To befriend death, we must claim that we are children of God, sisters and brothers of all people, and parents of generations yet to come.
New Times - Faith
From whom do you need forgiveness? What have you done? Have you hurt someone you love? Does the guilt or shame gnaw at you? Have you caused pain and anguish? Are you trapped in the wreckage of your actions with no visible means of escape?
The older we become, the more we realise how limited we are in our ability to love, how impure our hearts are, and how complex our motivations are.
I love the beauty and wonder of the natural world. Somehow the things I worry about feel smaller when I’m wandering in nature.
Are we lacking a daily prayer life or have we elderly relatives in nursing homes whom we never visit? Try and figure out what more we can do to gain eternal life and then put together a plan to do it.
In many of Jesus’ stories, he uses excellent illustrations to point out who and how we are called to be God’s people.
In this earthly life, we walk around blind to much of the world. While many of us are blessed to have all our senses, it isn’t until one or more of them are compromised that we become more in tune with both the light and the darkness surrounding us.
I have many favourite passages in the Bible. The whole of Mark’s gospel is one of them. Matthew’s gospel (aside from the gnashing of teeth) is another. I also cherish the ancient hymn fragments embedded in the New Testament, such as the Colossians hymn 1.15-20.
In all the bewildering maze of religions and faiths in the contemporary world competing for the allegiance of human persons, Jesus Christ stands solitary and supreme. He was genuine through and through. He was what he claimed to be.
It’s been reported that two out of three Australians think that religion does more harm than good in the world.
We can understand why people who are victims of oppression, violence, war, abuse, or terror of any kind, want the evil that caused their pain, eradicated. This is as true today as it was in the first century.
The kingdom of God, Jesus said, is moved by a disrupting power. But not the kind of power that needs an empire or an army. The kingdom of God disrupts the way a mustard seed disrupts.
As I have lived most of my church life primarily in Anglican and ecumenical settings, I have to admit to some bemusement about the annual marking of the Uniting Church’s founding.
Jesus came and stood among his disciples and said peace be with you, then he didn’t try and hide the mark from the spear on his side. He didn’t wear gloves to conceal his scars. Jesus came and stood among his disciples and said peace be with you then he showed them his hands and his side.
Trinitarian theology says that true power is circular or spiral, not so much hierarchical. It’s here; it’s within us. It’s shared and shareable; it’s already entirely for us.
When the Holy Spirit arrived on the first Pentecost, it was not a quiet event; the sound was as if a great wind (breath) filled the room in which the disciples had gathered in their uncertainty and fear.
Prayer and action can never be seen as contradictory or mutually exclusive. Prayer without action grows into powerless pietism, and action without prayer degenerates into questionable manipulation.
The Christian belief in the Trinity says that God is absolute relatedness. God is our word for the ultimate ecosystem that holds all things in positive relationship (see Colossians 1:17).
For a long time I didn't really understand the necessity of prayer. Why pray if what God wants to happen will happen? Why pray if it doesn't impact the actual world and people we actually live with?
Our passage continues Jesus’ offer of comfort to his disciples. He is in the middle of breaking the unwelcome news that they will soon be without him.