Fellowship of Saints and Sinners


Rowan Atkinson on marriage and the presence of “The Holy Goat”

It’s been a while since my last “retreat” at the monastery. The last time I was here, I was on deadline to finish the manuscript for my first book Grace Sticks. So I holed myself up in one of these rooms with a cheap bottle of red wine I had snuck in, and over the course of several days furiously wrote and re-wrote more “shitty first drafts,” (one of Anne Lamott’s many helpful prescriptions to wannabe writers), in a last-ditch effort to spare myself the anticipated shame of my editor’s first reaction.

That was more than two years ago now, which apparently is long enough to forget the lingo of this place …

Relearning the Meaning of Things …

“Are you going to the office?,” the bearded Cistercian brother who checked me in asked in a gravelly voice.

After discovering my room key was not in the small pile of keys for late-arriving guests, and nervously double-checking my iCalendar to confirm I had the right day of arrival, I had called him a bit sheepishly at the “emergency number” on the door to the now-boarded-up room that housed more of those awkward, clunky keys. He had appeared within minutes, offering words of reassurance that Patty, the woman who answered phones and had taken down my reservation during daytime hours, had told him I was coming.

His question had taken me by surprise.

“Uh, is there an office here?,” I asked, imagining some little room with fluorescent lights, computers and a fax machine, overseen by a librarian-like monk in shy, gruff tones.

“Oh, no, it’s just that some retreatants like to attend the services in the chapel,” the monk said, kindly overlooking my Amelia Bedelia moment. (One saving grace at this juncture was that he had been prepared for some cluelessness about how things work around here by the admission that I was once a Presbyterian pastor.)

We exchanged a few more words — about the pope, about “weird Presbyterian theology” like “double predestination,” and about AA, recovery and the writing life.

Still, I left that exchange with the realization that when I’m here I often become a female version of Mr. Bean, one reason being how easy it is to forget the appropriate religious lingo. (Just think Mr. Bean as nervous wedding officiant in “Four Weddings and a Funeral.”)

… And the Promise and Peril of Silence and Solitude

The other reason is the self-imposed silence here, which takes some getting used to.

It’s not that I don’t love the silence or seek it out and find restoration from its embrace — I do — but something about it also makes me feel a bit silly and uncomfortable, like an eighth grader who just got braces and who knows those new metal laces across her teeth are good for her but isn’t so sure about wearing them just yet.

For example, in the absence of a “hello” or “good morning,” acknowledging the presence of another visitor here seems to call for some form of additional compensation. In the form of a bigger smile maybe, or the more exaggerated nod of a head.

And during mealtimes in the silent company of others, I’m careful to avoid squirting honey on my bread. Some poor guy made that mistake at breakfast this morning and sounded like he was passing gas.

The geese on the pond last night sounded better as they honked their goodbyes and made off in formation: one big “V” that broke off into two smaller “v’s,” and eventually a dotted line on the horizon. I was almost alone then, excepting one lone duck and a stray cat on an adjacent picnic table, and something about this fragile enclosure of solitude and the delicate beauty of a stillness I had grown so unaccustomed to — had almost forgotten existed, in the relentless movement of life’s many distractions, as noisy as they are meaningless —made the tears rush to my eyes.

Last night, as I lay in bed drifting off to sleep, my demons momentarily came out (as they are inclined to do when there are no sounds or distractions). They scampered about mischievously, throwing spitballs, but this time only briefly, before I managed to stuff them in some drawer.

By then I was drifting off to sleep, having read these words from Psalm 130:7: “Put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and him is full redemption.”

This morning I’m savoring some final moments of silence before I make the drive home. This time though, when I put my key in the ignition, I won’t immediately turn the radio to NPR or 94.1. I’ll want to prolong the silence, and I’ll be thinking about how to spend more time at “the office.”

deadhorse_cartoonAt the risk of beating a dead horse — can anyone help me understand where that awful expression comes from, by the way? — this piece takes a new angle on the whole Ashley Madison scandal. What does an eye-opening dearth of female users on the marital infidelity website reveal about married women who cheat?, I wanted to know in my capacity as a full-time writer with Elements Behavioral Health (EBH). (EBH oversees a family of addiction recovery programs nationwide, including one at The Right Step, for women with co-occurring intimacy and substance use disorders — hence this piece.) Enjoy — and have a great Labor Day!






ashley-madisonWithin a few hours of its appearance here at this intersection between God and life, my last post on the Ashley Madison scandal had a total of one share.

