Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

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

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

“You will love your neighbor as yourself.” Mark 12:31 (Common English Bible)

At a lovely gift shop in Banner Elk, North Carolina, I saw a needlepoint plaque containing these words: “I said, ‘Lord, forgive me.’ He answered, ‘I will if you will’.”

When a teacher of the Mosaic Law asked Jesus what commandment was the most crucial, Jesus replied that loving God was first, and that loving one’s neighbor as one’s self was next in line. “You will love your neighbor as yourself.” Without changing a single word in that second commandment, but simply by rearranging them, it becomes clear that self-love is a biblical command. Not self-absorption. Not arrogance. Not conceit. Not “my way or the highway.” Nowhere in scripture are we told that our lives are to take precedence over others who are also created in God’s image and by God’s love. However, neither are we told that we are less important than anyone else. In fact, we are clearly commanded to appropriately love ourselves. Respect ourselves. Care for ourselves. And that involves, in fact, requires that we forgive ourselves.

“The tension between the harsh super-ego and the ego that is subjected to it is what we call the sense of guilt; it expresses itself as a need for punishment.”[1] In those words, Freud articulated the destructive power of unresolved guilt—“a need for punishment.” I have long believed that guilt can serve only one of two purposes. It is either (a) a classroom or (b) a prison cell. It either teaches us how to live with meaning, dignity, and compassion, or it imprisons us to such an extent that the discovery of meaning, joy, and peace is impossible.

Think of a person who cheated on an exam in college and, thirty years later, still castigates himself for having done so. Think of the woman who spoke a harsh word to an acquaintance who is now deceased. She cannot retrieve the moment. There is no way to make amends. And so she lives with an unresolved gnawing self-recrimination that never goes away. Think of the spouse who was once unfaithful and, though forgiven by husband or wife, never feels worthy of that forgiveness or love. Those people limp their way through life, burdened by a memory of failure. That is guilt as a prison cell. Contrast that to the biblical model of self-love. That model interprets past actions as lessons to be learned for future successes. The dishonest student learns that no one can effectively cheat their way through life. There are no shortcuts as professionals, spouses, or parents. The person who spoke harshly realizes the power of words and, thus, develops into one who uses words to lift up rather than tear down. The unfaithful spouse recognizes the cherished status of marriage and commits him or herself to making the most of a second chance. That is guilt as a classroom.

Once the lessons guilt has to teach have been learned, our faith says we are challenged to let it go and move on. Lay it at the foot of the Cross and move forward. That’s what grace is about. It is about accepting the gift of a joyful future that God offers free of charge. Doing so requires appropriate self-love (i.e., forgiving yourself). The Christian doctrine of Atonement teaches that Jesus took our guilt to the Cross on our behalf. To insist on retaining that guilt diminishes the sacrifice of love he made for us. “I said, ‘Lord, forgive me.’ He answered, ‘I will if you will’.”

Joy,

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[1] Freud, Sigmond. Civilization and Its Discontents (1930), trans. James Strachey (New York: W. W. Norton, 1961), p. 84

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

“‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem . . . how often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.’” Luke 13:34b (Common English Bible)

My first bicycle was a red Schwinn. No gears. No hand brakes. But it was a thing of beauty to a little boy on his seventh birthday. Our family lived in a house with a long driveway going downhill to the street below. Across the street was an undeveloped piece of property, separated from the road by a deep ditch.

I had learned to ride a bike (or, so I thought) by pedaling around on one that belonged to my cousin. His parents restricted us to their driveway, which was paved and flat. In that safe confinement, you couldn’t build up much speed, nor did you have trouble applying the brakes. When my parents gave me the new Schwinn, it could just as well have been a Lamborghini to me. It was the most beautiful vehicle I had ever seen. As I hopped on, my dad told me to stay on the flat area of the driveway next to the house. But, where’s the adventure in that? I was a competent cyclist, a master of the two-wheeled beauty. So, ignoring wise advice, I turned and headed down the hill toward the street below. That’s when I realized that braking on a flat surface at a slow speed was an entirely different thing than braking on a steep decline at an accelerated speed. It was many years ago, but I still remember the mix of adrenaline and fear as I rocketed toward the street below, wondering why the brakes didn’t seem to be having much effect. Thank God there happened to be no traffic!

