Archives For Lectionary

In this episode of Strangely Warmed we tackle Exodus 16.2-15, Jonah 3.10-4.11, Philippians 1.21-30, Matthew 20.1-16:
What does it mean to be called by God?
Why are we humans so arrogant?
What does living in a manner worthy of the gospel look like?
These questions and more on this episode of Strangely Warmed with special guest Lindsey Baynham.

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Why do we skip over difficult passages? Can you have peace without violence? Why are the Coen Brothers SO good at making movies? How many times should we forgive? These and more questions on this episode of Strangely Warmed in which we discuss Exodus 14.19-31, Genesis 50.15-21, Romans 14.1-12, and Matthew 18.21-35.

Finally, don’t be a moocher:

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I was a guest on my friend Scott Jones’ Synaxis podcast to discuss the upcoming lectionary texts. We talk about Exodus 12 and the Passover, Romans 13, and Matthew 18 and why it’s hard to preach the Gospel from the Gospels.

Check it out here:

What is the Passover? Why is Ezekiel so weird? Is Christianity immoral? These and more questions on this episode of Strangely Warmed.
Taylor and I discussed Exodus 12.1-14, Ezekiel 33.7-11, Romans 13.8-14, Matthew 18.15-20.

Coming this week:

Look for a new regular installment called

(her)men*you*tics with my good friend, Dr. Johanna Hartelius.

Johanna is a professor of rhetoric, formerly at Pitt. For each installment of (her)*men*you*tics the guys will talk with *her* about a key theological term, what it means and why you should care in your daily life.
And we’ll do it in 25 minutes or less. You can check her out here.

Finally, don’t be a moocher:

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How important are our names? What should we remember about the past? What makes a holy kiss holy? These and more questions on this episode of Strangely Warmed with “special” guest Rev. Drew Colby.

The texts are Exodus 1.8-2.10, Isaiah 51.1-6, Romans 12.1-8, Matthew 16.13-20.

And stay-tuned, this week on Crackers and Grape Juice we have the preeminent Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, followed by two weeks in a row of David Bentley Hart. Coming up we have New Testament scholar Beverly Gaventa and liberation theologian Ruben Rosario Rodriguez.

And did I mention we also have a conversation with a Christian romance novelist coming up?!

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In this episode of the lectionary podcast, we talk about Genesis 28.10-19a, Isaiah 44.6-8, Romans 8.12-25, Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43.

Should the altar call come before or after the sermon? Is it better to be like the stars in the sky or the dust of the earth?

These and more questions on this episode of Strangely Warmed.

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In this lectionary conversation, Taylor and I look at Genesis 25.19-34, Isaiah 55.10-13, Romans 8.1-11, Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23.
What if we’re stuck with the soil we’ve got?
What if our entire lives are about wrestling with God?
These questions and more in this episode of Strangely Warmed.

One reviewer in iTunes recently thanked us, saying she “was starved for some adult conversation about what it means to live as a Christian in these times.”

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In this episode of Strangely Warmed, Taylor and I talk about passive aggressive behavior as the most common Christian sin, slut-shaming, a night of debauchery and violence in seminary (Should we continue in sin so that grace may abound?), and why the sacrifice of Isaac should not be read existentially because God is not a character in Abraham’s head.

The readings we discuss are Genesis 21:8-21 and Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17; Jeremiah 20:7-13 and Psalm 69:7-10, (11-15), 16-18; Romans 6:1b-11; Matthew 10:24-39

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The narrative of God’s self-disclosure is not going on in Abraham’s head! Paul asks what can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus BECAUSE THERE ARE POWERS AT WORK TO DO JUST THAT. Naming my Education Building after Donald Trump. Bar Trivia. All this and more.

Taylor and I crack our way into Ordinary Time discussing Genesis 18 and Romans 5 plus the other lectionary readings for this upcoming Sunday.

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We don’t even follow the lectionary in my congregation- I’m preaching Romans all summer- that’s how much we want to help you.

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Laugher, God as Fullness and Creation as Gratuity, and the Absurdity of Hell.

All of it comes as part of our conversation around the Trinity Sunday lectionary readings: Genesis 2 Corinthians 13:11-13, and Matthew 28:16-20.

We don’t even follow the lectionary in my congregation- I’m preaching Romans all summer- that’s how much we want to help you.

So share the love.

This podcast is growing and you can help it.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes. You can find it on our website here.

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At Ascension the creed shifts from the perfect tense to the present. Jesus sits at the right hand of the Father. As in this very moment. A statement intended not as referring to Jesus’ location but his vocation; that is, he’s been given dominion by the Father over the Earth as its rightful Lord and King. Or, as Stanley Hauerwas says, Jesus is Lord and everything else is bullshit.