“It must’ve been something I said,” I told my husband later that night, as we were getting into bed.

When I checked in yesterday, reader shares had gone from one to 1,000.

It must’ve been something I said.

“Your post did sound like an apology for Ashley Madison,” my husband had remarked — at which point he launched into an argument about why signing up for an account on Ashley Madison was intrinsically more morally problematic than a more accidental case of falling in love with someone else. Wasn’t there a clear difference between intentionally seeking out an affair and falling into one?

He has a point. “Life is short. Have an affair,” reads the tagline on the Ashley Madison website after all. If that doesn’t play as much to someone’s intentions as to their inner teenaged child, I’m not sure what does.

That said, drawing such distinctions is at best marginally helpful. At the end of the day, adultery is adultery, whether it’s falling in love accidentally or signing up to do so (or to avoid doing so) online. Either way, you’re still making choices that have deeply painful, even tragic consequences.

But what do you think? Is there utility in drawing such a distinction?



ashmadFor those of us saints and sinners who even remotely have been following last week’s Ashley Madison scandal, I can think of at least three lessons it offers (and you may have more, in which case feel free to leave them below):

1. Chances are you will be found out. 37 million Americans with personal accounts on Ashley Madison seem to believe otherwise — or did before last week. But if you’re trolling Craigslist ads looking for anonymous, kinky sex without all the inconveniences of love, there is always that possibility that so-and-so knows your mother’s best friend from college whose daughter is in your spouse’s pilates class.

And they just had coffee last week.

And if you’re building your kamasutra playbook online, without the fall-out of the next morning when your spouse gives you that look that says “I’d rather organize my sock drawer than try that move again,” you might want to think again before signing up to try out your trick on nice strangers. Someone will eventually catch you with your— ahem— “hand” in the cookie jar: something along the lines of “What’s in the dark will be brought to light,” maybe…

2. Shame kills. The fall-out from last week’s hacking has been lethal: some people have allegedly committed suicide after learning that intimate details of their private lives have now become the exotic and titillating digestive material of a national (and international) conversation. And when embarrassing details about your messy private life have reached a whole chirping chorus that includes members of the national news media bent on nothing other than boosting their ratings, crowds of recreational gossipers on jittery chat rooms, and, maybe worse yet, your church’s public prayer chain (like that scene in the movie Saved), who can blame you really? That would probably be enough to encourage even the thickest-skinned among us to get lost hiking somewhere on the Appalachian Trail.

High-decibel shame of this sort can kill. (And a note to self: explore this concept further in next book on shame.)

On the other hand, lower-decibel shame — of the kind that drives addictions like sex and intimacy disorders and an impulse to court sure disaster in the form of extramarital entanglements — kills, too. The difference is that this kind of shame will do you in over the longer haul, sucking the life right out of you, damaging your closest and most significant relationships and ultimately, destroying your soul (if not also your body).

3. Love covers a multitude of sins; it doesn’t expose them. There was nothing kind or loving about what hackers did last week in exposing the private indiscretions of millions of people.

In the sense that true love entails justice, I can summon an exception to this general impression when those who loudly trumpet their high moral and religious values, while indulging in the very opposite of what they profess, get their day in the court of public opinion. (In this case, Josh Duggar, a spokesman for conservative Christian family values already under scrutiny for child molestation charges when last week’s news broke, is the most obvious example.)

