Dr. Karla J. Bellinger

Dec 12 2024

The Lord Hears the Cry of the Poor

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

She hummed the tune as her hoe worked the hard red clay. The bosom of Abraham. The best place to be. In her nine years at Momma’s knee, she’d heard lots of Bible stories. This was her favorite. No matter what the boss man demanded, Father Abraham wrapped his arms around that little beggar and kept him safe. No troubles could touch him anymore. Nothing but love. She wondered what color was Lazarus’ skin.

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

She hummed the tune. Her insides hurt so bad. The little brother who had kept her warm for so many nights, his space was cold tonight. He was too light-skinned. They had sold him away this morning.

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

Daddy said that old Jeb had died. He was too feeble to pick cotton. He fell. The overseer beat him to get up. The old man couldn’t. Daddy had shouted out, “That’s not right!” After she heard him tell it, Momma and Daddy were silent. She could feel the trouble in the room. As the sun went down, Daddy kissed her and said, “I love you, darlin.” They knew. He would not be there in the morning. She hummed through her tears.

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

Momma went to work at the main house. She said, “Keep your head down, girl!” The master’s twenty-year-old son was lookin’ . . . taking a shine to her, now that she was almost twelve.

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

Momma told how she’d heard the men talking after church about Jesus’ story of the rich man and Lazarus. The master had leaned back in his leather chair with his cigar and said, “I don’t really understand.”

She and Momma held each other, just the two of them now, and sang softly.

“Rock-a my soul in the bosom of Abraham . . .”

Consider/Discuss

When life is full of trouble, the bosom of Abraham is the best place to be, wrapped in love for all eternality. Look at history. How does the promise of heaven get us through dark earthly times?
The prophet Amos warns about the complacency of the rich. The psalmist says that the Lord secures justice for the oppressed. You and I will be held accountable for what we do in this life. What is one thing that Father Abraham would want you to do today to make this world a more just place?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, open our eyes to see what we do not see. Open our hearts to do what we can do. You know the troubles that we have. You know the troubles that surround us. You are the Savior of the world. We are not. We cannot save everyone or everything, but show us our part. Show each of us the role that we have to play in bringing about your kingdom. And please, Holy Spirit, come, come to heal the divisions of this world. We are broken. We break others. We are hurting. We hurt others. We are in need of your justice. Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Dec 12 2024

Saintly Scoundrels?

Scoundrels. We’re not supposed to like them. They’re not role models for moral living. They’re not heroes. But every once in a while, there’s a story that makes the edges of your mouth curl into a bit of a grin—not because what the rascal did was right, but from the cleverness of it all.

The 2002 film Catch Me if You Can does that for me. It is based on a true story. Young Frank Abagnale, Jr. is a con man, a forger, and a trickster. Before he turns eighteen, he’s been a bank robber, a doctor, a lawyer, and a co-pilot for a big airline. He shouldn’t have done what he did. But it sure makes me smile at the cleverness of it all.

Did the corners of Jesus’ mouth curl into a grin as he retold today’s story? Rascal number one: the absentee landlord who charges outrageous interest (observant Jews loathed that kind of villain). Rascal number two: the steward who gives that wealthy villain his come-uppance: Re-write nine hundred gallons of olive oil owed as four hundred fifty? Yes, sir! Six hundred bushels of wheat? Write down three hundred? Ha! Surely! Thanks! You can come over to the house for bread and wine any time!

In Jesus’ day, taxes weighed heavily. Interest rates could be as high as fifty percent. Under the Romans, Jewish farmers were reduced to poverty, enslaved and sold or thrown into prison for non-payment. To forgive a debt was life-changing. This steward knew how to become a friend forever. He was prudent. Smart. Cunning. Still a scoundrel.

We are not called to become scoundrels. But could we use our ingenuity to build the kingdom of God? Faithfully, in little things? How could we wisely use our wits and our wherewithal to improve this world? Could we make Jesus grin too at the cleverness of it all?