Ascension Sunday falls on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend. Taylor & Jason discuss how the Ascension and Memorial Day can’t be juxtaposed to one another. This week’s lections include: Acts 1:1-11, Psalm 47 or Psalm 93, Ephesians 1:15-23, and Luke 24:44-53

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

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The danger in celebrating Mother’s Day in worship is that it can lull you into forgetting that singleness is the first form of the Christian life and, therefore, the Church is your primary loyalty.

Obviously, Taylor hates Mother’s Day.

For this latest installment of Strangely Warmed we look at the 5th Sunday of Eastertide readings with Brian Zahnd, pastor of Word of Life Church and author of A Farewell to Mars and Water Into Wine.

This week’s lections include: Acts 7:55-60, Psalm 31:1-5 & 15-16, 1 Peter 2:2-10, and John 14:1-14.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

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It’s either true or false.

This week we look at the scripture readings for the fourth Sunday in Eastertide, inviting Brian Zahnd back with us for the conversation. Brian is the pastor at Word of Life Church in Missouri and the author of Water to Wine, Beauty Will Save the World, and the forthcoming Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God.

This week’s lections include: Acts 2:42-47, Psalm 23, 1 Peter 2:19-25, John 10:1-10.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

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St. Luke tells of Jesus encountering a woman possessed by a spirit. She has been bent over, unable to stand up straight, crippled for 18 years. At least, bent-over and crippled is how her neighbors see her and, presumably, Jesus’ disciples. But at the end of the story in Luke 13, after the exorcism slash healing, Jesus proclaims her to be a “daughter of Abraham.”

The point isn’t so much Jesus healing her as it Jesus teaching his listeners how properly to see her. She was a beautiful daughter of Abraham even before Jesus freed her of the spirit. Such is the entire Gospel.

It’s about learning to see.

Despite having been told that Christ is risen, the two disciples on the way to Emmaus speak of Jesus (to the stranger who is Jesus) in the past tense: “We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.” Having been crucified, Jesus now belongs to past history.

In the moment their eyes are opened to him- and the passive voice is key, Jesus is the agent of the revelation and Jesus remains ever thus- they don’t simply see that it’s Jesus there among them. They see that Jesus does not belong to the past, or rather they see that the past history of the historical Jesus has invaded their present, that the Jesus of this Gospel of Luke is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Resurrection means that what is past now isn’t Jesus.

What is past is their lives lived apart from him.

In Luke’s Emmaus story, it’s not- as it’s so often interpreted from pulpits and altars- that the breaking of the bread opens their eyes or that the breaking of the eucharistic bread, magically or mechanistically, can open ours. It’s that Jesus, who is not dead, chooses that particular moment on the way to Emmaus to reveal his presence to them and that Jesus can freely choose still to reveal (or choose not to reveal) his presence to us.

The point of Luke’s story, which Karl Barth said was a lens through which the entire Gospel should be seen, is that these two Emmaus bound disciples do not deduce Jesus’ presence among them. They do not perceive it through their own agency. Jesus, risen and alive, is not only the head of the Church. He is its acting subject.

Disciples are not, in the evangelical parlance, those who’ve come to know Jesus.

Disciples are those to whom Jesus has made himself known.

As obvious a point as this may appear to you and as clear a takeaway as it is in Luke’s Gospel, post-cancer I’ve been convicted (I freaking NEVER use that word) by the extent to which my preaching, prayer, and pastoral ministry treats Jesus in the very manner those two Emmaus bound disciples do, as belonging to the past– distant in history and disappeared now to sit at the right hand of the Father.

Sure, every Eastertide I proclaim his resurrection and I’m even willing to posture apologetically to assert the historical plausibility of his resurrection; nonetheless, I treat his resurrection primarily as an event in the past and his ascension as his departure from earth to heaven, forgetting his Gospel-ending Easter promise: “Lo, I am with you always to the end of the age.”

I shouldn’t need to point out how such forgetting conveniently makes our Christianity no different than functional atheism, for it allows us to live in this world as if Jesus isn’t really, here and now, the Lord of it.

I’ve seen Jesus the same way the disciples see that bent-over woman such that those two Emmaus-bound disciples might as well have never sat down at table with the Risen Christ because I- we- still usually render him they way they did before supper. We study the Gospels as texts of what Jesus did, what Jesus taught, what Jesus said rather than proclaiming that Jesus, being very much not dead, still speaks and teaches and DOES.

