Dr. Karla J. Bellinger

Dec 11 2024

Loving God, Living Well

At the far end of our woods is an acre of bog. It is fascinating in every season. Gray sticks rise out of yellow ice in winter. The frogs croak loudly in spring. The bushes glow red in the fall. As I walked there one morning, a delicate mist floated over the water. The sun came up. The water vapor dispersed into the air and was gone.

A new day had begun.

Here and then gone. The author of Ecclesiastes says that human life is like that vapor. All is vanity, pointless, like a mist dissolving into nothingness. What will last?

In Jesus’ parable of the rich man, he also cautions his followers not to hold onto treasures that evaporate. He says to be rich in what matters to God. What matters to God?

After my mom died, my dad prepared to sell their house, which they had shared for fifty years. My brothers and I helped to divvy up their possessions. But it was not just accumulated stuff from sixty one years of marriage. My mother had poured hundreds of cups of oolong tea from that ceramic teapot. The Dickensian carolers watched from the piano every Christmas as presents were opened under the tree. The long cherry table had heard generations of laughter and conversation at anniversary dinners and birthday parties and gatherings of friends. The “stuff” had memories, memories of giving for the love of God and the love of others.

Chasing after possessions in order to hoard them for ourselves? That creates a life of vapor. Vanity of vanities—here and then gone like the mist.

What matters to God is not what we collect but how we spend our life. Our “stuff” is only as rich as the love it supports. Living a life for God and for others—that is what creates a treasure that will last.

Consider/Discuss

The greed that Jesus speaks about in the Gospel implies an insatiable grasping for more, a ravenous restlessness to get “stuff.” He is not warning his followers about making a living, but about pursuing material security as their end goal in life. How can we strike a balance between having enough and grasping for more? How does our trust in God relate to that?
How we spend our life—it matters. Today’s psalm asks God to “teach us to number our days aright.” Days turn into years and years turn into a lifetime of “yes!” to Love. At the end of our life, our stuff will be gone. But the love that we have given will remain. What treasures would you like to leave to those who come after you? What matters most to you?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord our God, you know our hopes. We would like to live a life of virtue that would last beyond us. We would like to bear fruit that remains. But virtue begins with you. You are love, you are faithfulness, and you are enduring. You give each of us the freedom to respond to your offer of love, to choose yes, to dance with you. Sometimes we choose no and cement our feet stolidly onto the ground of a life spent centered around ourselves. Show us the way to say yes to self-gift. For then the mist of earthly life will rise and the eternal new day will begin, with you as the dawn. And then, joy of joys, what a dance that will be!

Dec 11 2024

Be Bold and Persistent

How are we to pray? A couple of canines come to mind. Example one: first dog. I have a friend who got a whippet-mixed dog from a shelter. The dog became a gentle companion, but when she first arrived at my friend’s house, her eyes stayed down, her tail curled between her legs, and she backed away from human contact. The Greek word aidos describes that kind of bashfulness: keep your eyes down, know your place, and don’t bother people. Example two: second dog. I have another friend who got a golden retriever from a dog trainer when he was year-old pup. This dog is the most beloved of dogs. He looks you in the eye and persistently nudges his head into your hands. He expects your loving attention.

The Greek word anaideia describes that kind of shameless persistence. It means importunity: don’t be bashful! Don’t back off! Go ahead and disturb me! It is the opposite of the downcast eyes of dog number one, the negation of aidos. That word anaideia is only used once in the New Testament, here in Luke, when Jesus describes the shameless persistence of asking for bread from a neighbor in the middle of the night.

How are we to approach the living God? With anaideia!

In the first reading, God could have said to Abraham, “Shut up, man, you’re bothering me!” Abraham was pestering. He kept begging God to be merciful. How dare he speak to the Most High that way? Did he know his place? He did. But God was willing to be bothered.

How did Jesus name the Unspeakable Name? Father, Abba, my Daddy. For the Jews of his day, that was bold. That was brash. That was too intimate. But he expected the loving attention of the Most Holy One. He persisted in nudging God’s hand. Did he know his place? He did. He was the Beloved Son of the ever-loving Father.

