jeff’s blog

What would our lives look like, if they were full and fruitful with the fruit of the Spirit.

What would it look like if we truly loved every person we encountered - not just those from whom we can get something in return? How much would a selfless attitude and concern for those less fortunate than us change the way people perceive us?

What would it look like if we were joyous instead of pessimistic? What would the world think if Christians stopped talking about how bad things were, and started spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ?

What would it look like if we were peacemakers instead of war starters? What if we looked to build bridges between people instead of condemning them, and sought to embrace our enemies instead of destroy them? How would that change the world?

What would it look like if we were patient, not asking every person where they would go if they died tonight, but allowed the process of the Spirit to work in the hearts of men? Would people be less put off by the message of Jesus if they felt like they didn’t have to give an answer right away?

What would it look like if we were kind? What would change in our world if we became people of benevolence instead of greed, sympathy instead of indifference?

What would it look like if we embraced goodness, seeking to always do the right thing no matter how much it cost? How would our actions be affected if we searched every decision beyond its immediate effects and evaluated how it affected our righteousness before God?

What would it look like if we were faithful? Would it change our desire to reason out an explanation for the existence and workings of God? How would our lives be enriched if we truly believed God is who he says without demanding proof?

What would it look like if we were gentle? How differently would we be perceived if we were gracious and understanding instead of inflammatory? How would our lives and testimony change if we less inciting and violent in how we approach those we disagree with?

What would it look like for each of us to be self-controlled in all our actions? What would we be if we were able to tame the demons within and bring our thoughts and actions under control all the time?

I wish badly that my life were governed by these simple principles. I wish I could say my life looked in reality like it does in my mind.

But until then, I continue to strive to be fruitful, hoping to grow someday into something I can only now imagine.

Within our Christian subculture, forgiveness appears in a wide variety of slogans and mantras so often repeated that we seldom think about its use and meaning. We “hope that God will forgive us” when we do wrong, and pray that he will “forgive us of our many sins,” not really considering what we mean. I think one of the reasons forgiveness pops up in our theological discussion so often is our sometimes extreme emphasis on sin - which is not to say we should place no emphasis at all on sin, but rather to say that we often read the story of the Bible as one primarily about our sin and God’s righteousness, and God somehow having to solve that problem through the redemptive work of Jesus. In doing so, the key plot obstacle becomes God’s forgiveness of his people’s sins, as we can only be “saved” if we are without sin.

Rather than being a story primarily about God’s perfection and our depravity, an alternative reading is that the Bible is a story primarily about God’s desire to have a relationship with his creation, and what he has done since the beginning of time in order to realize that. In a relational mindset, forgiveness isn’t the most important thing - reconciliation is.

Consider these words -

• John writes: “He himself [Jesus] is the sacrifice that atones for our sins - and not only our sins but the sins of all the world.”
• Paul: “When he [Christ] died, he died once to break the power of sin.”
• Peter: “Christ suffered for our sins once for all time. He never sinned, but he died for sinners to bring you safely home to God.”
• The Hebrew writer says: “For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy. … [W]hen sins have been forgiven, there is no need to offer any more sacrifices.”

There are two main things I read across these passages that seem to conflict with the nature of forgiveness I’ve grown up with. First, the forgiveness of God seems to be, as the writers note, once, for all time. The notion of sin and forgiveness I think many of us grew up with says that if we haven’t asked forgiveness for every specific sin we’ve committed, we’re probably on shaky ground. I think as a result most of us spend our lives either living underneath the sword of Damocles or in suspended apathy, either way hoping that when the time comes, we don’t have too many black marks on our record. Instead, Christ died once, for all sin. The sins in our past and future have all been forgiven by the blood of Christ, shed once, for all sin, two thousand years ago.

Second, I think John’s passage indicates that not only was Christ’s sacrifice once for all time, it was once for all people as well. Christ didn’t just die for our sins, he died for the sins of the whole world. Paul also speaks to this - “Since we believe that Christ died for all, we also believe that we have all died to our old life. He died for everyone so that those who receive his new life will no longer live for themselves.” In Paul’s words, it isn’t simply the sacrifice of Christ for a person that makes them “right before God” - rather a reception of a new life, no longer lived for ourselves. I don’t think Paul would say that forgiveness is what really matters, but rather reconciliation.

