Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

The following meditation was written by Rev. Catherine Cavazos Renken, pastor at Kirkwood Presbyterian Church in Kennesaw, Georgia.

The Lord responded, ‘Is your anger a good thing?’” Jonah 4:4

I am in the middle of preaching a sermon series called “Disputing with God.” I have been studying passages of Scripture where people of faith engage in arguments with and critiques of God. At first, I found their audacity uncomfortable. How much nerve they must have had to talk to God that way! But after a month of exploring their prayers, I have found them more and more relatable.

The most dramatic of these disputants is Jonah. God commands him to go preach repentance to the wicked city of Nineveh. Jonah refuses and flees in the opposite direction. God sends a storm and a great fish, and after three days in the belly of the creature, Jonah arrives at Nineveh and does the bare minimum: one line, not even into the heart of the city. “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

The Ninevites repent anyway. The whole city, comically thorough in their sincerity, drapes sackcloth on their livestock. God relents and spares them. And Jonah is furious.

With bitterness dripping from his tongue, Jonah’s prayer in chapter four is unnervingly bold. He doesn’t thank God for the rescue, or praise the Lord for the mission, or express relief that his own life was spared. He complains. He tells God he knew this would happen. He knew God was merciful, and that is precisely why he didn’t want to go. He would rather die than watch his enemies receive grace.

To understand why, we need a little history. Nineveh was the capital of the Assyrian empire, a brutal imperial power that had terrorized the region. By the time the book of Jonah was written, the Jewish community was suffering the consequences of Assyrian aggression: the Assyrians, spared by God’s mercy in Jonah’s story, would go on to attack Judah and force the people into exile. Jonah’s grief, then, carries the weight of a community that suffered at the hands of the very people God just forgave. His anger at God’s mercy is covenantal grief. It is the cry of a people asking: if you are on our side, Lord, how could you let this happen?

There are seasons of prayer where what rises to the surface is not pretty, and maybe not even appropriate for public worship. I see this in my congregation regularly. People who are furious at what is happening in the world, furious at God for what seems like divine silence or indifference, and they do not know what to do with that anger in a church pew. Some of them quietly stop coming. They assume that their rage disqualifies them from the sanctuary, that God requires a tidier emotional state before they can show up. Others come and sit with their hands folded and their feelings locked down, going through the motions because they don’t believe there is room here for what they are actually carrying.

There is a lot of anger out there right now. Some of it is grief in disguise. Some of it is exhaustion.

What I have learned from Jonah, and from my own seasons of complaint, is that this anger is not the opposite of faith. It is, in a strange way, a form of it. You do not argue with someone whose existence or power you doubt. You argue with someone you believe is capable of doing something about it. Jonah’s rage is directed at God precisely because he knows God is real, present, and capable. His anger is a prayer. An ugly, sulking, petulant prayer, but a prayer nonetheless.

The Lord does not rebuke Jonah for praying this way. God asks him a question: “Is your anger a good thing?” It is a gentle challenge, an effort to bring Jonah into the conversation rather than let his anger fester in the heat alone.

Prayer can hold our disputes, our confusion, and our accusations. The God who endured Jonah’s complaining for four chapters is the same God who can receive yours.

If you find yourself unable to pray anything beautiful today, pray anyway. Bring the anger. Bring the question you are afraid to ask. Bring the indignation that something has gone terribly wrong and you want someone to answer for it. The Lord, it turns out, can handle it.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Rev. Susan Sparks, senior minister at Madison Avenue Baptist Church (American Baptist) in New York City.

Recently, I got to wondering what it would be like to FaceTime God. You know, like when we FaceTime our friends or family with a real-time video image on our smartphones. If we did this with God, who would we see?

In a way, prayer is like FaceTime. We bow our heads or close our eyes, ring God up, and perhaps an image pops into our mind.

Growing up, I was pretty clear that God looked like an old-timey western gunslinger. Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter, maybe? And why not? The scriptures I remember hearing were ones like Deuteronomy 28:22: “The Lord shall smite thee with consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee until thou perish.”

Yup. High Plains Drifter.

