O Root of Jesse, Who standest for an ensign of the people, at Whom kings shall shut their mouths, unto Whom the Gentiles shall pray: Come and deliver us, and tarry not.

O Lord and Ruler of the house of Israel, Who appearedst unto Moses in a flame of fire in the bush, and gavest unto him the Law in Sinai: Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

O Wisdom, Which camest forth out of the mouth of the Most High, and reachest from one end to the other, mightily and sweetly ordering all things: Come and teach us the way of prudence.

I’ll bet you have and didn’t realize it! Most people erroneously call it A Charlie Brown Christmas. Or maybe it’s a conspiracy. I mean, the marketing seems to be devoted to the idea that it’s a Christmas special! Wikipedia is even in on it.

How is Jesus’ kingship, or our understanding and experience of it, shaped by Jesus’ encounter with Pilate one Sunday and readings about impending doom the very next? The Daily Office readings give us one sense of how to negotiate this space by backing up the story to Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem.

The story of Esther teaches us to use status in wise, clever, and good ways: to protect those that need protecting; to be courageous in the face of uncertain times; to be shrewd in moments of instability and change; to be thoughtful, careful, and persuasive as the norm, rather than irrational, headstrong, and shrill like the egomaniacal Haman.

In the process of writing a sermon for a funeral this week I thought a lot about what it means to be remade in Christ’s image. The deceased’s family picked Matthew 18 as the first reading, an unusual but terrific decision. Jesus says there, “unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” 

This got me thinking about what we’re becoming. By we, I mean disciples of Jesus: people who have accepted that they stand as sinners in need of God’s forgiveness; people who recognize that they are powerless to bring about the kind of change in themselves that will truly matter; people who have heard and believe that God loves them regardless of their powerlessness. 

What happens to us when hear and believe this?

Christianity is a way of life, an opportunity to be with Jesus. At its heart, Christianity simply offers Jesus. 

Thinking about different options for "formation" offerings for the Fall, I've been reading a couple great books, one of which I just finished. The Apostles' Creed by Ben Myers, an Australian theologian and acquaintance of mine, is an outstanding read.

I don’t know about you, but when I read about Paul’s vision of heaven, the first thing I wonder about is not what Paul saw, but what that thorn in his side was.

If Paul were with us today, I’d ask him why he shared that rather personal bit of information about himself. My imagination digresses into all the different possibilities for what might have ailed the apostle.

It seems like it was serious. Paul’s metaphor carries with it something more than just a minor annoyance. In fact, it sounds like it bothered the hell out of him. He was desperate to be rid of it.

When I think about the work of a college chaplain, I envision someone a bit less enigmatic and a lot less physical than Mr. Miyagi, but the principle remains. What people need, what I need, is not a spiritual boss to tell them what to do, how to vote, what to eat, drink, or wear. Instead, what we all need is help and companionship.