Consider/Discuss

When you go to pray, what dog are you? Are you bashful and keep your eyes down, unsure of the response that you’ll get? Jesus teaches us to pray with perseverance: go to your heavenly Father, keep on pestering, keep on asking, keep on seeking, and keep on knocking. Be brash. Be bold. Expect to be loved, expect to be heard, persistently nudge your head into God’s caring hands. Are you dog number one or dog number two when it comes to approaching God in prayer?
Sometimes we may not feel worthy enough to pray. Or we feel that we are not being heard. Or we don’t get what we want. That may tempt us to give up on prayer, even give up on God. Yet at the same time, God has been called the hound of heaven who is even more relentless in pursuing us. Jesus never gives up on us. How have you experienced the Holy Spirit moving within you to encourage you, to urge you, and to implore you, to plead with you to keep trying, to keep praying?

Living and Praying with the Word

Um, you know, Lord, we don’t want to be too cocky. We don’t want to bother you. We don’t want to be presumptuous. Sometimes, we just want to put our tail between our legs and back away from you. But you tell us, “Be bold!” You tell us, “Come! Come to me; come and bother me!” Help us to be trusting like Abraham, so familiar in your friendship that we are not afraid to pester you for mercy. Do we know our place? We do. You have made us your beloved sons and daughters. Praise to you, God Most High!

Dec 11 2024

Being Present to the Presence

One of my favorite things to do is to cook for people. This morning, my sourdough starter needed to be replenished. So I added flour and water and let it bubble. And then I made biscuits. Hot biscuits fresh out of the oven, soaked with a little butter, a little honey. Oh, the bread of life!

Does that make me a “Martha”? In today’s story, Mary does what the men in Jesus’ day usually do: sit and listen to the Teacher. And Jesus approves.

Because I like to cook for people, does that make me somehow less than a “Mary”? Does that make the expression of love through serving food—as women have traditionally done—something lower in the world of discipleship? Is a woman worth more when she takes on the role of a man? Is that what Jesus is saying here?

At this point, I hope you’re resisting and shouting, “No, no, no . . . he didn’t mean that at all! It was Martha’s overwhelming anxiety about the serving that he was admonishing her for.”

The people of Israel valued hospitality. In Genesis, Abraham hustled to get the milk to feed the angels while Sarah made the rolls. In return, the divine beings promised them a son. Luke’s Gospel says that Martha welcomed Jesus. She created a hospitable stopping spot for him. He who was the Bread of Life undoubtedly liked fresh bread hot from the oven. A good meal brings people together.

What matters most, what Mary got right, is to be present to Presence; whatever we do, wherever we are, we are never to depart from Jesus’ Presence, always “sitting at his feet.” We can cook with Jesus, dance with the Holy Spirit, and garden with the peace of God in our hearts. Jesus asks us to sit close in the midst of all that we do.

Biscuits, anyone?

Consider/Discuss

In contemporary American culture, both men and women enjoy cooking for others. (My son makes really good pie.) We don’t have to squeeze people into stereotypes. How can we move beyond cultural expectations to be hospitable to all of the gifts and all of the varieties of people that God has made?
At 8 a.m., I made biscuits. At 10 a.m., I prayed and wrote the first draft of this reflection. At 12 p.m., I looked at reviews of portable-compound miter-saw-stands for my woodshop in the garage. God was equally with me in all those activities. Was I equally aware of that? How can you and I learn to practice the Presence of God in all things, no matter what we are doing? What does it mean to be “present to Presence” even when we are not at church or during scheduled prayer times?

Living and Praying with the Word

Oh, Lord, help us! You challenged the assumptions of your day by letting Mary sit at your feet. You admonished Martha so that she might grow in holiness, away from anxiety and fear. You treated each person as worthy of dignity and respect. The psalmist tells us that when we do justice, we will live in your presence. Show us where we are being unjust; open our hearts so that we walk hospitably and do not tread on others. We want to live in your Presence! Thank you for always opening your arms to welcome us, O Bread of Life.

Dec 11 2024

Tending to the Broken, Tending to Christ

I have tried so hard. I have given all that I have. And yet here I am, lying by the side of the road, beaten and left for dead. My head throbs. The sun dries the blood on my face. I feel my life fading. Is this the way that it is going to end?

A priest passes by. He is tall. He is well-respected. I am a man of no importance. He can tell by my cloak. And he believes that if misfortune has befallen me, it must be something that I have done wrong: God is punishing me.

A Levite passes by. He is absorbed in important thoughts. Too important to notice. Unconcerned. Oblivious to my battered body by the side of the road.

They do not see. They do not care. They just pass by. The opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference.

I had thought that my time in the wilderness was to be a forty-day test. I did not know that it would be my end. My God, I am afflicted and in pain. You hear the cry of the poor. Do not abandon me!