And the images I was exposed to in church didn’t help. Every Sunday, this scary judgmental God stared back at me from the stained-glass windows surrounding our pew. On the right-hand side near the front was a depiction of God drowning Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea. On the left-hand side was a very unhappy Jesus hanging on a cross. The window in the back had God destroying the world with a flood. This was not a God you wanted to annoy.

Think about your own upbringing. What holy images did you learn to see? What do you see now? Is God male or female? Black or white? How old is God? If God talks back, what does God sound like? Does God speak English or Spanish or Farsi? What is God wearing? What is God doing while you pray? Reclining in a chair or a throne? Taking notes or staring out the window?

None of us is born with a genetic code or microchip that has “the” image of God. From birth on, we gather information from sources such as our families, our religious upbringing, and our culture to construct our own personal view of God.

Why does this matter? Because the image of God we use in prayer drives how we engage with God.

For example, most of our liturgy today is couched in male language—specifically, father language. This is not necessarily a problem unless it is the only language we use. When God is father, we tend to project all the parental baggage around that term onto God. And if God is mother, we do the same.

Think of how you communicated with your mother versus your father. There were probably things you felt more comfortable telling one than the other. One parent may have encouraged more of a “yes,” “no,” or “maybe” interaction, and the other an intimate conversation for hours. Thus, our prayers may be very different based on which image we use.

And that’s just gender. What if you imagine God as a young person versus an old person? Or as someone of a different race or culture? What if you imagine God as someone who smiles and laughs? Or as someone who cries with you during prayer?

We all know that God is beyond titles or descriptions. But it is human nature to want to imagine or “see” God during prayer. As you pray and “FaceTime” God this week, try to open yourself up to new images of God you haven’t considered. You may well discover a level of intimacy and honesty you didn’t know was possible.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Thomas K. Tewell, retired pastor and founder of Macedonian Ministry Foundation.

If you had to spell the word PRAYER from your own experience, how would you spell it?

Some people spell prayer P-R-E-S-E-N-C-E, because they see prayer as a doorway into the presence of God. Others spell prayer R-E-L-A-T-I-O-N-S-H-I-P because they see prayer as a way of cultivating a dynamic relationship with the living God. There is not one right way to spell prayer!

But I spell prayer Y-I-E-L-D-I-N-G, because I see prayer as relinquishing my will to the greater will of God. I came to this understanding of prayer when, in my study of the New Testament, I learned that the only thing that Jesus’s disciples ever asked him to teach them was, “Lord, teach us how to pray.” After spending three years of their lives with him, the disciples did not ask Jesus to teach them to heal the sick, or to perform a miracle, or to use everyday stories to teach Godly truths. They did not ask him to teach them how to overcome fear. But the one thing they asked him to teach them was. “Lord, teach us how to pray!”

The disciples believed that prayer was Jesus’s power source. He prayed before he invited the disciples to follow him, and he prayed before he raised Lazarus from the dead. He prayed at all the major moments in his life . . . and he prayed early in the morning as the Gospels say, “was his custom.” After being with him for three years, the disciples realized that prayer was his lifeline and the anchor for his soul.

And the disciples remembered that in the Garden of Gethsemane outside Jerusalem, on the last night of his earthly life, he fervently prayed this prayer, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me, yet not what I want, but what you want.”.[1] When Jesus asked God that he might be spared from the cross, he added but not my will but thine be done! Jesus yielded his personal will to God’s greater will. This is why I spell prayer Y-I-E-L-D-I-N-G. This is the essence of prayer. It is submitting my will to God for daily guidance so that I am open to focusing on God’s will and not simply my own desires.

This is why my daily prayer posture is that of open hands. Years ago, when I was praying intensely for something, I looked down. I saw that my hands were clenched in two fists. I felt God saying to me, “ Tewell . . . you are not open to me and my will. You are preventing me from giving you what I want to give you because you have closed your hands. You are not open to receiving my gifts. God had to pry open my hands over time, and I started to open my hands so that God could take things out of my hands that are blocking me from God . . . and God can put into my hands anything that God wants to give me. This prayer posture of open hands is a game changer!