But I suspect that the great majority of people whose dalliances on Ashley Madison are now scintillating public knowledge are probably not the Josh Duggars of this world. They are more likely pretty ordinary, somewhat complicated people like you and me, who are capable of doing great good but also make plenty of dumb mistakes and are prone to lead messy, confusing lives, people who, when honest with themselves, are thankful only God and their very best friend or maybe their therapist know the asinine thing they did last year or this morning. Most of them probably aren’t looking to excoriate publicly those who fall prey to the same regrettable impulses, weaknesses and moral mishaps (“sins”) they themselves experience. They may even be trying to do their best, and dream of a day when they might be healed once and for all of their “multitude of sins.”

That makes the very dramatic and salacious public exposure of the far too particular ways in which 37 million Americans fall short, (and implicitly, “shorter” than the rest of us saints and sinners), nothing less than destructive and mean-spirited.

Yes, it’s possible that for Duggar and his publicly shamed compatriots, last week’s hacking signified a much-needed corrective — a redemptive day of reckoning, if you will. But to those who seek to publicly shame others on the basis of their sexual misbehavior, Jesus appears to dish out a taste of their own medicine. When the religious leaders of Jesus’ day drag an adulterous woman caught in flagrante delicto to Jesus, demanding a word of condemnation, Jesus makes no effort to appease them by casting stones at the wrongdoer. Instead, in response to their finger pointing, Jesus bends down and silently begins to writes something on the ground. Whatever Jesus writes is enough to cause them to walk away one by one, leaving only the adulterous woman to contend with Jesus. Some commentators believe Jesus is writing down all of these accusers’ most secret sins.

If that interpretation is right, I’m guessing last week’s hackers have something more to learn about their own blind spots — and maybe even about love itself.


If you’ve not seen it, you must: John Oliver on “Last Week Tonight” offered the most brilliantly funny rebuke of televangelists and the prosperity gospel I’ve seen to date. Oliver doesn’t mince words, including the four-letter ones, in blasting the moral obscenities of those who specialize in selling the gospel for their own enrichment. Here is Oliver so satisfyingly condemning spiritual abuse when he sees it among those who should know better:

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As if ISIS had not already convinced us enough of its total depravity … the latest revelations by The New York Times —(be forewarned, they are disturbing to read) — remind me why I am not a pacifist. As if turning small boys into child soldiers is not enough to raise the ire of the international community, the article details how ISIS is now instituting a whole system of religiously justified, theologically rationalized sexual violence against non-Muslim girls, and is using this system to lure new recruits to its ranks with the promise of young girls whom they can rape at their convenience in the name of Allah.

“A theology of rape,” the article terms it, and if evil has a face, it looks like this. We’ve seen that face far too many times in recent history alone: in Rwanda; in Bosnia; in Nazi Germany. We human beings have a despair-inducing ability to let what John Calvin called “total depravity” rob us of the “kingdom of heaven on earth” that Jesus instructs His followers to pray for.

So much so that these latest revelations can feed our compassion fatigue…

…Or, sophisticated-sounding strategies of “containment,” as one commentator recently opined should be the U.S. approach toward ISIS. Recognizing the foreign policy considerations are breathtakingly complex, I still can’t help but wonder if “containment” in this case is more of a convenient euphemism for delaying our moral imperative as Christians in the West and as human beings to take a stand against such plain-faced evil.

Jesus Himself says there is a special place in hell — or at least at the very bottom of the sea — for those who undertake the kind of evil that ISIS now proclaims is the will of God Himself. “It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble,” Jesus says (Luke 17:2).

Does Praying for God’s Kingdom to Come and for God’s Deliverance From Evil Mean Standing Against Unadulterated Evil When We See It?

I suspect that when we Christians pray for God’s deliverance from evil, and ask that God’s kingdom come, “on earth as in heaven,” our prayers require something of us. After all, if C.S. Lewis is right — that prayer is as important because of what it does for those who pray — then the prayer that God’s will be done and God’s kingdom come must entail more than worries about our own job security or personal health or safety. To pray “deliver us from evil,” is to acknowledge at least implicitly that our own deliverance is inextricably linked to the deliverance of those around us, our “neighbors.”

Is it not possible, then, that when we pray that God deliver us from evil, in the context of asking for God’s kingdom to come, we are making a request that could very well demand more of us than our prayer? More action — and in some cases, where unadulterated evil threatens our neighbor(s), a call to take up arms? I think so.