“[A]ll of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ”, Paul writes. “And God has given us this task of reconciling people to him. For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them.” When viewed in a relational context, there is a definite difference between forgiveness and reconciliation. Forgiveness is a one sided thing, but reconciliation involves both parties. One of the pictures Jesus paints of the Kingdom of God is that of a father whose son leaves with the inheritance. The father’s love and forgiveness extends to the son even when he is a long way off, but their relationship is only restored when the son returns to the father. In the same way, I think God’s forgiveness extends to all people, but God’s forgiveness is not what we need. Paul speaks of reconciliation, not forgiveness, when talking about God “not counting men’s sins against them”.

The hope, then, is that as Paul says, “we could be made right with God” - that each of us could be brought into the story and the work God; not simply because we are forgiven, but because we have entered into a reconciled relationship with the perfect and atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Friendship is an interesting thing. I still have no idea why there are some relationships that demand an incredible amount of energy to maintain, and others that seem to survive with little or no contact for long stretches of time. Maybe it depends on the people involved, and maybe it is a reflection on the quality of those relationships. Either way, all I know is that some relationships just click, and others take a lot of work.

I think in large part I’m fairly bad at keeping up with people. I think of the many people I’ve hung out with over the years, and most of them I talk to seldom if at all. There’s no sinister intent on my behalf, and I really would like to keep up with each of them and know exactly where they are and what they’re doing. It just seems like the day to day business of making reports and going to class and doing the stuff we all have to do sometimes clouds out those things that are more important, and makes us forget to take care of them.

When I think of the part of my relationship with God that is a friendship, I wonder what kind of friend I am to God. I wonder if I am the kind of friend that is needy and constantly uncertain, or if I’m the kind of friend that goes away for a long time and then comes back in to catch up, then heads out again on some new adventure, not to be heard from again for weeks, months, or years at a time. I think of the call back lists and the to-reply queues that dominate my life and wonder how similar they are to my relationship with God.

My hope is they’re not very similar.

My fear is that they’re much more similar than I would like to think.

I was in a Tanzanian schoolyard when I learned that poverty has a face, and a name. It always does, really. In this case, it was Sulemani – a young boy of maybe two or three who looked to be sick, malnourished, and who smelled like he’d never taken a bath in his life. There he sat, alone and forgotten among the bustle of a city with no hope, no future.

Often we are drawn to cases of economic poverty, accompanied by moving pictures and tragic stories with a captivating soundtrack while we sit oblivious to a much deeper and more urgent poverty that affects our families, friends, neighbors, and even ourselves – what Mother Teresa called “the deep poverty of the soul.” Often this poverty exists because we try to pattern our Kingdom economics on our earthly economics, which essentially is to say that the people God loves the most and cares the most about are the ones who are the most successful, the most gifted, look the best, volunteer the most hours, give the most money, are a part of the most church activities – in short the people who seem to have everything put together. Other times we translate the scarcity of our worldly economies into the Kingdom of God, attempting to evaluate our decisions on a “value added” approach, seeing where we can get the most impact per dollar or hour spent. Unfortunately, when we apply these worldly principles to God, we end up with skewed theology and broken souls –poor huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. Into a world of scarcity and class divide, Christ brings a message of Good News for all people, rich and poor – a Kingdom economics unlike anything that exists on earth, but one governed by a completely different set of rules. As we consider our economic abundance, we should also reflect on our spiritual poverty, and on the rules that govern the economics of God’s Kingdom.

The first reality of God’s Kingdom is that love isn’t conditioned on our merit – God doesn’t love us because we’re rich or beautiful or successful or put together – he loves us because we are his creation. Paul writes in Titus that God saved us “not because of the righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” As an engineer, I’ve had the opportunity to design and build several things, some of which ended up being destroyed. Even on the projects that were the most frustrating, I still felt a sense of sadness when they were finally destroyed, not because they were pretty or worked well or had been a lot of fun to work on, but rather because they were mine. In a world where we’re constantly being told that we aren’t enough, the message of Jesus comes in and says that no matter who you are or what you’ve done, you are loved enough. God’s love doesn’t start at the top and trickle down, but starts at the bottom, and offers full and complete acceptance for the lost and the last and the worst and the least.