Gentle hands reach under my shoulders. Liquid bathes my wounds. Warm animal fur brushes my cheek. I turn to look for the man’s eyes. I see a man who cares. He knows what it is like to be cast off, to be tossed to the side, to be uncared for. He is a Samaritan. He knows.

I am not done living yet. I have much more loving and serving to do on this earth.

I will be beaten again. My head will bleed again. From the cross, tender hands will again lift me. But I am not dead yet. This is not the time. This is not the place.

Consider/Discuss

The Law of the Lord is written in our hearts, very near to us. We know that we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. We only have to carry it out. Yet how often do we go swashbuckling through life, unaware of those who are broken on the road beside us? To what or to whom are we indifferent and/or desensitized? How can we begin to see what we do not see?
Have you ever felt left by the side of the road, beaten and battered, ignored by those with power and influence? Where have you turned for help in that situation?

Living and Praying with the Word

We turn to you, Lord, in our need. You live and move and breathe among us. You see what we do. You know that we tend to judge ourselves favorably. Sometimes we are so full of ego that we indifferently walk by you and we do not even see. Sometimes we ourselves are the ones lying by the road, broken and bleeding, and we cannot acknowledge our pain. Sometimes we think that we have been the Good Samaritan who has gently reached under your shoulders and lifted you up. And maybe we have. And maybe we haven’t. You have said that when we reach out to the least of yours, we do it for you. Strengthen our compassion this day. Show us how to truly care for our neighbor.

Dec 11 2024

Not a Vanishing Act

Last night before bedtime, I read about Jesus sending out the disciples. Before that, I watched a detective show with vampires in Edwardian England. Somehow, in my sleep, vampires and disciples got all muddled up: It was dark. Vampires flowed toward me from across the bridge, wanting to suck my blood. I was about to be emptied of me to become one of them. Then the disciples came from behind me. One of them yanked on my arm to make me come with him. I woke from the dream shaking in the darkness. My right elbow hurt.

I awoke and thought of a question that I had never considered before—what is the difference between becoming a vampire and becoming a disciple?

Some popular piety makes God out to be a bit Dracula-like: as the divine draws us close, all that makes us human is sucked out of us. Our end is to evaporate into the eternal mist. But that, well . . . that is pantheism, and not the end the God of Jesus Christ has in mind for us.

In Christian belief, as God the Creator draws us close, the more real we become. When Jesus calls us to discipleship, the goal isn’t to empty us of our distinctiveness, but for us to become so rich with God’s Spirit that we become the finest human that we can be. We needn’t be afraid of that pull of nearness. The One who tugs us to follow is the One who wants us to flourish.

Jesus sends his disciples out two by two because following him brings great happiness. We rejoice because our names are written in heaven. Whose name is written in heaven? Your name. My name. We are not dissolved into the mist and lost. Our names are written down as one particular human being, created and wanted by God. That is not scary. That is dream-filled delight.

Consider/Discuss

Evangelization efforts throughout history have wrestled with “making people who are more like us.” St. Paul continually battled with the Jewish Christians who wanted the Gentiles to be circumcised before they could be baptized. The early missionaries in the United States strove to make the Native Americans “more European” so they would follow Jesus “better.” The British worked to Anglicize the Indian sub-continent to be “more Christian.” Think about the historical tugging and pulling on people’s arms to make them become “like us.” What would Jesus do? How can we treat other people with respect while still offering them a relationship with the God of holy flourishing?

If you are a cook and bake a delicious new recipe for cinnamon-raisin bread, would you share it? If you are a bird-watcher and you spot a Bohemian waxwing for the first time, would you tell another bird-watcher about it? If you are a football fan and you read about your team’s new five-star quarterback recruit, would you talk about it? You’d be excited! How could you not talk about it? Think about the love and nearness of God, the exhilaration about what Jesus has done to lift us from the muck of life, to redeem us from the pit. Are we excited about that, too? How does sharing our personal story of the God who helps us to flourish differ from arm-twisting and yanking on elbows? How can we effectively witness to that happiness?

Living and Praying with the Word

Good God, thank you that you are not a dark vampire, wanting to suck the life out of me. Quite the contrary—as Isaiah says, you want to nourish me! Your heavenly, sustaining milk is abundant! You fill me with yourself. In the moments when I am close to you, I feel energized, stronger, more alive, more myself. Thank you for carrying me and holding me, as a mother comforts her child. So many people that I know are hungry for your nourishment but do not know you or trust you. Help me, good God of love, to tell the story of your richness, full of enthusiasm and joy!