What moral strength required a young German pastor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, to grapple with great fear and trembling about his role in that struggle against evil, in the form of a Nazi ideology that sought to eradicate a whole ethnic group? What reserves of courage did Bonhoeffer’s part in an assassination attempt that could very well fail (and did) call forth? What great faith, or assurance of God’s ultimate and final triumph over evil, did such bravery finally demand of Bonhoeffer? I can only begin to wonder.

We, most of us, will not be asked to undertake such feats of heroism. But we can do more than nothing in the face of evil. We can choose not to give in to compassion fatigue. We can question claims that containment is the very best we can do in the face of pure evil that seeks to destroy the most vulnerable members of our society. We can do something rather than nothing.

What Christians Can Do To Stand Against ISIS’ Evil

If you’re wondering what, in particular, we can do, here are some preliminary ideas…will you please send along yours, so I can add them to this list?

1. Pray. Pray daily and unceasingly on behalf of all victims of ISIS — that God would deliver them from evil. And read this New York Times article as you pray — for healing, restoration and protection for those most vulnerable to the threat of ISIS.

2. Reconsider our policy priorities, and re-evaluate what we should be standing for and against. How, for example, loud opposition to the now legal marriage of two gay men in the state of Kentucky deserves as much time, attention and priority as it is receiving from Christians in public service, when horrors like ISIS’ war on innocent children continue unabated, is beyond me.

3. Advocate for more aggressive intervention to take down ISIS. In particular, Christians can push for greater military intervention to stop ISIS (on the part of the U.S. and an international coalition of forces). And we can lobby for more proactive U.S. support of those on the ground actually fighting ISIS (namely, Iran and the Kurds). Support for these allies in a fight against evil can also mean speaking out in favor of the recent Iran deal, rather than letting a particularly loud and vociferous faction of religious conservatives in this country claim to speak for all Christians (in their denunciation of the recent Iran nuclear deal).

4. Find ways to support our brothers and sisters most physically vulnerable to ISIS’ evil rampage.
The Muslim and Christian families who live directly in ISIS’ line of fire, and who every day risk losing their sons and daughters to the kind of unfathomable evil most of us will never thankfully have to see, deserve any and all shows of support from Christians in the West.

Got more ideas about what Christians can do to stand up to these evils? Please send them my way. 





American poet Mary Oliver is a winner of the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize. The New York Times described her as "far and away, America's best-selling poet."

American poet Mary Oliver is a winner of the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize. The New York Times described her as “far and away, America’s best-selling poet.”

Last week school started, demo began on our long overdue home renovation, and we moved into temporary housing in the form of a kind neighbor couple’s guesthouse. Thankfully, through the now endlessly mind-numbing conversations about new kitchen back splash, bathroom fixtures and carpet colors, several volumes of Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Mary Oliver’s work on our neighbors’ book shelves have been breaths of fresh air.

This morning I stumbled upon Oliver’s poem, “Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith,” in her book of poetry, West Wind. Rather wonderfully, Oliver’s poem arrived in the context of some devotional reflections on Jesus’ comparison of the kingdom of heaven to a mustard seed (Matthew 13). Why, I’ve wondered, does Jesus use the same image of a mustard seed to describe both the kingdom of heaven and the faintest glimmers of faith? What of the correspondence? Oliver’s poem may shed some light:

Every summer

            I listen and look

                        under the sun’s brass and even

                                    in the moonlight, but I can’t hear


anything, I can’t see anything —

            not the pale roots digging down, not the green stalks muscling up

                        nor the leaves

                                    deepening their damp pleats,


nor the tassels making,

            nor the shucks, nor the cobs.

                        And still,

                                    Every day,


the leafy fields

            grow taller and thicker —

                   green gowns lofting up in the night,

                            showered with silk.


And so, every summer,

            I fail as a witness, seeing nothing —

                        I am deaf too

                                    to the tick of the leaves,


the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet —

            all of it


                                    beyond all seeable proof, or hearable hum


And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.

            Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.