Second, God isn’t constrained by my ideas about who is worthy of his love and acceptance. Often, I feel entitled to blessings because of the work I’ve done for God, and I have a tendency to become upset because someone else is receiving more than I am. In one story, Jesus compares the Kingdom to a man who went out to hire workers. He went out early in the morning, then again at lunchtime, and at three o’clock, and finally with just an hour left to work. At the close of the day, the man paid each of the workers the same amount, whether they’d worked all day or just an hour. When some of the workers grumbled, the employer’s response is humbling – “Should you be jealous because I am kind to others?” Jesus reminds us that God sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous, and causes the sun to rise both on the evil and the good. God’s blessings are his to do with as he pleases, and his choices aren’t always based on fairness, but on kindness.

Finally, the message of God’s kingdom is one of abundance, not scarcity. I remember serving food at a homeless shelter, and watching as the doors opened to reveal a surging tide of humanity rushing toward the start of the line. There was plenty of food, but for many of the people it would be the only guaranteed meal they had all week long. After living daily in a world of scarcity, the competition to get to the front of the line was ruthless, as if the first ten people might take everything, and those behind would be left with nothing. Too often we view the Kingdom as a competition, where it’s important to stay ahead and make sure you’re doing better than everyone else, or at least not running in last place, lest you get left behind. About a year ago, my father and sister ran in the Los Angeles Marathon. Neither of them are serious competitors, and their only real goal was to finish. At about mile ten, my sister began to experience severe leg pain, which was later revealed to be a hairline fracture in her leg. Offered a chance to quit but committed to finishing, she leaned on my father and hobbled through sixteen miles of agony to cross the line at the end, where she received the exact same medal as the first place runner who’d finished several hours before. My father certainly could have finished sooner if he hadn’t helped, or if he’d dropped her off and waited for my mother to pick her up, but he realized that it wasn’t a competition – the only thing that mattered was crossing the finish line together.

As Christ’s followers, we are called not only to reflect on these principles, but to apply them in our lives. I believe much of the recent spiritual poverty in our world develops directly from us treating the economy of God’s kingdom like that of a capitalist nation. Instead, God offers us something radically different, and asks us to transform our lives and our ministry to operate according to his rules instead of our own.

“Are you afraid of these idols?
Do they terrify you?
Is that why you have lied to me
and forgotten me and my words?
Is it because of my long silence
that you no longer fear me?
Now I will expose your so-called good deeds.
None of them will help you.
Let’s see if your idols can save you
when you cry to them for help.
Why, a puff of wind can knock them down!
If you just breathe on them, they fall over!
But whoever trusts in me will inherit the land
and possess my holy mountain.”

I’m not sure what terrifies me.

Most of us worry about all sorts of things, I think. We look to the future with uncertainty, never really knowing what it holds, and often trying to hedge our bets as much as we can. One side of God we don’t often like to talk about is his terrifying nature - the God who Isaiah and so many others saw with fear and trembling. In our society, God is either a harmless looking man from a painting or flannel board, or a nasty little inconvenience to doing what we want. I think that in many ways, there are very few of us who take God really seriously.

Our idols, on the other hand, are extremely important to us. We don’t really see them as idols, of course. Even when we mention them as such, it’s often just a passing comment - something we do because we need to draw some connection between idolatry and modern life. As I think about life and reflect on this passage, God’s question comes back - Do they terrify you?

When I think of the things I worry the about, the things I lose sleep over the most, the things that occupy my thoughts… are they not my idols, all comfortably in place to give my life value and worth and, dare I say it, save me? My money, my success, my friends, my family, my good deeds, my reputation - am I afraid of losing them? A puff of wind can knock them down.

Why do these things have such a hold on our lives? Why do we allow it?

May we trust in you, God.
May we trust in you.

Watching last night’s episode of Top Gear was a rather interesting experience. For those of you who’ve never watched Top Gear, it’s a British Car show which is currently watched by about 350 million viewers worldwide - over twice as many people as watch the Super Bowl - each week. The three hosts test cars, engage in silly challenges, and do crazy things in general.

Last night they flew to America to do one of their cheap car challenges. In the past they’ve bought Porsches for £1500, cars for less than £100, and even mid-engined Italian supercars for less than £10,000. Generally they end up buying cars that are old, break down, and are junky in general. This time, of course, was no exception. They were given $1000 to buy a car and then drive it from Miami to New Orleans, with a series of challenges along the way.

