Author: trob

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector [Luke 18:9-10, a portion of the the Gospel lesson appointed for this upcoming Sunday, the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C (Luke 18:9-14)]. We’ve likely heard the parable contained in this week’s Gospel lesson many times. In fact, we’ve maybe heard it too many times. In it, the Pharisee and the tax collector go up to the Temple to pray, and we know—before Jesus even finishes the story—how it’s going to…

Genesis 32:22–31 I’ve been waiting by this river. Watching him send everything across— the flocks, the wives, the children, all the wealth he bargained for. Everything he owns goes ahead to meet the brother he betrayed. He thinks he’s being clever, sending gifts in waves to soften Esau’s anger. He thinks he’s buying safety with his sheep. But I see what he doesn’t see yet— he’s been stripping himself down, sending away every shield, every distraction, until finally, there’s nothing left between him and what he fears most. He thinks he knows what’s coming. Twenty years he’s rehearsed it— what he’ll say to Esau, how he’ll bow, how he’ll beg,…

Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” — Luke 17:15–18 Jesus speaks these words—part of the Gospel reading (Luke 17:11–19) assigned for this upcoming Sunday, the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL Year C—with a peculiar edge. Not quite anger—more like astonished disappointment. Ten men healed. One returns. And Jesus doesn’t speak to the Samaritan…

The righteous live by their faithfulness — Habakkuk 2:4b The Present Grief On August 27, during a morning mass attended by students at a parochial school adjacent to Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, a 29-year-old shooter killed two children and wounded others as they prayed. On September 10, Charlie Kirk was assassinated at Utah Valley University. Last Sunday, a man attacked a Mormon church in Michigan, killing four, wounding others, and bombing the building itself. We watch the news footage—shattered glass, police tape, grieving families—and the questions rise unbidden: How long, O Lord? Where were you? Why didn’t you stop this? We’ve become almost numb to such headlines, haven’t we?…

Alas for those who are at ease in Zion, and for those who feel secure on Mount Samaria. Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches, and eat lambs from the flock, and calves from the stall; who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp, and like David improvise on instruments of music; who drink wine from bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils, but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph! Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile, and the revelry of the loungers shall pass away (Amos 6:1a, 4–7). After wrestling last week with…

First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity [1 Timothy 2:1-2]. What happens when the pursuit of peace collides with the demands of godliness? After four weeks with the prophet Jeremiah and last week’s meditation on Jesus’s parable of the lost sheep (and the lost coin), I turn to the epistle reading from First Timothy [1 Timothy 2:1-7, the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C]. One of the three so-called Pastoral Epistles, this letter addresses young church…

“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” – Luke 15:4 [part of the Gospel reading for this upcoming Sunday, the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C]. Jesus posed this question to Pharisees and scribes who were grumbling about his dinner companions—tax collectors and sinners who had drawn near to hear him teach. The religious leaders found his table fellowship scandalous, his choice of company questionable. So Jesus told them a story. As was His practice, He began with a question—essentially, “Which one of…

The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: “Come, go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him [Jeremiah 18:1-4, from this Sunday’s Old Testament reading, the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C]. While on my recent pilgrimage to Turkey, in the ancient region of Cappadocia, my fellow sojourners and I encountered a potter’s workshop that seemed to exist outside of…

For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water [Jeremiah 2:13, a portion of the OT reading for this Sunday, the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C]. Thirty feet beneath the streets of Istanbul, we descended into one of the most breathtaking spaces I’ve ever encountered. The Basilica Cistern, built in the sixth century to serve Constantinople, stretches across nearly an acre of underground chambers. Three hundred thirty-six columns rise from the shallow water like an ancient forest, their capitals supporting graceful arches that disappear into shadows. Soft lighting…

Now the word of the LORD came to me saying, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations” [Jeremiah 1:4-5]. There was a moment, early in my mother’s womb, when there wasn’t really a “me” at all. There was just “us” —my identical twin, Todd, and me, completely and utterly conjoined, sharing the same cellular beginning, the same genetic blueprint, the same dark, warm universe that would nurture us both. We were, for that brief time, one flesh in the most literal sense possible. But then something mysterious happened. Somehow, in ways…