When I open my hands to God, I start to see life from God’s wider perspective. As author Madeleine L’Engle wrote, “people have a point of view. God has view!”[2] From God’s wider perspective, I start to see that God has a bigger agenda for my life and the lives of others than I imagined. So, my job as a disciple of Jesus is to get my will in line with God’s greater will, and my limited agenda in tune with God’s wider agenda. This, as I see it, is the purpose of prayer. It is what I mean by Y-I-E-L-D-I-N-G to God! As this well-known quote, attributed to preacher Dr. Lloyd Ogilvie, pointed out, “the purpose of prayer is not to change God’s mind but to receive God’s mind.”

When we pray in the name of Jesus, we are asking Jesus to “sign his name to our prayer.” If there is anything in that prayer that is not in tune with God’s will, then we are asking Jesus to correct our thinking so that we are in tune with the greater will of God. This is an important part of Y-I-E-L-D-I-N-G to God’s greater will. Prayer is a mystery. God doesn’t answer prayer on our timetable or in accordance with our desires. Prayer is not something that is easily figured out. God has purposes for events and experiences in our lives that are greater than we can imagine. This is why we must constantly Y-I-E-L-D to God!

Prayer is a mystery. It is a reminder that God’s ways are bigger than our ways. Some years ago, a single parent in a congregation I served as pastor was struggling to make ends meet. His dream, and his ardent prayer, was to buy his son a bicycle at Christmastime. The man hoped that he would receive an end-of-the-year bonus from his company that would allow him to splurge on the bike that his son desperately wanted. About a month before Christmas, the single Dad was riding alone in an elevator in the office building when his boss got on. My friend asked his boss how the end of the year was looking and if he thought there might be an end-of-year bonus that year. Although the boss said that he could not promise anything, the firm was in the process of closing a big deal that would be finalized in a week. It might make the bonus the biggest that the company ever had! Wow! My friend, the single Dad, was ecstatic!

In his enthusiasm, the Dad went to the store that night to look for a boy’s bicycle for his son. As he entered the store, a group was outside collecting money for a local homeless ministry. The church I served also had a ministry to the homeless, so my friend gave a little extra to the homeless ministry. He filled out a card with his name, address, and phone number on it so the homeless ministry could thank him for his gift. Then he entered the store to shop for a bicycle, but he could not find one that he liked or could afford.

It was fortunate that he couldn’t find a bicycle that night. Several days later the boss announced that the contract had fallen through and . . . Alas . . . there would be no year-end bonus. That meant no bicycle for his son. My friend was crushed. He tried to think of any possible way to get a bicycle for his son that Christmas . . . but it seemed that there was no way!

On December 20, he got a phone call from that Homeless Ministry to which he donated money, indicating that he had won a raffle. My friend said that he never entered a raffle. But the Director of the Homeless Ministry corrected him and said that when he gave that contribution and signed a form, he had unknowingly entered a raffle . . . and he won a prize! When he asked the Director of the Homeless Ministry almost as a throwaway question . . . ” What is my prize?” the Director replied, “Your prize is a boy or a girl’s bicycle.”

God didn’t answer my friend’s prayer in a way that he would have expected! Prayer is a mystery! I don’t understand how prayer works . . . but I do understand this. That God loves us more than we can imagine. And that is why God doesn’t want any of us to miss the relationship and the presence of God that God offers us in prayer. So that is why in my own prayer life I am daily Y-I-E-L-D-I-N-G to God’s greater will . . . because I know that our God has more in store for us than we can ever imagine. And I don’t want anyone to miss knowing this God . . . the God revealed in Jesus Christ! Do you?

Joy,

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[1] Matthew 26:39

[2] L’Engle, Madeleine. “CT Classic: Madeleine L’Engle on Allegory and Prayer.” Interview by Cheryl Forbes. Christianity Today, September 7, 2007. https://www.christianitytoday.com/2007/09/madeleine-lengle-allegory-prayer-wrinkle-time/

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Remember the Sabbath day and treat it as holy.” Exodus 20:8 (Common English Bible)

