We sing, Holy, Holy, Holy. We say, “Yes, yes, it is good.” We are energized by what we see. And our private darkness is no great surprise. Who cares? Who cares where I am on the ladder of perfection? That’s an egocentric question. “Where am I?” “How holy am I?” become silly questions. If God can receive me, who am I to not receive myself – warts and all?
–Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs, p. 105
Photo: Buds and blue sky, South Riding, Virginia, March 21, 2025
This is part of what we learn from Jesus in this story: Most people don’t become Christ-followers because of our superior theological arguments. They come to church, and then faith, because someone befriended them and demonstrated the love and acceptance of Christ.
There’s a lot of hand-wringing going on today in Christian circles because church membership and worship attendance is dropping in the US. But there is no shortage of people who need to feel they are cared about as human beings, who need to be accepted, befriended, and loved.
— Adam Hamilton, Luke: Jesus and the Outsiders, Outcasts, and Outlaws, p. 92
Photo: Great blue heron, February 14, 2025
We have been unwanted, rejected, sent away with anger or with sadness at our rebellious streak. We have seen both glory and starvation, both beauty and pig pens, and we are coming home footsore and heartbroken. And before the words are out of our mouth, before our perfect speech is performed, God is cloaking our dirty shoulders in the best robe, slipping a ruby ring on our work-worn fingers, cleaning off the pig slobber to slip sandals on our feet, and declaring: I am so sorry you had to go, and I am eternally glad to have you back again.
— Emmy Kegler, One Coin Found, p. 8-9
Photo: Snow and lake, South Riding, Virginia, February 12, 2025
The feeder is empty again
and no one is claiming
that the birds are greedy
for taking what they pleased.
Look at how the fat, pink flowers
are weighing the end of each branch,
sucking nutrients into each velvet petal.
How selfish.
Nature hungers, takes, and needs.
God, why can’t I?
Blessed are we, learning to take
what we need.
Sleeping past our alarms.
Reaching for another helping.
Staying a little longer
when the evening is unwinding.
— Kate Bowler, Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day! Daily Meditations for the Ups, Downs, and In-Betweens, p. 19
Photo: Tree Swallow, South Riding, Virginia, May 21, 2024
We too are lost and dusty coins. We have gone unnoticed, rusted from others indifference, misspent and misused, and our friends and leaders did not see our neglect. But God, in big and little ways, has picked up a woman’s broom and swept every corner of creation. God, in big and little ways, has tucked up her skirts and flattened herself on the floor, dug through dust bunnies and checked every dress pocket. God has found us, dustier and rustier and without any luster, and held us up to the light to say: No matter how you rolled away or what corner you were dropped in, you are mine.
— Emmy Kegler, One Coin Found, p. 8
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, May 7, 2024
Your emotions are not wrong or bad
or lying to you or telling the full truth.
They are giving you a bit of data
that you shouldn’t ignore.
We love, and lose, and fall, and get back up,
and fail, and try again.
Your humanity is not an affront.
We are reminding ourselves that
this is who we are, how we’re made:
to feel the pain, the grief, the stress,
the risk, the fear, the heartbreak.
So, you beautiful creature,
here is your permission slip to feel it all.
To feel the joy and delight and excitement.
And the sorrow and fear and despair.
All the yellows and pinks, and violets and grays.
Because you are the whole damn sky.
— Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie, The Lives We Actually Have, p. 4-5
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 18, 2024
What I think, my fellow second sons, is that we were told the truth. This story is for us. We are the prodigal son. But we are also the lost and hungry sheep. We have gone unfed, walked without rest, been chased by wolves, and our friends and leaders did not see our pain. But God, in big and little ways, has donned a shepherd’s cloak and come running after us. God, in big and little ways, has clambered over rocks and climbed down cliffs. God has found us, hungrier and more hurt and terrified, and cradled us close to say: No matter why you left or where you went, you are mine.
— Emmy Kegler, One Coin Found, p. 8
Photo: Above Gundersweiler, Germany, June 14, 1998
That’s the funny thing about who Jesus has to be if he’s who we hope he is: He has to be able to out-love us. That means the scandalous dinner invite isn’t just for us, it’s for the people we despise, for those we disagree with, for everyone who pushes our buttons and boils our blood and twists our insides — and we have to be on board with that. Not only do we need to accept the fact that the table is wide open, but we have to be at the ready with a chair and an extra setting for those we find it most challenging to welcome. If you’re at all like me, you’ve spent a good deal of time and effort crafting what you believe is a compelling, air-tight case against breaking bread with certain people because of the message that would send to them. We don’t want people whose religion or politics or behavior are adversarial to ours to “get away with it” by giving them proximity or showing them generosity, and that self-righteousness feels good until we realize that someone somewhere is asking Jesus why he sits with us.
— John Pavlovitz, Rise, p. 18-19
Photo: Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 7, 2023
Your book’s going to have many flaws — just like you. And me. Good intentions and bad habits, brilliant days and sucky weeks, all swirled together. Isn’t it your flaws that make you interesting and complicated? If you are waiting until everything is perfect to write the perfect book, fine. But at least practice while you wait. Work on a not-perfect book, on a Good Enough book, in the meantime.
— Heather Sellers, Chapter After Chapter, p. 129
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, November 1, 2021
I wonder if you believe the table really is big enough for you, for those you love, for those you find difficult to love, for those who have little love for you. Because ultimately if you do, you have a decision to make: You’re either going to be a builder — or you’re not. You’re either going to deny yourself and take up the costly cross of sacrifice and keep seeking to come humbly, or you’re going to defiantly barricade yourself within your rightness and your righteousness and wait for the check to come. You’re either going to try to live as a selfless servant or look to die a spiteful martyr. I still do believe in the bigger table, but it’s more difficult than ever to keep that faith, probably because the resistance to it is so great. We have to be the resistance to that resistance. In the face of a loud hatred, we need to be a louder, more loving response. We have to become activists of goodness.
— John Pavlovitz, A Bigger Table, p. 173
Photo: Glendalough, Ireland, July 2001