To take one important example, we think of faith as something we do. Belief is our possession, we think. Faith is our activity of which we’re the acting subjects. We make a decision for Christ. We invite him into our hearts. But if Jesus is alive, if he reveals himself and open eyes on the way to Emmaus, if he confronts us behind our locked doors and summons out of us, despite our doubts, confessions like ‘My Lord and my God” then our faith is the act of the Risen Christ upon us. What Jesus does on the road to Emmaus is what Jesus only ever does still.

We don’t invite Jesus into our hearts.

The Risen Christ invades our hearts.

To take another important example, we think of the Church in such a way that effectively conjugates Jesus in the past tense the same way these Emmaus-bound disciples do.

This week in my little stream of the Church, the UMC, a Judicial Council is meeting to adjudicate the election last year of a gay bishop. How the UMC is structured just like the U.S. government and we think sexuality is our primary problem is a mystery to me, but my point is:

The UMC is fraught right now with speech about the “future of the Church” that in itself betrays a lack of resurrection faith.

Books like Rod Dreher’s Benedict Option portend ominously the demise of Christianity in the West while denominations ratchet up the pressure on pastors to play hero and arrest sobering statistical trends.

As my former teacher Beverly Gaventa says:

“We act as if the Christian faith itself were on life support and it’s our job to find ways of resurrecting it.

We act as if pollsters [behind the Pew Survey on Religion] were in charge of the world rather than simply being in charge of a few questions.”

The Church isn’t our work or creation. It is the means through which the Risen Christ works and creates.

To the extent we ‘see’ him to as he is, risen and alive and acting still, the Church- in some form or another-will always have a way forward.

 

 

 

In this installment of our lectionary podcast, we talk about Lazarus’ death breath and whether Jesus needed Mentos before he rose from the dead and breathed onto his disciples. We also ponder essential questions like ‘Would Jesus have netted himself better disciples had he used Tinder?’ We also talk about the bible and how to preach it.

Our guest again is Brian Zahnd, pastor of Word of Life Church and author of Water to Wine. This week’s lections include: Acts 2:14a, 36-41, Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

The Second Sunday of Easter is upon us and, with it, Doubting Thomas and Peter preaching resurrection in Acts 2.

Taylor and I talked with Brian Zahnd about the lectionary readings for Sunday, challenging him to ignore the Gospel reading and focus on the other readings instead. Brian is the pastor at Word of Life Church in St. Joseph, Missouri. He’s also the author of Water to Wine, Farewell to Mars, and Beauty Will Save the World. Check him out at www.brianzahnd.com.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

Easter Sunday, at least the 2nd or 3rd most important holy day of the Church year.

Taylor and I talked with Brian Zahnd about the lectionary readings for Easter Sunday, challenging him to ignore the Gospel reading and focus on the other readings instead. Brian is the pastor at Word of Life Church in St. Joseph, Missouri. He’s also the author of Water to Wine, Farewell to Mars, and Beauty Will Save the World. Check him out at www.brianzahnd.com.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

In this week’s installment of Strangely Warmed we talk about the Lent 5 lections with Eric Hall, Professor of Theology at Carroll College and the author of the Home-brewed Christianity Guide to God.

In this episode we talk about Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of the dry bones, Psalm 130’s cry of despair and rage, and Jesus groaning in anger and disturbed in the spirit before the grave of Lazarus.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

This episode of Strangely Warmed closes out our lectionary conversation with Stan the Man.

Taylor and I riff on oils and anointing, fixed-gear bikes, and Jesus praying Psalm 23 (‘prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies’) during Holy Week. Stan reads to us from one of his sermons on this week’s lectionary texts and clearly enjoys his own jokes!

Eric Hall will join us next week to close out Lent, Tony Jones will dish with us on Holy Week, and we have Brian Zahnd teed up for Eastertide.

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

This upcoming Sunday’s lectionary passage from Romans 5 includes verse 9:

“Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God.”

Like many upper middle class mainline Protestants, which is to say white Christians, I’ve long taken issue with the concept of divine wrath, believing it to conflict with the God whose most determinative attribute is Goodness itself. Whenever I’ve pondered the possibility of God’s anger I’ve invariably thought about it directed at me. I’m no saint, sure, but I’m no great sinner either. The notion that God’s wrath could be fixed upon me made God seem loathsome to me, a god not God.

We commonly suppose that Christianity is primarily about forgiveness. Jesus, after all, told his disciples they were to forgive upwards of 490 times. From the cross Jesus petitioned for the Father’s forgiveness towards us who knew exactly what we were doing. Forgiveness is cemented into the prayer Jesus taught his disciples.

