Here we see the peril and the promise called-ones. The twelve come. They gather the stones at your feet. They heap those stones, stones of remembrance, stones your children’s children will ask about. But the names and the images of the called-ones are forgotten. They are wiped away like rough edges of stone in the bed of the Jordan. The
For me, as a Methodist, this is an important day to celebrate. It is important to tell the story of what God can do in a person’s heart, and because of that work, the world could be forever changed. As people who are walking the road of faith, let us point out particular places and stops along the way where
Orthodoxy gets a bad rap these days. At a time when distinction is seen as an evil – this or that, one or the other – orthodoxy is seen as presumptive, divisive and unwarranted. To say one thing is right or rightful is to deny the right or rightfulness of something else – an inconceivable vanity, a tired, predictable power-play
It is the season of punditry. So goes life as a U.S. citizen who belongs to The United Methodist Church. General Conference cycles match up with the presidential election cycle: every four years, we encounter heated tempers, technicolor bluster and threats to move to Canada. This year the hype in the United States is reaching near radioactive levels of intensity.
I have often said that the Methodist Wesleyan family is more than the sum of its parts. That is because when the family gathers it is a Revelation moment. People gathered around the throne of God, from every tribe and people group, every shape, size, color, and language. And God’s home is there, among the people.
Saint Paul was converted on the Road to Damascus; Al Green was made righteous off Interstate 5 near Disneyland.
The intercessory life is a pattern for our interior growth in prayer that is abiding in Christ, and the outward expression of a missional Christ life in the world. It is a dynamic balance of paying attention to our personal spiritual maturity, and the call of Christ to minister as servants in the world.
Today’s post is a compelling piece written anonymously by a successful pastor. The Ideology of a Cancer Cell I rarely have those moments I would unquestioningly call, “divine.” I’ve never been one to see the fingerprints of God on everything around me. So when something happens in my life that just seems divinely orchestrated, I have to latch on
On the day when we had the least amount of time to tend to the needs of others, we boldly said come join us.
I suspect sometimes that I live more out of a sense of obligation than awe — more aware that I’ve signed onto a system than that I am a servant of a holy God who has actually sapped the power out of death and sin. I need to be reminded that systems are not living, breathing things, but Jesus is.
So, why do we make this annual trek to mark Jeremy’s birth, death, Christmas, Easter and other special occasions? I guess somehow in the ritual of the rhythm of returning to the grave we find comfort as we remember. We seek closure. We find consistency. We seek to make sense out of a situation that otherwise makes little to no
But here at the site of the empty tomb is our leap beyond lip service. When we take up the mantle from Mary and open our mouth to the truth. There is something bursting below the surface. A little seed of germination. This is Easter…we are the outliers who believe that despite all the impossibility of being raised from death
Now that light has dawned, one cannot simply stand and look at a symbol of defeat and the past. New life has broken in and we are not allowed to just look; we are invited and commissioned to go and tell.
It seems, then, that God would not want anything bad to happen in the world, and he certainly has the power to stop them from happening. Yet bad things—unimaginably horrific things—happen every day. Over many centuries, philosophers and theologians have attempted to solve this problem by explaining why God would choose to create a world like ours, where humans
Today is April 16. Every year I write something in memory of my Mama Sarah and in honor of my mom, Maxine Stoddard. On this day 37 years ago, my Mama Sarah was murdered by my biological father; at that point, many lives were forever changed. She was murdered on my mom’s birthday (April 16) and buried on mine (April 18). You can read
The promise is not that we would be safe but that we would be faithful. The angel of God does not always spare us from tragedy or troubles, but enables us to look at tragedy troubles through different eyes.
I find myself walking in the semi-dark, friends clustered around me. Our hands are full, carrying materials to preserve a corpse. It was a long Sabbath. We were supposed to rest, so we did. But there’s no rest from thoughts of despair and grief. They follow you into every room you enter. Like we had followed Him. We saw the
We must be honest about our failures and sins. None of us lives up to the standards our faith demands. But this doesn’t mean we cease wrestling with and proclaiming the Word.
Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes, To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and
I confess that I don’t know that much about adoption. I used to tell my little brother that he was adopted—from the animal shelter. I have reaped the consequences of this in my own sons, as the generational dysfunction marches on. I remember lying in bed as an angsty teen, wondering what it would feel like to be chosen, wanted,
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