In general, the whole adventure was very funny, and a pleasure to watch. There were two parts, however, that made me cringe. The first occurred in Alabama, where they pulled into a gas station and were nearly killed by local rednecks. Granted, they partially brought it upon themselves by driving through the state with slogans like “Hillary for President” painted on the side of their car. When they pulled in, they were promptly accosted by the owner, who called “the boys” to come and settle the situation. Rocks were thrown at the television crew, and the presenters and the production staff ran for their lives, chased by a gang of hooligans in pickup trucks. Of course, all of this is caught on film and shown for all the world to see. The gas station owner was, of course, classic. “What do you expect?”, she said, “You’re in a hick town.”

As if that made assault and battery ok.

The irony, of course, is that this occurred in the South - what is considered (as was pointed out) the bastion of Christianity and conservatism in the United States. One of the things the presenters were jokingly poking fun at was the intolerance that is often associated with those two particular ideologies, and unfortunately it was proven in an all too dramatic fashion.

But as I watched, I thought two things - first, what does it say about the subculture in the “red states” that drives the perception of many people to assume that intolerant and bigoted attitudes are the norm? Many people will say, “Well, but it’s not really like that…”, and in many places I’m sure that’s true, but the evidence captured by the BBC was fairly convincing, and I don’t think they picked that gas station simply because they thought it would cause a stir. Intolerance is not unique to America, nor is it unique to the South, but there exists a (I think accurate) perception that many people in the South are far less tolerant of others than in other regions.

Second, it struck me as sad that this occurred in what claims to be the most Christian part of the nation, and the part of the nation with a mandate on moral values. I don’t know if the impromptu lynch squad was full of pew-filling Christians, but there’s a part of me that wouldn’t be too surprised to find out they were. Can we really justify intolerance to people who believe differently than we do to the extent that we threaten them with physical violence? We often try to distance ourselves from events like the Spanish Inquisitions and the Crusades, saying those were “back then”, but unfortunately I think there isn’t that much that separates us from the people we try to eschew.

The final segment of the show ended with them driving through New Orleans. They’d planned on selling their cars when they got there, but instead were confronted with a scene of massive damage and destruction, even one year out. In the words of James May and Jeremy Clarkson:

May: Finally, though, we made it to New Orleans, and my word, were in for a shock. We had seen on the news what Hurricane Katrina had done, but seeing the devastation for real was truly astonishing.

Clarkson: This is extraordinary… every house… I’ve been driving now for fifteen miles - there isn’t a pavement, there isn’t a building, there isn’t anything that isn’t smashed. It’s such a vast scale of destruction.

A year had passed since Katrina had blown through, and we had sort of assumed that after twelve months, the wealthiest nation on earth would have fixed it, but we were wrong.

How can the rest of America sleep at night knowing this is here?

I was reminded of the quickness with which we forget. How can the rest of America sleep? Because in a very real sense, we don’t know that it’s there. We don’t know it’s there just like we didn’t know about the tragic levels of homelessness and poverty and hopelessness that existed in New Orleans before Katrina hit. We are a nation that ignores what we don’t want to see because it helps us sleep better at night.

There are times when I’m proud to be an American, and there are times when I wish America were more worthy of being proud. Tonight was one of the second. I wish my country’s ideals were not only words on paper, but were modeled daily by her citizens, rich, poor, black, white, red, blue, Christian, atheist. There is so much here that is good, and no place I would rather live, but tonight I was painfully reminded that we have so far to go before America is a place everyone can be proud of.

Tell my people Israel of their sins!
Yet they act so pious!
They come to the Temple every day
and seem delighted to learn all about me.
They act like a righteous nation
that would never abandon the laws of its God.
They ask me to take action on their behalf,
pretending they want to be near me.
‘We have fasted before you!’ they say.
‘Why aren’t you impressed?
We have been very hard on ourselves,
and you don’t even notice it!’

“I will tell you why!” I respond.
“It’s because you are fasting to please yourselves.
Even while you fast,
you keep oppressing your workers.
What good is fasting
when you keep on fighting and quarreling?
This kind of fasting
will never get you anywhere with me.
You humble yourselves
by going through the motions of penance,
bowing your heads
like reeds bending in the wind.
You dress in burlap
and cover yourselves with ashes.
Is this what you call fasting?
Do you really think this will please the Lord?

