When we are forced into patterns we can’t control we see who we really are. We see what we love. And it may not be what we expected or what we wanted to be true.

This is a time to take stock. I think many of us have done this before now, maybe in another crisis (personal or not), where we have gone through a mental list of who and what is important to us. But after we have done that this time, we may find that there is more...mostly because we have so much time on our hands and are especially isolated and not in control…

Kids have worries. Some are things adults worry about too, but some of the things they worry about aren’t real. To a child, however, those things are very real. They think there are monsters everywhere: in the closet, in a dark room, in the toilet (and then refuse to sit on the potty). As a parent, I’ve had to deal with all kinds of worries from my kids. When I’m well rested and feeling good, I can give an A-plus response to their worries- even the ones that I know are nothing to worry about. I’m great at helping them calm down and reassuring them that everything is going to be okay. But when I’m woken up 20 minutes after I’ve gone to sleep for the night, I might have a C-minus response at best. I imagine that’s how Jesus felt in this story.

I’ve always connected deeply with the parable of the Prodigal Son. The idea of always being able to leave and deeply screw up but always be allowed to return, be forgiven, and be loved just as deeply as if I had never left made me so happy. To have someone care for you just that deeply! I love my parents and I know that they love me, too, but as a child and even now, I always worried that their love for me was measured. That they would never be able to love me if they found out I was kissing girls, or the fact that I really wanted to be a gender other than what I was. I always thought that the second they found out, I would be kicked to the curb. Did that really happen, though? No. I was one of the lucky ones. I know others that weren’t, though.

Due to the fact that all public schools, many large gatherings, sporting events and churches in our community have decided to cancel services, we too have made the difficult decision to cancel Sunday services temporarily. We will not meet this Sunday, March 15th or next Sunday, March 22nd. We will reevaluate the next steps at that time. Stay posted as we will have more details in the coming days about ways we can still find spiritual enrichment and community during this Lenten season.

Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them.” - Matthew 19:14

The Sunday before Christmas, in his sermon, Josh mentioned friends putting out water in the desert in Mexico so that migrants had something to drink. I knew in that moment that we were headed south. Lewis, who was on the security team, had moved a few rows ahead of me. He turned around, looked at me, and I knew he felt the same. Every day for at least a month before this, I had listened to the old hymn, Have Thine Own Way, Lord, Thou art the Potter, I am the clay.

My smoke detectors broke at my house, and so my landlord sent his fix-it-person over to repair them. As we were staring up at this contraption, beeping away at us, he asked me what I did for a living? I told him I was a pastor, and he got excited. He asked what church I pastored, and I told him Imago Dei. He wasn’t familiar with that church, so I described us as being a flavor of church that wouldn’t be for everyone, but for many there is no other church that would embrace them. He looked very perplexed and inquired about what I meant…I explained that there are many at Imago who were made to feel unwelcomed in some churches because they questioned parts about their faith, didn’t believe correctly, were divorced, single past 22, women who were denied roles of leadership, gay folks, trans folks, and allys of the such. He was now on the top of the ladder, fussing with this fire alarm, attempting to stop the chirping. Just as he unplugged it from the electrical connection, he looked down on me at the ground level and asked, and do you think all of those things are moral? With that, the fire alarm started sounding off because the battery was still nuzzled tightly inside of it.

How would I ever feel like I related to the Prodigal Son story? Me of all people? No way [insert emoji of the individual lifting up their hair]. Arrogant, I am very aware, but definitely how I felt growing up.

Recently, I read the book The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen, and it reshaped the way that I viewed the story as a whole. It opened up the idea that this story was relatable on every level.

When I was 15 or 16, my evangelical church hosted a purity retreat for the youth. We spent the night in the church and devoted most of the time split by gender, talking in a circle. The big prize at the end was a purity ring. Oh, and virtue and all that. During one circle time, the leader brought up women’s submissive role in marriage. My hand shot into the air to contradict her. I grew up in a very matriarchal family. I could not picture entrusting the finances to a man, let alone my eternal salvation. (A future coworker was at that same retreat. She said she remembered hating me for saying women should not be submissive to their husbands. We didn’t work together long.)

What do I believe about the Bible – and what does it mean? Of that, I am uncertain, but I’m finding beauty in its complexities.

The part of the Bible that drew me into Christianity was the way it described love — God’s love for me and for all of humanity. When I made the decision to follow Jesus, I didn’t read the Bible until I became a Christian during my freshman year of high school. That’s also when I immersed myself in (Western) Christian culture — joining a church and attending every Christian youth group, retreat or concert I could fit into my schedule.

Nothing puts me to sleep quite like the Bible. 

In truth, I’ve never had a tough time sleeping. When I was a kid, as the hour would approach anything near bedtime, I was known to fall asleep anywhere and on anything. Many times at restaurants, once in a bowl of spaghetti, apparently even a few occasions of sleepwalking toward the stairs only to be stopped by a vigilant parent (Thanks, Mom!). Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reading and listening to other people’s perspectives on biblical passages, but opening it up myself and trying to form the words into sentences has never really held my attention. I attribute some of this mental block to the complicated history I have had with the Bible.