Consider/Discuss

A third of Jesus’ parables talk about money. He had likely been a small businessman in a carpenter shop in Galilee; he didn’t disdain money or disparage making an honest living. Money was needed to feed one’s family. But he did challenge his followers to keep money in its proper place: God is God, money is money. We cannot serve both. We can ask ourselves, where does my allegiance lie? What most tempts me to trust in possessions for my security rather than putting my faith in God’s providence?
When times are hard, people get scrappier. When things are flush, there is not so much cleverness needed. People relax and don’t think or work so hard. Throughout history, great effort has gone into conniving and cheating. Jesus knows human nature. He is not surprised by this. But today he urges us, his followers, toward greater scrappiness: Come on! Be clever! Be wise! How can you and I better use our God-given smarts and shrewdness to build the Kingdom?

Living and Praying the Word

Lord Jesus, you know that navigating a faithful Christian life is tricky. You know the tugs and pulls that throw us off track. We need money. You know we do. We need to eat. We need to put shoes on our children. We need a roof over our heads. You know we do. These things are gifts that you have given to us. Help us not to place the gifts before you who are the Giver. Help us to cling only to you. Keep us on your straight path and never let us stray. In this world of temptations, Holy Spirit, keep us focused, keep us pure, keep us sharp. For you.

Dec 12 2024

Making Compassion Our Passion

I hold my granddaughter, two months old, and gaze into her eyes. From deep in my stomach, warmth and tenderness rise up within me. I am flooded with love. My ribcage swells. I do not know where this marvel comes from. But at this moment, this tiny child is precious to me.

Preciousness—that is what ties today’s three parables together. A shepherd has lost one sheep. That sheep is precious in his eyes. He is willing to leave ninety-nine others to go look for the lost one. A woman searches for her lost coin—it may not be the money she loves but the food that it will buy for her precious children.

And the father of the prodigal son? He once also held that babe in his arms. He once gazed into his newborn eyes. Now this boy has grown and gone. The father waits. When he sees him again, tender affection rises from the bowels of his being. Compassion, warmth, inner yearning—he is flooded with joy. His precious child is home.

Compassion is defined as an inner flooding of love, a tenderness in the bowels of our being. Have you felt that? And yet, the compassion that you and I may feel—it is only a drop compared to the flood of warmth that the living God has for you and for me. We are God’s beloved children.

But . . . how much do we absorb that care? Like the prodigal son, we may roam through life looking for love. We may squander our days to confirm that we matter. We may wrangle with others for power to prove our worth. It happens in nations, in businesses, in institutions, in churches, in families. We want to be treasured. We strive to matter. We seek to be loved.

Yet . . . at the same time . . . precious . . . treasured . . . wanted . . . While we wander, Love awaits.

Love waits, with open arms, for us to come home.

Consider/Discuss

While I was pondering the preciousness of the prodigal son, I looked at the brokenness of our world. Why is it as it is? What happens to children? Where does their innocence go? At what point do we get so broken? What if . . . what if . . . what if . . . we could somehow internalize how precious we are in God’s eyes, as newborns in the arms of a loving parent, allowing ourselves to be held? How would that sense of preciousness enable us to enter into life differently?
The Greek word for compassion means to be moved from one’s innards, a tender affection that arises from the bowels of our being. Jesus is often described as having compassion. What if you and I could see the world as Jesus does—see how very treasured is the “other”? How would that sense of the preciousness of the “other” affect how we treat one another, whether spouse or child or student or neighbor or immigrant or . . . ? Today, in what concrete way could you say to another, “You are precious to me”?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, you created each of us. As babies we started life so innocently. What happened? Do you weep as you watch the traumas that change us as we grow? Does it pain you to see the bitterness and discouragement and hardness that we pick up? You treasure us. You want us. You see us as precious. But we do not always internalize that. This moment, send your Spirit upon us. Help us come to our senses, to come home to you. We have wandered far, looking for validation in other places. Open our hearts to the flood of your compassion. Help us to feel your pleasure and your joy as we come home to you. Come, Holy Spirit, come! Lead us home.

Dec 11 2024

We Didn’t Start the Fire . . . But We Keep It Going

I built many fires during the COVID-19 pandemic. In mid-January of 2021, when it was twenty degrees outside, how else were my students and I to stay warm in my Michigan backyard during spiritual direction? Those bonfires were big! Each started with a spark from a match. The spark caught the rolled-up newspaper, which then ignited the walnut sticks and the oak kindling. Flames shot up. The light was bright. I threw on oak and cherry. Loads of logs later, a pile of coals began to glow and glimmer. Only then did we begin to get warm from the fire’s heat.