“No, this is the kind of fasting I want:
Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;
lighten the burden of those who work for you.
Let the oppressed go free,
and remove the chains that bind people.
Share your food with the hungry,
and give shelter to the homeless.
Give clothes to those who need them,
and do not hide from relatives who need your help.

“Then your salvation will come like the dawn,
and your wounds will quickly heal.
Your godliness will lead you forward,
and the glory of the Lord will protect you from behind.
Then when you call, the Lord will answer.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.

Sometimes as I read through scripture, I feel like we ignore some of the more messy bits. We’re often quick to look back and analyze the text and the tone and the style of the passages without listening to them and allowing them to enter our own hearts. I think in many ways, this is one of the most dangerous trends in our modern Christian society - the failure to be introspective and allow the word of God to convict. We are generally so busy looking for how what we’re reading “applies to someone else” that we often miss the message God has for us.

This passage is an excellent example of that. Sometimes I wonder what the prophets would say if they were here, and what the Gospels would sound like if they were written today. I wonder how Jesus would cater his message to us, and whether his harshest words would still be reserved for the religious establishment. I have a feeling in many ways they would be. I wonder if God would come down and look at us today, view our services and say, “Do you really think this will please the Lord?”

God’s response is striking: free those unjustly imprisoned, be a fair employer, stop oppressing people, share your food and possessions, and don’t run away from people who need your help. Often we have very little to say about these types of social issues. We make excuses to absolve ourselves of the responsibility of helping those around us while thinking our worship “at the temple” makes up for other shortcomings.

I wonder what God would say.

Instead of patting ourselves on the back, I feel as though we should each take a hard look at our lives and our actions, both as a church body and as individuals, and evaluate what Christ’s words to us would be, were he here today. If I am honest, I feel as though this passage, and many other similarly humbling ones, apply to me much more than I would like to admit.

What is the most basic article of faith?
This is not all that we are.

I think this simple statement sums up the most significant difference in core philosophies in our world today. Many of our disagreements in the realm of morality, religion, ethics, justice and economics trace their roots to our affirmation or denunciation of this ideal.

Certainly there is no way to empirically prove some intangible soul inside us that makes us any different from a cleverly designed machine executing its programming. There is no objective experiment we could run that would yield a satisfactory answer and let us know of life after death, or of an eternal or even elevated nature – something that places us above mere animals.

Perhaps I just don’t want to believe in an empty and meaningless universe, but it is hard for me to conceive of this is all there is. Art and beauty and love in particular seem so wasteful in a universe governed by logic and survival and chance. Without the possibility of something beyond what we see and experience it’s hard to justify how hope could be anything other than delusion, integrity could be anything but weakness, and compassion anything but folly. Yet almost every person and every society would call hope, integrity, and compassion virtues, not vices.

Perhaps faith is blindness, and perhaps only the weak and enslaved believe in something beyond what they can know and measure. It is possible that love is a farce, and that poets and writers for thousands of years have been naïve and foolish, guiding others on an ultimately futile journey of emptiness.

But somehow I suspect deep down the reason so many people in so many cultures across all of history believed in and recorded their suspicions of the intangible nature of life beyond “what we are” is not because they were more foolish and less enlightened than liberated modern man. I wonder if in our desire to master all there is, we jettison intangible things we cannot know or understand in order to make our quest appear that much simpler, but in reality that much farther away.

Pride.

It’s an interesting phenomenon, and one that I’ve spent a good bit of time thinking about and wrestling with over the past few weeks.

In a lot of ways, I think studying about pride is somewhat like reading a nutrition textbook that says you should eat healthy food - it doesn’t really tell you anything you didn’t already know, but neither does it really help you out very much. Also, it isn’t very easy to be objective about pride in your own life, seeing as how if you knew you were being prideful, you would no doubt change what you were doing.

In addition, a certain amount of pride is often a healthy thing - being defined by Merriam-Webster as “a reasonable or justifiable self-respect”. There is a part of pride that causes us to feel a belonging to a certain group, or look rightly with favor on some particular thing we’ve accomplished.

It isn’t in fact pride, but rather hubris that is often condemnable. It was seen as a crime in ancient Athens, and was often the predecessor to the tragic fall in Greek tragedies.

When we say “pride” we usually mean either hubris or arrogance - both of which are rooted in an exaggerated sense of self importance. In the Christian sense, I think truly the most insidious danger for each of us is perpetuated by the lie we call “The American Dream” - that if you work hard enough and long enough you can accomplish anything. With that societal cry in our ears, we begin to trust and believe so highly in our own merit and ability that we leave little room for God’s grace, and even in a social vacuum without realizing it, we fall victim to the most serious sort of Christian pride - one that doesn’t involve others, but only ourselves and God.