                        Let the wind turn in the trees,

                                    And the mystery hidden in dirt


swing through the air.

            How could I look at anything in this world

                        and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?

                                    What should I fear?


One morning

            In the leafy green ocean

                        the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body

                                    is sure to be there.


But why do you think Jesus uses the same metaphor of the mustard seed to describe both His kingdom and our nascent glimmers of faith?


13-year-old Cecil was the beloved resident of Hwange National Park, where earlier this July he was baited and killed for fun by Walter Palmer, DDS. The GPS collar Cecil was wearing helped to piece together the lion's last hours, during which time he was  baited and shot (first by a bow and arrow), and then tracked, while wounded, for the next 40 hours before Palmer finally killed, skinned and beheaded him.

13-year-old Cecil was the beloved resident of Hwange National Park, where earlier this July he was baited and killed for fun by Walter Palmer, DDS. The GPS collar Cecil was wearing helped to piece together the lion’s last hours, during which time he was lured away from his home and shot (first by a bow and arrow), and then tracked while wounded for the next 40 hours, before Palmer finally killed, skinned and beheaded him.

This week Minnesota dentist Walter Palmer admitted to hunting and killing Zimbabwe’s beloved celebrity lion Cecil, the most famous resident of one of Zimbabwe’s national parks and the subject of a decade-long study by Oxford University’s Wildlife Conservation Unit.

Earlier this summer, Palmer reportedly paid two local guides $55,000 for the thrill of baiting then luring Cecil out of his government-protected habitation, so that Palmer — who has a long and colorfully photographed track record of hunting endangered animals, and who has misled authorities before about his illegal activities — could use Cecil for target practice and, presumably, for another disgusting photo opp, just before skinning and beheading the magnificent creature whose movements in the bush researchers had been studying for years.

Palmer and His Dental Practice Are Now the Target of an Effective Public Shaming Campaign on Yelp

News of the identity of Cecil’s killer and details of Cecil’s death generated an international outcry in no time. Public heartbreak and outrage spontaneously prompted a public shaming campaign of sorts, directed against Palmer and the River Bluff Dental Practice he ran — this in the form of a flood of devastating rebukes on Yelp. The public shaming quickly met its mark: it effectively shut down Palmer’s dental practice, (which on its website had previously characterized Palmer’s endangered animal hunting pursuits with the misleading euphemism, “photographing wildlife”).

Walter Palmer poses with a leopard he shot in Zimbabwe in 2010.

Walter Palmer poses with a leopard he shot in Zimbabwe in 2010.

I read with relish those comments on Yelp, from the more serious

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated -Mahatma Gandhi

You are a true example of the degeneration of our gene pool.  You are the lowest form of life and should bear the pain that only a mind as twisted and warped as yours can provide.  

Dentist…go figure. — Myron in Seattle, WA

To the creative, like this 5-star rating for “vile” and “sociopathic” dentistry:

Here’s what I look for in a healthcare professional:  a disgusting and thorough lack of compassion, sociopathic tendencies, a vile propensity for torture of the innocent, a bombastic self-importance, a demented and narcissistic sense of fun, a self-serving and egocentric disposition, a knack for betraying others’ trust, a history of lying to officials, a criminal record, and most of all a smug mug. I found all that in Dr. Walter Palmer at River Bluff Dental!

I don’t give many 5-star reviews, so you know that Dr. Palmer really fits the bill!  With Dr. Palmer at his best, your soul will be black, your hands will be bloody, your head will spin, your stomach will turn, and your heart will hurt, but hell if your teeth won’t be white!!!!

The main con with Dr. Palmer is that he doesn’t have any balls, but he more than compensates for it with his BIG bow and arrow.  Pssssshhh. In case there’s any doubt, he will be happy to prove it by illegally slaying “mature, magnificent” creatures who are beloved and protected. And when he needs reinforcements, he doesn’t hesitate to bribe the right people to back him up. Highly recommended! — Christine, in Los Angeles, CA

To the more merciful:

Dr.  Palmer, I am going to pray for you. Your heart has something wrong down deep in your soul. … —Michelle in Waukegan, IL

To the far more common, profanity-laced and relentlessly unmerciful (which I won’t feature here but which were therapeutic to read, nonetheless).