I took driver’s education classes the summer after my 10th grade in high school, when I was just barely fifteen years old. I still remember a day when three of us students were in a car with the instructor, going through drills. It was one of the first times we had been allowed out of the high school parking lot and onto a public road. One student was behind the wheel, the instructor was in the passenger seat, and the other two of us were in the backseat. Somehow the student who was driving managed to stall the engine right in the middle of a busy intersection. Traffic was whizzing by left and right. Cars behind ours were ignoring the “Student Driver” bumper sticker and impatiently blowing their horns. But, the young man behind the wheel sat there as leisurely and calmly as if he were on a lounge chair at the beach. Very casually he reached into his back pocket, withdrew a handkerchief, blew his nose, folded the handkerchief carefully, and returned it to his pocket. The driving instructor, a high school basketball coach not known for being soft and fuzzy or particularly patient, looked like his head was going to explode. Finally, he yelled, “What are you doing?” (Being honest, the language he used was not nearly that polite.)

Looking back on that experience, I see a fair amount of comedy in it. However, I think there is also some wisdom if you look for it. Sometimes in the busy intersections of life, surrounded by fast-paced traffic on both sides and carrying weighty expectations from others, perhaps one of the best things we can do is simply to pause. To rest for a moment. To sit quietly as the world goes by, allowing ourselves simply to breathe. The fourth commandment to honor the Sabbath is an instruction to do just that. It is located right in the middle of the other nine Commandments, much like an intersection between dictums about honoring our behavioral covenant to God and honoring our behavioral responsibilities to people.

The Hebrew word is Shabbat (שַׁבָּת), which means a day (time) of rest and renewal. It isn’t about blue laws or what one can or cannot do on Sunday (or on Saturday, if you observe the Hebrew Sabbath). It was never about any of that. Shabbat is essentially about self-care, about pausing now and then to refuel and regenerate. No matter how exorbitant gasoline prices are as I write this meditation, the simple truth is that I have to pay them. If I do not refuel my automobile, it will eventually cease to move. That very same principle applies to us. All work and no play, no rest, no stillness, not only makes Jack a dull boy, but in time can make him a dysfunctional one.

I often advise people, “Whatever brings you joy and peace, as long as it’s moral and legal, do it . . . as much as you can . . . as often as you can. That will empower you to do all the other things the world expects (and often demands) of you.” “Self-care is never a selfish act,” wrote Palmer Parker. “It is simply good stewardship of the only gift I have, the gift I was put on earth to offer others.”[1] You cannot provide to those who need you that which you have denied yourself.

So, if it’s golf or Mah Jong, swimming or fishing, Pilates or Yoga, hiking or gardening, painting or playing music, reading a book or going to the movies, volunteering in a helping agency or attending church, wherever you find your place of peace, spend time there. And do it often. “Remember the Sabbath . . . and treat it as holy.” It is, in fact, “holy” because God created it for you—a time to rest amid the rushing traffic of life, to reflect and refuel, to pray and play, to find peace in the now and power for the future. God wants you to take good care of you. Remember and honor Shabbat, because both it and you are holy.

Joy,

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[1] J. Palmer, Parker J. Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2000), p. 4

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Don’t fear, I am with you.” Isaiah 43:5a (Common English Bible)

A line frequently attributed to Victor Hugo is: “Go to sleep in peace. God is awake.”[1] If you’re reading this meditation before turning out the lights, then those words (whoever wrote them) should be comforting to consider. If you are reading this, instead, at the breakfast table before beginning your day, the words are just as comforting with only a minimal amount of editorial revision: “Live your day in peace. God is awake.” Present. With you, moment by moment, step by step.

The second section of the Book of Isaiah (referred to as Deutero-Isaiah) was written near the end of the Babylonian captivity. Some people from Israel had been enslaved by Babylon and forced to live there for seventy years. They feared, of course, that they would never again see their holy land and home, that they would never again resume life as they had once known it, that they would never again breathe the sweet aroma of freedom. Isaiah 43 speaks of their liberation (their new exodus) that was soon to come. It’s all part of an extended passage beginning in the 40th chapter with the words “Comfort, comfort my people!”(Isa 40:1). They will be led back home, said Isaiah, safely through rivers that ordinarily would have pulled them under and over dry land that feels like fire beneath their feet but does not burn them. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you . . . Don’t fear, I am with you.” (Isa 43:2, 5a)

Feeling caught in life’s deep waters and wondering if we will be dragged under is an emotion all of us, from time to time, experience. On those occasions, fear is a natural and predictable response. Our faith does not tell us those moments won’t come. It simply tells us that the waters will not pull us under because there is someone with us in the deep end of the pool, holding us up.