On an interpersonal level, I think often we confuse humility with self-deprecation. It is not humility to pretend we are less than we really are - it is perhaps false humility, but a better word might be dishonesty. Remembering Merriam-Webster’s definition, pride can be a reasonable or justified self respect. When Paul writes to the Romans, he cautions them to “not think of yourselves more highly than you ought” - something we often simply read to mean “don’t think of yourself highly”. I think Paul advocates a healthy and sober recognition of the gifts God has given each of us.

In Philippians, he writes what I think may be the key to balance - “Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others too.”

As I’ve thought and struggled the past few weeks, I think the place I am beginning to arrive is here: interpersonally, pride is not about denying who you are or the gifts God has given you so people feel more comfortable around you. Jesus certainly didn’t do that. Even though he gave up his divine privileges, he didn’t simply pretend to be “just another human” so everyone would like him. He performed miracles, spoke truthfully, and acted consistent to his character, and in fact, contrary to what we would like to think, there were no doubt people who considered Jesus a bit on the “prideful” side - “Who does he think he is? Only God can forgive sins!” (Luke 5:21).

On the other hand, just as we’re called to not think of ourselves more highly than we ought, so too we are called to not think of others as being less than ourselves, remembering that we are all truly equals before the Cross of Christ. We often take comfort in playing the comparison game, feeling that as long as we’re doing just a little bit better than somebody else out there, we’re at least not the worst. For many of us, I think interpersonal pride manifests itself less often in overvaluing our own gifts and achievements than in undervaluing the gifts and achievements of others. In pretending our gifts, talents, and accomplishments are more important than someone else’s, we lose perspective on the fact that all gifts, talents, and accomplishments exist only by the grace of God.

No matter who we are, hubris is our constant companion. Often it is so subtle we don’t recognize it. Even when we look at “prideful” people, there is usually a small part of us that says “I’m glad I’m not *that* prideful”, in turn making us just a bit more prideful than we were. Again and again, I am reminded of the words of Nietzsche - Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein. - “He who fights monsters must take care that he not become a monster himself. For when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you.”

At the the end of the day, when I evaluate myself and am tempted to look around at people who “aren’t quite as good” as I feel I am, I hope I am constantly reminded of this reality - that I am not very far from being any of those people; that there, but for the grace of God, go I.

To the Holy and Righteous God -

We have offended you and wronged you countless times, but you have forgiven us of our massive debt. Yet in our pride and selfishness, we refuse to forgive others, choosing to hold grudges and demand payment for debts we cannot collect.

Forgive our unforgiveness, and teach us to remember not only the debts we wish to collect, but the debts we owe.

We seek to honor your word, but often choose only the parts we want to hear, pretending you are silent when it is more convenient or more pleasant.

Forgive us for pretending we are better than we are, and teach us to be more honest with those around us, with you, and with ourselves.

We have ignored the cries of the desperate and hurting, forgetting you are the defender of the poor and oppressed. Like Ananias and Sapphira, we pretend to give more of ourselves than we really do.

Forgive our deception, and teach us to listen to those around us, and act with your passion.

We have placed our convenience above your commandments, forgetting the call of Jesus to love our neighbor as ourselves. We seek to rationalize ways around your will, refusing to follow in your footsteps unless we gain something, just like the crowds who came to Jesus because he gave them something to eat.

Forgive our greed, and teach us to release our own desires into your hands, and take up yours.

We have become proud and haughty, claiming to be the sole guardians of truth. We defend truth so much that we drive people away from your message of reconciliation.

Forgive our pride, and teach us to remember that we are only lowly servants in your kingdom - all honor and glory is reserved for you alone.

We are too often blinded to our mistakes and shortcomings. We pretend that all is well in our lives, and overlook sickness in our souls. We attempt to give first aid to those around us, but ignore the terminal illnesses we live with each day.

Forgive our myopia. Teach us to look first at the plank in our own eye, before we attempt to remove the speck from our brother’s eye.

For the places we fail but do not know, forgive us.

et iterum venturus est cum gloria
judicare vivos et mortuos
cujus regni non erit finis.
amen.