is even more so. Trust is only as good as is the trustworthiness of that in which we place our trust.” Thank you, Miroslav Volf, for saying what I said two years ago about why faith is a virtue.
When the apostles returned, they gave an account to Him of all that they had done. Taking them with Him, He withdrew by Himself to a city called Bethsaida. But the crowds were aware of this and followed Him; and welcoming them, He began speaking to them about the kingdom of God and curing those who had need of healing (Luke 9:10-11).
Sometimes—probably often—Jesus gave preference to the needs, desires, and priorities of others over His own.
“If the grass feels greener on the other side, it might be the Holy Spirit reminding you to water the grass you’re standing on.”
Here are my notes on Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates:
On reading at Whim:
“The pursuit of knowing was freedom to me, the right to declare your own curiosities and follow them through all manner of books. I was made for the library, not the classroom. The classroom was a jail of other people’s interests. The library was open, unending, free” (p. 48). Reading these sentences was electrifying to me coming off of Alan Jacobs’ The Pleasure of Reading. It also captures some of why I don’t read the news: I don’t wish to be subject to what people I don’t know, who are paid to write, say is important.
A double standard:
“…they understate the task and allow the citizens of this country to pretend that there is real distance between their own attitudes and those of the ones appointed to protect them…” and so on through the paragraph (78–79). Earlier in the book, he calls Samori to respect the story of each individual, to not let the experience of single souls get wiped away by the necessarily generalizing statements of history. But here, he pins the blame for the “sprawling carceral state, the random detention of black people, the torture of suspects” on me. It’s wrong to conflate an individual’s helpless inaction with his will.
On the burden of “television”:
It occurred to me reading page 82 that we think that because we can see something, we can do something about it. But in these days of telegraph, tele-audio, and television, we still haven’t invented teleportation or omnipresence. We are closer to omniscience than ever before, with omnipresent eyes, and perhaps omnibenevolence, but we have neither true omnipresence nor omnipotence.
On godless holiness of the human body:
“And hell upon those who shatter the holy vessel” (87). What makes vessels holy if not the imago dei?
On personal moral fatalism:
“But you are human and you will make mistakes. You will misjudge. You will yell. You will drink too much. You will hang out with people you shouldn’t. Not all of us can be Jackie Robinson…” (95). I do not understand moral fatalism. I agree that sin is inevitable. But I disagree with anyone who says so. How anti-inspirational can you get?
On grand change:
“’It only takes one person to make a change,’ you are often told. This is also a myth. Perhaps one person can make change, but not the kind of change that would raise your body to equality with your countrymen” (96). RIGHT!
On the good old days and wicked men:
“…I raise it to show you that there was no golden era when evildoers did their business and loudly proclaimed it as such” (98).
On the myth of race:
“’Race’ itself is just a restatement and retrenchment of the problem” (115).
Finally, at the end of the book, Coates takes an unexpected environmentalist turn that inspires me.