My dad was always my hero. I learned more lessons from him than there is time or space to recount here. Most of those lessons live on with me day by day. In my relationships, in my work, in my faith, he is there. When he was rushed to a local emergency room, I hurried to get there to be with him. Sadly, I arrived too late. He had died en route. As I stood outside a treatment room where his body lay, about to go in and say a goodbye I wasn’t prepared to say, a male nurse wrapped an arm around my shoulder and spoke: “It’s okay. Go on. Both of your fathers are in there.” Both fathers—the dad who had left for another place, but also the one Jesus called “Father,” the one who had made a promise to the Israelites and also to me and you and all who need to hear it, a promise to remain close in all our difficult times and places, in all our Babylon moments: “Don’t fear, I am with you.”

What current struggle are you going through, something that you don’t feel prepared or able to adequately deal with? What Babylon has you momentarily captured? Whatever it is, God whispers to you about presence. About nearness. About being beside you on the journey. The Hebrews were not yet back to where they wanted to be. What lay before them seemed long and intimidating. But Isaiah assured them that God would get them through the deep waters and over the hot deserts, at last successfully reaching their desired destination. That is a promise made to us, as well. And God never goes back on a promise. “Don’t fear, I am with you.”

Joy,

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[1] Attributed to Victor Hugo, often quoted in English as: “Go to sleep in peace. God is awake.” The fuller version – “Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones … go to sleep in peace. God is awake” – circulates widely, though a definitive primary source is difficult to verify.

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“‘Do you believe because you see me? Happy are those who don’t see and yet believe.’” John 20:29 (Common English Bible)

United Methodist preacher, Anita Taylor, says that Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances in a locked room where the disciples were hiding are more multi-layered than we often interpret them to be.[1] Ten disciples (not including Thomas, who was out at the time) were present on the first occasion when Jesus appeared. Later, they reported with excitement, “We’ve seen the Lord!” (John 20:25b) So, faith was present in them, and, via their testimony to Thomas later when he showed up, faith was also expressed through them. However, they were still hiding behind locked doors, still afraid that those who had crucified Jesus would come for them. So, we find both faith and fear in the story. Presumably, Simon Peter was present both times. That introduces yet another emotional dynamic: guilt. He had been the last possible witness for the defense on the night of Jesus’ illegal trial before Caiaphas. But when the heat was on, three times Peter denied even knowing Jesus. Clearly afterward, he carried with him the guilt of having failed his Lord.

Then, of course, the account talks about Thomas, whom we call “the doubter” (yet another emotion in the mix). When the other disciples reported Christ’s first appearance to them, Thomas basically accused them of group hysteria brought on by the toxic mix of grief (from losing Jesus) and terror (that they, too, would be arrested). So, Thomas told them he couldn’t possibly believe such a wild story unless he saw it with his own eyes. Obviously, of course, joy would also have existed within the group gathered in that room. And surprise. And renewed belief. Thomas fell before Jesus and worshiped him. (John 20:19-29) Anita Taylor was correct in her assessment that this biblical lesson from John is multi-layered. She was also clearly on target when she concluded that the story teaches a truth of deep value: “Jesus meets us where we are.”[2]

“I am struggling with guilt from something I said or did that I cannot unsay or undo.” Jesus comes to you there, offering the gift of grace. He meets you where you are.

“I am heartbroken by grief. There’s a hole inside me with someone’s name on it, and no other person can fill that space.” Jesus comes to you there with comfort sufficient to fill whatever space is empty. He meets you where you are.

“I am struggling with temptation, and sometimes it is so strong I don’t know if I can continue to resist.” Jesus comes to you there with understanding and without judgment, providing moral strength to rise above whatever Isle of Sirens[3] is calling. He meets you where you are.

“I believe, but not with the same sense of assurance or certainty that many others seem to possess. I feel a lot like Thomas, who was plagued by doubts.” Jesus comes to you there, accepting and affirming whatever level of personal faith you may have at the moment and promising to lead you gently and gradually into deeper waters at your own pace. He meets you where you are.

