“Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.” –Philippians 3:19

Years ago when Carol and I were living in Boise, we made connections through the local Habitat for Humanity affiliate with a recently established Shia Muslim congregation. We received frequent invites to join them at their services, especially if some big event was taking place. The food was always amazing! One time we were invited to join the congregation in welcoming a visiting Imam from Texas, and I was given a place of honor next to him during the celebratory meal. As we were talking about our respective Abrahamic faiths, I remember turning to the Imam and saying, “You know, both Islam and Christianity share a similar threat: materialism.” He quietly nodded in agreement. Like Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians, the Imam’s message to his congregation was also to stand firm in the Lord and to not set their minds on earthly things.

Lord, my god is too often the belly, but with your help, I will never live as an enemy of the cross. I do believe my citizenship is in heaven, and that I will ultimately be conformed to the body of your glory. Amen.
-Michael Boss

“For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.” – Romans 10:12

One of the big fights in Paul’s epistles and the Acts of the Apostles was whether or not Gentiles (in this case, Greeks) had to satisfy the Jewish rules first before they could become followers of “The Way”. (Acts 11:26 tells us that Christians were not called “Christians” until Paul reached Antioch.) Should Greek men have to undergo circumcision? Do the Greek converts have to keep kosher? Are the Jewish converts to Christianity somehow a higher level because Jesus was a Jew?

The statement that “there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all” is comforting to me as a convert because it means that I’m “just as good” as cradle Episcopalians. I don’t have to do anything extra to prove that my faith is real, and I should not give in to the insecurity that I am somehow “less than” those who have spent their entire lives as Christians. My spiritual gifts are just as needed as everyone else’s, and I can feel confident in my quest to be the beloved child of God I was created to be!

We thank you, Lord, that you show no partiality and that you are the Lord of all and generous to all who call on You. Amen.
-Jen McCabe

“Whoever believes in [God] will not be disappointed.” – Romans 10:11

I’m struggling to find things to say for this Lenten series. The focus is “It is well with my soul,” and yet I don’t think it is. Although the country seems to be moving forward and sneaking out of pandemic life little by little, I’m stuck. Even when I am out and about, isolation and quarantine seem to accompany me. They’ve set up housekeeping in the quaint little dungeon that laughingly calls itself my brain or, to be more biblical, my heart. I want to “return home to Jerusalem ” like our biblical forebears heading home from their time in Babylon, and yet I find myself more in the company of foreboding than with forbearing. Still, there is a difference between what I feel and what is – between fact and feeling. There’s a wilderness of the soul where I find this struggle taking place.

I think I spend too much time wanting to be positive and aglow. I don’t know that I can really appreciate when life gets good without also embracing the times when life is dark, dismal, creepy, or unwell. I am an evangelical – a proclaimer of “good news,” but how can one rise into the glory of God unless one has experienced the slow slide beneath the waves aboard a sinking ship – a stinking ship?

I can’t. And yet … and yet God is there; God is always there in the deep darkness, the pits of hell, the foreign lands, and the house of sorrows. God is there to pull us out – the first and greatest of First Responders. Ultimately, then, I do not despair. It may not be well with my soul today, but it will be at another time, and that’s all I need to know.

God, it is not always well with my soul, but it is always well with you. Grab ahold of me and never let me go, I pray; I thank you God on this and every day. Amen.
-Fr. Keith Axberg

“The Scripture says, ‘No one who believes in him will be put to shame” – Romans 10:11

I wrote in the previous meditation on Paul’s affirmation of the way in which Christ opens up for us a path to understanding just how near God is to us and spoke of the practice of Centering Prayer as a way I’ve been taught to receive this nearness.

I wrote of this practice as “inviting God to inhabit us.”

Now, of course, God already inhabits us. As Paul told the Athenians during his visit there, “in [God] we live and move and have our being.” The practice of silence has the effect of bringing this truth home to me. As I quiet down and am aware of my breath, the beating of my heart, I am aware that these functions are involuntary. They just are. What Paul said to the Athenians is true.

The invitation to God to indwell us, then, is a way of consenting to God’s presence and activity in us, and a way of welcoming God into those depths of ourselves that we are so good at suppressing because consciousness of those depths goes along with shame. Who hasn’t felt unworthy because of family or social pressures to be someone we don’t perceive ourselves to be, or because we are aware of things we’ve done or left undone because of our own fault? Without the possibility of being deeply known and given what we deeply need; either deep affirmation of our worth or deep forgiveness for our faults, what joy can there be in our life?