To the humorous

Hi, I’m every other DDS in Minneapolis. Just want to thank Walt for all his former patients. Regards, Normal People — Andrew in Nashville, TN

This guy is wonderful at administering novocaine. He just waits until you’re sedated, relaxed, comfortable. You trust him. Then he shines a blinding light in your eyes and bang! There’s the shot. If a dentist can be a hero, this man, ladies and gentlemen, is a brave, brave American hero! — Christian in New York, NY

The Power of Shame — Is It Necessary, and What’s its Utility?

Walter Palmer is now wanted by Zimbabwean authorities and has gone into hiding after an international public outcry.

Walter Palmer is now wanted by Zimbabwean authorities.

In the ironic twist of a still unfolding story, Dr. Palmer has since gone into hiding — a vain-glorious predator now turned helpless prey, much like the beloved lion he hunted for sport. Some people might chalk it up to “karma.” I call it the “power of shame,” which is the subject of that next book I hope to write. In the world of addiction recovery and behavioral healthcare that I professionally inhabit these days, “shame” is indisputably a bad word: it’s the toxic force that keeps so many people bound in addiction and unhealthy, self-destructive behaviors.

In the Bible, from what little study I have done in preparation for that next book, shame often carries similarly negative undertones; but my preliminary hypothesis is that its biblical and theological treatment is more complex, with shifting cadences depending on the context.

This week’s news leads me to wonder whether shame does not hold at least some positive utility in God’s redemptive purposes. By shining a light on the human cruelty of those who prey on the defenseless for the sake of sheer enjoyment, and by holding up a mirror to those who commit injustices (in this case, Palmer and the booming prize-hunting trade he has come to represent), maybe shame can serve as an engine of redemption in this tragic world.

But, what do you think? Leave your comments below.

"Moses Before the Burning Bush," by Domenico Feti, 1613

“Moses Before the Burning Bush,” by Domenico Feti, 1613

When he slipped his feet into the tub of warm, herb-infused water, he did so almost apologetically.

“Thank you,” he said, tentatively, an edge of either shyness or embarrassment in his tone as she summoned a foot to her lap.

Derek, 46, was a drifter. He had been drifting most of his life like a minor character in Jack Kerouac’s novel On the Road. As she massaged his feet with apricot scrub, he seemed to be telling her in between the lines that he still hadn’t found a main role…

The inability to turn down any drug on offer, from cigarettes to cocaine to everything in between — and try as he might, his incapacity to change his circle of drug-using peers. That, he said, had depressed him.

The occasional fights on the street, despite his “peace-loving” ways.

The run-ins with the law—and with a brown recluse spider that sent him to the hospital. He gestured to the two dark red indentations on his lower leg.

He was a surfer. Surfing was his love. He always ended up back near the ocean and his first home, the beach. But the birth of his now one-year-old granddaughter and the old childhood stomping grounds of his mother had lured him here, to Atlanta, Georgia.

“I don’t know why I’m still here — in Atlanta,” he said, as she explored the callouses and ridges on his feet, gently pressing them with her index finger or filing them away with a cheese grater. Those callouses were not as hard and impenetrable as others she had seen at the foot clinic — and if our feet can be metaphors for our souls, there was indeed something still refreshingly uncalloused, almost childlike, in this man’s way. The hard, unmerciful reality of living on the streets all these years and for most of his adult life had left a soft inner layer intact. You could press it gently and it would give way to something like fear or wonder.

“I think I’m still here because Atlanta is really more of a spiritual place with all its old churches,” he was saying now. “I’ll walk by them and read about them and about how some of them even survived the Civil War.”

Could it be that underneath those callouses there was a certain reverence — a reverence inherent in one restless soul’s awareness of that which it lacked? A certain inward falling on one’s knees before the transcendent Ground of one’s being, maybe only felt or intuited in the very wandering itself, wandering thus transfigured as gift?