“I am angry,” or “depressed,” or “frightened,” or “fatigued,” or “lonely.” Whatever the description of your life or emotional landscape may be, Jesus comes to you there. He loves you as you are. He meets you where you are. That’s part of what we mean when we speak of our faith as “good news.” We are not judged or rejected. Instead, we are loved and accompanied. He meets us where we are.

Joy,

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[1] Taylor, Anita, from a sermon entitled Locked Doors, April 19, 2026 (https://vimeo.com/1182394144)

[2] Op. Cit., Taylor

[3] Homer, The Odyssey, trans. Robert Fagles (New York: Penguin Classics, 1996), Book 12; the “Isle of Sirens” refers to the legendary location in Greek mythology where the Sirens lured sailors to their destruction with enchanting song

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“I have other sheep that don’t belong to this sheep pen . . .” John 10:16a (Common English Bible)

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Psalm 139:14 (New International Version Bible)

Earlier today my wife and I walked our dogs through Old Salem (a historic village in our city that still exists as it did in the late 1700s—a Moravian version of Williamsburg). Tourists were ambling around. The coffee shop, bakery, and cafes were bustling with people. Students from Salem College were packing their cars to return home for summer break. Other students from Salem Academy (high school) were making their way to and from class. There were village workers all about, dressed as if they had just stepped out of a time warp from two and a half centuries ago. And everywhere you looked were children from various elementary schools, gleefully following (or running ahead of) their teachers on Friday field trips.

As we passed one of the groups of elementary school children, a little girl (maybe seven or eight years old) asked if she could pet our dogs. We have two Cavaliers. The child was sweet and gentle with our pets. When she stood up all smiles from having showered them with affection, she said to me: “We have a dog exactly like yours. Except it’s a different breed.” Exactly like . . . except different. Maybe she was referring to a similarity of size. Or color. Or markings. Or simply the fact that her dog, like ours, enjoys having its ears scratched.

Exactly alike despite differences. “Breed” is a word that, aside from distinguishing types of dogs or cats, has been sorely and hurtfully misused across the years. “Mixed breed.” “Half-breed.” “Ill-bred.” In every case, it is a slur, a vocalized bias indicating that someone considers someone else to be “less than.” To a group of Pharisees who felt morally and ethnically superior to pretty much everyone else, Jesus said, “I have other sheep that don’t belong to this sheep pen . . . They will listen to my voice, and there will be one flock, with one shepherd.” (John 10:16) In other words, to paraphrase that school child, all people are alike, equally valued, whatever breed/flock/group they may come from.

 If you ever feel unworthy or inadequate, especially when contrasted to someone else you think has or is more, remember what the Bible says about your life: “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (Ps 139:14 NIV) You are God’s creation, God’s handiwork. You have been carefully fashioned (“wonderfully made”). There is no one else in all the world quite like you, meaning that you are literally one of a kind. In the arena of art, something like that would be called “a masterpiece.” So, you are God’s masterpiece.

 And if we are ever inclined to judge or dismiss someone else because he or she is different from us, we should not forget that masterpieces come in all shapes and shades and sizes. “Other sheep I have which are not of this fold.” (John 10:16 NKJV) Just as lovely. Just as important. And just as valued by the Shepherd.

Over half a century ago the recording artist, Ray Stevens, soared to the very top of the Hot 100 record charts with a song entitled Everything is Beautiful. An occasional phrase in it reminds listeners of how many years have passed since the song was written (e.g., not many folks worry any longer about the length of someone’s hair). But, its sentiment remains sound and biblical. Among the lyrics are these:

Everything is beautiful
In its own way
Like a starry summer night
Or a snow covered winter's day

And everybody's beautiful
In their own way
Under God's heaven
The world's gonna find a way

There is none so blind
As he who will not see
We must not close our minds
We must let our thoughts be free

We shouldn't care about the length of his hair
Of the color of his skin
Don't worry about what shows from without
But the love that lives within

Everybody's beautiful
In their own way

Stevens, Ray. Everything is Beautiful (Ahab Music Publishers, Barnaby Records, 1970)

We are all “wonderfully made.” Never think less than that about yourself . . . or about anyone else. God’s fingerprint is on our lives.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Peter said, ‘I don’t have any money, but I will give you what I do have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, rise up and walk!’” Acts 3:6 (Common English Bible)

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”[1] Those words of Frederick Buechner speak about the happy marriage between personal joy and sacred purpose.