Nonetheless, to reduce the message of Christianity to forgiveness is to ignore what scripture claims transpires upon the cross. 

The cross is more properly about God working justice. 

The most fulsome meaning of ‘righteousness,’ Fleming Rutledge reminds readers in The Crucifixion, is ‘justice’ understood not only as a noun but as an active, reality-making verb. Though righteousness often sounds to us as a vague spiritual attribute, the original meaning couldn’t be more this-worldly. Justice, don’t forget, is the subject of Isaiah’s foreshadowings of the coming Messiah. Justice is the dominant theme in Mary’s magnificat and justice is the word Jesus chooses to preach for his first sermon in Nazareth.

To mute Christianity into a message about forgiveness is to sever Jesus’ cross from the Old Testament prophets who first anticipated and longed for an apocalyptic invasion from their God.

And it’s to suggest that on the cross Jesus works something other than how both his mother and he construed his purpose.

Rather than forgiveness, we see on the cross God’s wrath poured out against Sin with a capital S and the upon the systems (Paul would say the Powers) created by Sin. On the correspondence between Sin as injustice and God’s wrath, consider Isaiah’s initial chapter:

What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt-offerings… bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me. I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doing from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow…

Therefore says the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts, the Mighty One of Israel: Ah, I will pour out my wrath on my enemies, and avenge myself on my foes! I will turn my hand against you…

Christianly speaking, forgiveness is a vapid, meaningless concept apart from justice. The cross is a sign that something in the world is terribly wrong and needs to be put right. The Sin-responsible injustice of the world requires rectification.

Only God can right what’s wrong, and the cross is how God chooses to do it. God pours out himself into Jesus and then, on the cross, God pours out his wrath against Jesus and, in doing so, upon the Sin that unjustly nailed him there.

Summarizing the prophets’ word of divine wrath in light of the cross, Rutledge writes:

Because justice is such a central part of God’s nature, he has declared enmity  against every form of injustice. His wrath will come upon those who have exploited the poor and weak; he will not permit his purpose to be subverted.’

Despite the queasiness God’s wrath invokes among mainline and liberal Protestants, it has been a source of hope and empowerment to the oppressed peoples of the world.

The wrath of God is not an artifactual belief to be embarrassed over, it is the always timely good news that the outrage we feel over the world’s injustice is ‘first of all outrage in the heart of God,’ which means wrath is not a contradiction of God’s goodness but is the steadfast outworking of it.

The biblical picture of God’s anger is different from the caricature of a petulant, arbitrary god so often conjured when divine wrath is considered in the abstract. ‘The wrath of God,’ Rutledge writes, ‘is not an emotion that flares up from time to time, as though God had temper tantrums; it is a way of describing his absolute enmity against all wrong and his coming to set matters right.’ Put so and understood rightly, it’s actually the non-angry god who appears morally distasteful, for ‘a non-indignant God would be an accomplice in injustice, deception, and violence.’

Maybe, I can’t help but wonder, we prefer that god, the one who is a passive accomplice to injustice, because, on some subconscious level, that is what we know ourselves to be.

Accomplices to injustice.

 

Perhaps that is what is truly threatening to so many of us about a wrathful God; we know that the bible’s ire is fixed not so much on the hands-on oppressors as it is against the indifference of the masses.

As Rutledge points out:

 ’,,,in the bible, the idolatry and negligence of groups en masse receive most of the attention, from Amos’ withering depiction of rich suburban housewives  (Amos 4.1) to Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem (Luke 13.34) to James’ rebuke of an insensitive local congregation (James 2.2-8).

As Brett Dennen puts it in his song, ‘Ain’t No Reason,’ slavery is stitched into every fiber of our clothes. We’re implicated in the world’s injustice even if we like to think ourselves not guilty of it. Rutledge believes this explains why so much of popular Christianity in America projects a distorted view of reality; by that, she means sentimental. Our escapist mentality protects us not just from the unendurable aspects of life in the world but also from the burden of any responsibility for them.

Such sentimentality, however popular and apparently harmless, has its victims. I’m convinced we risk something precious when we jettison God’s wrath from our Christianity. We risk losing our own outrage.

Fleming Rutledge’s The Crucifixion might’ve convinced all on its own:

 ‘If, when we see an injustice, our blood does not boil at some point, we have not  yet understood the depths of God. It depends on what outrages us. To be outraged on behalf of oneself or one’s own group alone is to be human, but it is not to participate in Christ.

To be outraged and to take action on behalf of the voiceless and oppressed, however, is to do the work of God.