Off the driveway I went, into and across the street, and then airborne for just a moment until my new bike and I came to an inglorious halt in the ditch on the other side of the road. My parents had come running behind me. Dad lifted the bicycle from the ditch while mom lifted me. Neither the bike nor the rider suffered any serious injury. I was more embarrassed than harmed. I do remember that the scolding I expected did not occur. Instead, my mother lifted me into her arms and held me as I cried. I was safe. Forgiven. Loved. She gathered me into her love “just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.”

Jesus used that maternal language to describe the emotions he felt for Jerusalem and all that it symbolized. He was a rabbi. He knew that the Holy City was a living and visible reminder of the life and history of Israel. Somehow, within it lived the whole story of “God’s chosen people”[1], its journeys and trials, its previous exiles into foreign lands and its current occupation by a foreign captor, the legacies of its kings and prophets, its poetry of faith contained in the Psalms, its sincere but often failed efforts to honor the Law of Moses, its hopes and dreams and sorrows and tears. Jesus loved that history, he loved those people, as a mother does who gathers her child into her arms and sympathizes and comforts.

All of life’s surfaces are not smooth, flat, and easy to navigate. There are downhill slopes that we feel incapable of traversing. Frightening experiences or alarming crises occur, increasing in speed and intensity, and we have no brakes to slow them down. Sometimes, like the victim in The Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), we find ourselves feeling bruised, bleeding, and beaten in one of life’s ditches. It is then, Jesus promised, that he comes to us, that he is with us, that he gives us strength not our own to survive the moment, and that, like a loving parent, he holds us close until the pain has passed. Kyrie Eleieson, we pray. “Lord have mercy.” And he gathers us into his healing arms.

Joy,

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[1] References to the theme of the selection of Israel and of the New Testament Church for a special and intimate relationship with God can be found in Deuteronomy 7:6; 1 Peter 2:9

The following meditation was written by Grace Cameron Hood, Director of Children and Family Ministry at First Presbyterian Church of Delray Beach

“Now we see a reflection in a mirror; then we will see face-to-face. Now I know partially, but then I will know completely in the same way that I have been completely known. Now faith, hope, and love remain—these three things—and the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:9

There are so many titles to describe our life. In the midst of all the angst, thrills, and monotony of our lives, God steps in to help us understand our true “Working Title”:

Cross Carrier

Saved

Man/Woman of Prayer

Follower

Servant

Includer

Courageous

Learner

Intercessor

Believer

Lover

Giver

The list goes on. Each title describes who we are and maybe even alludes to what we should be doing. It is through our devotional life of immersing ourselves in the Scriptures and communing with God through prayer that we come to understand who we truly are and what we are called to do. Barbara Brown Taylor, in her book Always a Guest, describes the journey of what our “Working Title” could be in her address to Millbrook Baptist Church entitled “How to Lose Your Life Every Day.” Maybe we should be called “Losers” as we turn our lives around, lose ourselves, and live by some very easy and simple guidelines. Be genuine, serve others, be humble, put others first, honor and encourage others, hate what is evil, work hard, be joyful, patient in troubles, pray always . . . [1]Stop! Too much! Does this list reflect the life we are living? Is this the content of our lives? Which actions take us from “Working Title” to “Final Title?” It is clear that immersing ourselves in a relationship with God centered in prayer, worship, the Bible, and service are some of the actions that develop the plot of our lives.

The wonderful thing about our relationship with God is that we are living with a “Working Title”. 1 Cor. 13:12 reminds us that our journey is a dim representation of our whole, an incomplete version of who we are. These words of hope spur us on to love more fully, give more deeply, pray more fervently, serve more joyfully. What we do now is indeed a “Working Title.” Our “Final Title” will be Good and Faithful Servant.

Joy,

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[1] Taylor, Barbara Brown, “Always a Guest”, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Kentucky, 2020, Pages 61-69