I sometimes ask the students in my university classes to share aloud something they enjoy doing. The answers are as wide and varied as one would expect. “I enjoy playing the guitar.” “I enjoy hiking.” “I enjoy reading.” “I enjoy gardening.” “I enjoy tennis.” “I enjoy just hanging out with my friends.” “I enjoy going to the gym.” I keep waiting for some student to respond someday, “I enjoy taking this class.”

After they have given their answers to the first question, I return to each student and ask a second one: “How can what you said you love doing be of service to the world?” Usually, the answers to that question come more slowly. Some will just shrug their shoulders and reply, “Beats me!” But others will respond thoughtfully. The one who loves playing the guitar will ponder and, at last, begin to imagine accompanying singers in a worship service or entertaining residents in a nursing care facility. The one who enjoys reading will reply that she could tutor elementary school children or volunteer in a library. The one who loves working out at the gym begins to talk of volunteering at a rehab center to assist people going through PT. The one who enjoys just hanging out with friends confesses that he could be a more supportive companion or a more empathic listener. Where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.

Peter and John were going into the Temple in Jerusalem at 3:00 in the afternoon. At the Gate called Beautiful, they encountered a man who had been crippled since birth. He had been carried to the Temple, presumably by friends or family, in order to ask worshipers for financial assistance. When Peter and John were walking through the gate, the man called out for a gift. Peter replied with words that we clergy have been using ever since: “I don’t have any money!” (Apologies – I just couldn’t resist.) “I don’t have any money,” Peter said, “but I will give you what I do have.” Thereupon, he dove headlong into his deepest passion, which was telling others about Jesus. “At once his (the lame beggar’s) feet and ankles became strong. Jumping up, he began to walk around. He entered the Temple with them, walking, leaping, and praising God.” (Acts 3:1-10) The source of deep gladness for the disciples met the deep hunger of the crippled man, and joy and praise were the results.

Happiness (in the broad sense of the word, i.e., discovering meaning and fulfillment) comes from an experience of accomplishing a noble or sacred purpose. There are things I enjoy doing that also meet the needs of others. Connect the dots. It’s a simple and foolproof prescription for happiness. Such as I have, I give. What I enjoy, I share with others. And when that enhances their lives, all parties find reason for “walking, leaping, and praising God.” (Acts 3:9)

Sit with my students for a moment. Listen to the questions and ponder: “What do you enjoy doing?” “How can that be of service to the world?”

Joy,

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[1] Buechner, Frederick. Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), p. 95.

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil because you are with me.” Psalm 23:4 (Common English Bible)

“He was everything to me.” You hear her words choked out while she wipes away tears. “I am absolutely lost without him.” Of course she is. They were high school sweethearts or college classmates. They spent their entire adult lives together. Houses, children, a stint in the military, and a family business—all combined efforts. Always “we,” never just “me.” Perfect examples of the biblical words “a man leaves his father and mother and embraces his wife, and they become one flesh.”(Gen 2:24) Suddenly, half of her very self is gone. “I am absolutely lost without him.”

An aged woman sits at her kitchen table, her eyes clouded with grief. She has just returned from the memorial service for her son, a man who died in his late sixties. His mother is in her early nineties. But her words are the same that young mothers use when they lose a small child: “A parent should not outlive their children. It’s unnatural. How do I survive this?”

In his mid-50s, a man walks away from his business for the last time. He had invested everything in making it successful—his time, his energy, his long days and weeks and years, his financial resources. For a while, the business had carved out a meaningful niche and served the needs of a loyal clientele. But a large chain store opened nearby, selling the same goods at reduced prices. Online competition made shopping easier and more economical. COVID changed the marketplace. At last, the ice was too thin, and the business he loved so much went under. “I have bills to pay and responsibilities to meet,” he says. “I’m too young not to work, but too old, tired, and heartbroken to start over.”