He had been to court that day, too, after being cited for drinking whiskey in a public park after midnight—as if our great American judicial system had no greater injustice to prosecute than a poor, homeless man with little more than the clothes on his back drinking in a park with his chums. But he had gone to court to hear how he would be sentenced. And they had told him to come back another day.

So here he was, homeless as always, but this time in Atlanta; and unsure why he was here when the ocean was calling him back to it. His words were spilling out over the bucket in front of him like that ocean spray: the carefree, absent-minded giveaway of a deep, mysterious movement underneath, which upon its pent-up release seemed undirected at the surface, hitting her face with its cold, salty darts.

Some would call it misdirected. Run-off bearing witness to little more than a life that had not lived up to its full potential. An existence wasted by aimlessness.

But was it really any more aimless than the choice of a comfortable suburban life, with two kids, a nice-sized house, two cars in the garage, a generous-sized savings account and the pursuit of so fleeting a thing as financial security or the safety of mere convention? She wondered this as she clipped his toenails. No was the answer that came back.

None of us can purport to know the real contours of another human being’s soul. “Sacred inwardness,” is the term that the author Marilynne Robinson has used to describe this grace: “If the fate of souls is at the center of the cosmic drama, is it difficult to imagine that it will unfold, so to speak, in a place set apart, a holy of holies — that is, a human consciousness?,” she writes. “Where better might an encounter with God take place? If God is attentive to us individually, as Jesus’ saying about the fall of a sparrow certainly implies, then would his history with us be the same in every case, articulable and verifiable, manifest in behaviors that square with expectations?”

Would God’s history with us require that we be able to authenticate the state of another human being’s soul via some recognizable set of fingerprints or a qualifying spiritual DNA test of sorts? Would it enable us to proclaim — according to the following of a particular script or lifestyle choice or even outward religious affiliation — a soul’s eternal fate?

“Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved,” Paul writes in Romans.

Such calls are barely audible beyond the inner vibrations of one sacred soul turning and returning to its Creator and Redeemer. They are not to be measured by the human eye. They are the stuff of fear and trembling and wonder and reverence underneath the calloused feet of wandering souls that feebly give pause to the Ground of their being.

Hadn’t the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning meant something similar when she put it more beautifully:

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes. The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries, And daub their natural faces unaware.”

Robinson writes: “Perhaps the real lack of faith in modern society comes down to a lack of reverence for humankind, for those around us, about whom we might consider it providential that we can know nothing — in these great matters that sometimes involve feigning or concealment, that are beyond ordinary thought and conventional experience, and that can in any case be minutely incremental, since God really does have all the time in the world.”

“Thank you,” he said again with the same self-effacing tone, as he unrolled the fresh pair of socks at his side, a gift from the clinic, and slid them gingerly over the balls of his ankles, appearing grateful for revived feet.

“You’re welcome. It was my pleasure,” and the latex gloves had prevented her from shaking his hand.

It really was my pleasure.

She had given one restless soul clean, manicured feet.

He had given hers renewed reverence.


When this video YouTube Preview Image recently went viral, I was rooting for the shark.

Not so when it comes to loan sharks, who are one contributor to systemic poverty and sharply growing income inequality in this country. Friend Bruce Strom, whose story we’ve featured here before, and who directs the Gospel Justice Initiative, an organization that equips churches to serve the legal and spiritual needs of the poor, sent along the following opportunity to help end loan sharks’ predatory lending practices (and in turn the cycle of debt and poverty that entraps so many of America’s poor). Bruce writes:

Each year, millions of Americans take out payday and car title loans at rates of 300% and 400% annualized interest. Often, these loans are targeted toward vulnerable individuals and marketed as a quick response to a financial crisis but result in long-term debt.

We partner with Faith for Just Lending, a coalition of denominations and faith-based ministries in seeking to address predatory lending.  They are taking a short 10-question survey which will help us in a national conversation….Please take a moment to share your experiences and questions with us through this short online Congregational/Ministry Survey.

The first round of survey responses are due by July 31.

Will you help by taking just a few minutes of your day to fill out the survey?