Paul, echoing the prophet Isaiah, assures us that those who entrust themselves fully to God will not be ashamed. The practice of Centering Prayer, or some other form of invitation to God to live within us, goes along with an increasing awareness that God already knows us intimately, and this knowledge embraces the depths of us, depths where shame lurks. As Fr. Keating told us, the practice of contemplative prayer is a way of letting God love us, and in loving us, heal us. And in healing us, leave us more available to bring a healing presence into the world. It is, as he said, “Divine Therapy.”

This practice has sustained me and continues to sustain me through difficulties.

O God, unto whom all hearts lie open, unto whom desire is eloquent and from whom no secret thing is hidden; purify the thoughts of my heart by the outpouring of your Spirit that I may love you with a perfect love and praise you as you deserve. Amen. (from the prologue of The Cloud of Unknowing, anonymous)
-Fr. Jonathan Weldon

“The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.” – Romans 10:8b

When you’re down and troubled
And you need some lovin’ care
And nothin’, nothin’ is goin’ right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night.

You may recognize these lyrics from Carole King’s song “You’ve Got a Friend,” which hit the charts in 1971 when I was a junior in high school. The song was recorded that same year by James Taylor, whose version may be as well-known as Ms. King’s is.

Years later James Taylor told Rolling Stone magazine that King had told him that the song was a response to a line in Taylor’s earlier song “Fire and Rain.” That line was “I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend.” King’s response to that line is repeated in the song’s refrain:

You just call out my name
And you know, wherever I am
I’ll come runnin’
to see you again.

Paul writes to these Roman believers calling their attention to what he’s learned after his encounter with the risen Christ, which is that the living God is the God of Jew and Gentile alike. Rescued from a life of religious bigotry, Paul knows this God as near, as utterly gracious. God is as near as our impulse to cry “Help!” Paul invites his readers to trust the risen Christ and, invoking the name of Christ, make their own appeal directly and intimately to God.

Some years back I took time for a silent retreat to practice Centering Prayer, which is a way of silent sitting in the presence of God, inviting God to inhabit us. During that retreat, we had an hour with Fr. Thomas Keating. He assured us that this practice was not about achieving anything, or about performing something to impress God. It was simply a practice in which we try to let go of preoccupations and allow God to love us.

As I practice this prayer I can’t say that I always feel a strong sense of God’s presence. But the more I practice, the more I realize that typically it’s my distractedness that keeps me from this sense of the nearness of God. So I keep on, growing in trust that my distractedness does not negate the nearness of God.

God of the Silence: Calm and quiet my soul at the fount of your loving presence. In your silence, replenish me with a force for love, especially for those who are most demanding. When there is nowhere else to go, inspire me to drop into my heart and find your life-giving grace there, weaving the fabric of human reality into a tapestry of love. Amen.
-Fr. Jonathan Weldon

(Peter Traben Haas, Centering Prayers: A One-Year Daily Companion for Going Deeper into the Love of God.)

“…because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. “– Romans 10:9

As many of you know, I am a convert to Christianity, and I converted in high school through the Episcopal Church in Almaden (ECA). my local Episcopal church in San Jose, California. My path to salvation was windier than a mountain road, and one of the things that made things hard regarding the act of joining a church was that I thought I would be criticized for my non-Christian parents and how I had not managed to convert them. My friend Kyle finally told me to come to church with him, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the people at the ECA were much more concerned with loving me because I was “Jen” than they were with my ability to “win” my parents’ souls. My knowledge of the liturgy by heart comes from Winnie, the soprano I stood next to in the choir, and Fr. Nolan made sure I knew I could ask him *ANY* question. If he didn’t know the answer, he would find it for me. The church shared a building, Sunday school, and a music director with a UCC congregation, so I learned to play nicely with others through their example. By the time I left for college 18 months later, I could “confess with [my] lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in [my] heart that God raised him from the dead” because of their love and their example.

The relationship that the adults at ECA forged with me served as an example for when I became a pastor’s wife. Jon (my former husband) and I *ALWAYS* made an effort to foster good relations with our church kids, and that meant that I got to be a part of them figuring out what they believed and how that fit into the grand scheme of things. One of the most powerful moments for me was sitting with one of my more “inquisitive” Confirmation kids on Good Friday when everything “became real” for her. Many of my church kids are now very involved in their parishes as adults, and I am incredibly thankful to have been part of the process of forming their faiths.

Gracious God, thank you for those who help us along the way in forming our faith. Amen.
-Jen McCabe