“For years I hated my parents,” a student confesses, “because dad changed jobs at the close of my junior year in high school. We moved to a town where I knew nobody and felt like a nobody. I thought he could have said no to the job offer. I thought my mom should have intervened. Instead, I walked away from everything and everyone that I had cherished my entire life.”

All those are voices of grief. You know the stories. Perhaps you have lived the stories. Loss is one of life’s inescapable realities. And the pain that follows is severe and often indescribable. After the losses he experienced, Job asserted that it would have been better for him not to have been born at all. (Job 10:19) Those who suffer deep losses know what Job was talking about.

So, what is the response of faith when grief has you in its cold grip? David’s words in Psalm 23:4 say it well: “Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil because you are with me.” That single verse provides two suggestions for coping with and resolving grief.

[1] “Even though I walk through . . .” We are not abandoned in the valley of the shadow, to dwell and hurt there forever. Grief is for a season, but not for a lifetime. We are designed eventually to make it through. The journey may be long and difficult, but grief is not a permanent parking place. Through.

[2] “You are with me . . .” The journey of grief is not one we have to make alone. That was the final promise Jesus made to his disciples before ascending into heaven. “Look, I myself will be with you every day . . .” (Matt 28:20) Wherever we go, whatever we face, however burdened we may feel, we are not condemned to carry life’s weight alone. Jesus did not promise to magically make all our pains and tears vanish. But he did promise to journey beside us “through the darkest valley” until the sunlight shines again. With.

Grief is an undeniable reality of living and loving. Thankfully, an undeniable reality of faith is that Christ will carry us through grief and will be with us every step along the way. In his caring presence, we discover sufficient strength to survive and sufficient power to move forward.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“My little children, I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.” Galatians 4:19 (Common English Bible)

The wonderful author, Anne Lamott, wrote in Traveling Mercies:

“Carolyn Myss, the medical intuitive who writes and lectures about why people don’t heal, flew to Russia a few years ago to give some lectures. Everything that could go wrong did; flights were canceled or overbooked, connections missed, her reserved room at the hotel given to someone else. She kept trying to be a good sport, but finally, two mornings later, on the train to her conference on healing, she began to whine at the man sitting beside her about how infuriating her journey had been that far. It turned out that this man worked for the Dalai Lama. And he said—gently—that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born.”[1]

Paul told the Galatians, “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.” Immediate struggles hinted at joy or victory that was on the way. And isn’t that often the case in life? As the psalmist observed: “Weeping may stay all night, but by morning, joy!” (Ps 30:5) Hardship frequently precedes happiness and is often part of the recipe that produces it.

Think of valuable life lessons you have learned that were born of disappointment or discomfort. Betrayal by a friend or a romantic partner you believed in taught you crucial lessons about how fully, how quickly, and how wisely you would surrender yourself to someone in the future. The pain gave birth to a healthier understanding of trust. An accident that could have been tragic, but fortunately was not, taught you lessons about concentrating when behind the wheel. The pain gave birth to a healthier understanding of carefulness. A poor grade in an academic course affected your GPA and perhaps put in danger your plans for attending a specific grad school. The pain gave birth to a healthier commitment to scholarship. A lie thoughtlessly told was found out. You were embarrassed (and possibly even chastised by close acquaintances). The pain gave birth to a new commitment to Integrity. Even in the grief that followed the loss of a loved one, the pain gave birth to a deeper appreciation of friends and family members who are still with you. According to Paul, deeper understandings of Christian faith, and its claims upon our lives, are likewise born of the pain of acknowledging the gap that exists between what we profess and what we practice. “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.”

So, what are you facing at this moment in your life? What trial or temptation? What hardship or heartache? What loneliness or loss? What fear of fatigue? What are you going through that is painful? A wise coping mechanism is to evaluate whatever the issue may be by asking the question, “What good could eventually come of this?” “What can I learn from this situation?” “Will I allow it to make me bitter or better?” “How can I use this experience to equip me for the living that is yet to come?” Pain is wasted on those who refuse to learn. But for those who trust in God’s sustaining and mentoring presence, every struggle may be a birth pain of something beautiful yet to come. “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.”

Joy,

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[1] Lamott, Anne. Traveling Mercies (New York, Anchor Books, 1999), p. 107