The author of Luke/Acts might tell you that discipleship is like that fire. In the early days of the church, the spark of the Spirit ignited the apostles at Pentecost. The gospel shot out to the ends of the earth in a bright flare. Jesus’ followers glowed with the light of love. Folks burned with the faith and the flame grew.

By the time that Luke was old, loads of logs had been thrown on that fire: his companion Paul had been killed, Peter had been crucified. Stories of martyrs spread: tales of those who gave up family, reports of those who gave up possessions, legends of those who gave their lives in allegiance to that Name. The flame of faith glowed from the coals of martyrdom. And that fire warmed the world.

People began to ask, Who is this man Jesus whose followers are willing to die for him? Who is this Holy Spirit who ignites such courage in such ordinary folks?

Luke had to make Jesus’ story known. He had seen the Holy Spirit transform believers. Those early years of enthusiasm had matured into glowing coals of martyrdom. The message? Follow Jesus. Take the path of the cross. Know that it was costly for Jesus. Know that it will be costly for you. Count that cost. Know that it could mean your life. Follow anyway.

Consider/Discuss

To us in the twenty-first century, Jesus’ conditions for discipleship in Luke’s Gospel might seem harsh: give up family, possessions, life. To the first-century Christians, it was the reality of their lives. By the time that Luke wrote it down, it had become their history. In our time and place, what does committed discipleship look like? What does total allegiance to Jesus cost us?
We cannot conform ourselves to God’s will on our own strength. When have you felt the warmth of the Holy Spirit empowering you to be more than you thought you could be? How have you experienced the power of prayer to fuel that flame more brightly?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, you ask much. At the same time, you give much. We are not abandoned to our own devices. Spirit of love, enflame our hearts for courage and bravery and strength. Lead us higher, lead us to be who you want us to be. You ask us to count the cost. You ask us to be willing to follow you no matter the cost. We want to do that. We give ourselves to you again this day. Thank you for firing our hearts and leading us forward.

Dec 11 2024

Scripture Study for

The Bible tells us that when he became king, Solomon prayed to God to give him wisdom, that he might have a “listening heart to judge your people. . . . For who is able to give judgment for this vast people of yours?” (1 Kings 3:4–9). In the book of Wisdom we are given an extended version of this prayer, in which Solomon asks God, “Who understands what is pleasing in your eyes and what is conformable with your will?” (9:9). Today’s reading continues that prayer, the point of which is that without the wisdom that comes from God as a gift of the Holy Spirit (9:6,17), humans are crippled in their ability to understand reality. If they have trouble figuring out the natural and human world, how can they possibly know the ways of God without the gift of wisdom, which is freely given to anyone who seeks it earnestly?

Here is what we are able to discern about Philemon, Onesimus, and Paul from this very short letter. Onesimus is a slave of Philemon and has, apparently, run away and ended up with Paul, who is in prison. There he has been baptized by Paul, so that Paul can call Onesimus his “child” and himself his “father.” Paul is now sending Onesimus back to Philemon, a fellow Christian, with the hope that the latter will free the slave and send him back to Paul. The Apostle does not want to command anything of Philemon, but he hopes that he will do the right thing once he realizes that Onesimus is now his “brother,” not only as a fellow human being but especially as a fellow Christian. Paul expects Philemon to recognize that Christians cannot relate to one another according to the world’s standards.

Jesus returns to an earlier point about commitment to discipleship (Luke 9:51–62) to make things perfectly clear: not even family, not even one’s own life must take precedence over Jesus. The word translated “hate” here should rather be rendered “deny” or “give up.” Jesus gives his reason for this through two examples, both of which highlight the need to be fully prepared before one begins a major project. It is notable that in both examples, preparation means adequately supplying oneself with money or people, whereas Jesus concludes what seems to be the opposite: to prepare to follow him, one must get rid of everything. This is a paradox, because by giving up everything, one gathers to oneself the interior and exterior freedom to give oneself completely to Christ.