Litmus Test

The litmus test in chemistry reveals the general acidity of a substance. In the political arena, judiciary apply a litmus test to determine whether a certain nominee should receive their vote. According to Jesus, the straightforward litmus test that validates or contradicts the authenticity of our faith in him is profoundly simple—love one another.

When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and glorify him at once. Little children, yet a little while I am with you. You will seek me, and just as I said to the Jews, so now I also say to you, ‘Where I am going you cannot come.’ A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:31-35 | ESV)

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. These things I command you, so that you will love one another. (John 15:12-17 | ESV)

“Love is the most durable power in the world” (Martin Luther King, Jr.)

“People who love each other truly and fully are the happiest people in the world. They may have little, they may have nothing, but they are happy people. Everything depends on how we love one another” (Mother Te


If God is love, violent reprisal violates His character and repudiates anything I may say to the contrary. It is impossible to pray for my enemy while endeavoring to destroy him. Praying for my enemy initiates an internal distillation in which God sifts and discards everything in me that does not resemble the Christ. This is not a painless process; in fact, someone must die for it to come to fruition. I may be surprised that the one who must die is me. “I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live, yet not I but Christ who lives within me” (Galatians 2:20). The way of the cross always leads in the opposite direction of the well worn path down which the world is marching.

“At the same time, it is a new commandment that I am writing to you, which is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining. Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness. Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes.” (1 John 2:8-11 | ESV)

Nativity of Mary, Blessed Virgin Catholic Church (photo by author)


I sat waiting for my wife in the chiropractor’s lobby, struggling to breathe without fogging my glasses in my homemade mask. My wife has crafted hundreds of them over the past two months for healthcare professionals, family members and friends, and this particular version is my favorite. But a mask is still a mask, and I fought against anonymous frustration aimed at no one and nothing in particular as I contemplated my disdain for the term “new normal.” The Oldies radio station coming through the speaker system played Steven Tyler of Aerosmith belting out “Crazy.” My knee jerk reaction was to say aloud, “You’ve got that right!” Brimming with conflicting emotions tinged with a dark edge, I turned back to finish reading Matt Malone’s editorial in the latest edition of “America”—the Jesuit review of Faith and Culture:

“There is a serious joy deficit in both the church and the world these days. Some of the most visible Christians, for example, look as if they haven’t had a joyful thought in 10 years. That’s a big problem, for them certainly, but also because joy is what makes our witness credible, what changes the mode of the giver and receiver. Joy is what makes our faith attractive, even what makes it intelligible. Without joy, to paraphrase St. Paul, we are just clanging cymbals. To have Easter joy is to live each day in the knowledge that God broke into time and space; broke into our house while we were sleeping and sprinkled every room with a dust of eternity. Then He rose and left through the front door, which remains open for us to follow.”

I confess the temptation to choose the dark side, bolstering anger rather kindness, feeding angst over against peace. Anger is a choice; self-inflicted lesion that atrophies from the inside-out. The worst possible consequence is that I become a side-walking version of Winnie the Pooh’s Eeyore, a gloomy creature that repels rather than attracts persons to Christ. The antidote is joy. Joy is never self-serving; it abounds for the benefit of others. When I opt for selfless enduring adoration of Jesus Christ, He transforms my brackish cistern into an overflowing well to which others are compelled to approach seeking fresh water for themselves. Joy is to be the new normal for every Jesus follower.

Burning Hearts

So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He acted as if he were going farther, but they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (Luke 24:28-32 | ESV)

So many times before I’ve thought this and even voiced it aloud to myself, that I shudder at doing it still again in fear of outrageous vain repetition. But here I go again—the time has come for me to seriously discipline myself and do the important things and do them consciously, consistently, even constantly. I must return to the Center—Jesus Christ—and allow him to make all things new as he re-creates them according to his own heart. If such an entity existed and would open its ranks to one undeserving of any consideration if it did, I would apply this moment to join the Order of the Burning Heart—a hybrid monastic order seeking to thrive spiritually in the midst of ordinary life. The withdrawing would not be physical distance, but instead my heart pulling away into the deep and secret dwelling of Christ himself within me. The ranks of the Order of the Burning Heart include all who seek to find that solitary realm, not to worship the place but the One who sanctifies it by his own Name. With Paul our hearts cry, “I want to know Christ”—Christ and Christ alone! I embrace as kindred all who undertake this quest to know him tangibly, experientially. This sacred perpetual pilgrimage acknowledges no sectarian or denominational lines drawn in the sand by clay vessels, and ignores all man-made divisions. It embraces every writer and writing, image and image-maker, artist and artwork, every place and every living thing that enhances the pursuit to know Christ in fullness and ongoing experience. Ancient spiritual guides inform the quest through their writings and experiences as well as spiritual sages of the present. Present-day seekers, be encouraged to continue spelunking. Join me on this expedition into abandonment. Above all, may Christ be known and exalted, and become in practical expression all that he already is—absolutely everything!

“Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?”

Shadow and Fire

Holy Wednesday of Passion Week is a dark day as we recall and grieve over Judas arranging his betrayal of Jesus with the chief priests (St. Matthew 26:14-25). The day is sometimes referred to as “Spy Wednesday,” and other events connected with this day include those at the house of Simon the Leper, particularly the anointing of Jesus by Mary of Bethany. Many church traditions commemorate these events with Tenebrae, Latin for “shadows” or “darkness.” The Tenebrae Service is characterized by gradual extinguishing of candles, and by a loud sound taking place in total darkness near the end of the service. The purpose of the Tenebrae service is to recreate the emotional aspects of the passion story. It attempts to recreate the betrayal, abandonment, and agony of the events, and is left unfinished because the story isn’t over until the shadows of death are overcome by Resurrection light.

The bleakness of Spy Wednesday leaves me longing for Easter illumination. The antithesis of darkness is light, and the remedy for shadows is fire. In other words, ignis is the answer to tenebrae. We get our English word “ignite” from the Latin noun Ignis, meaning “Fire.” Fire has an aura of the eternal about it—you may be the one to start it and may be present to watch it fade into a red and orange glow, but in-between it appears to have neither beginning nor end. Perhaps this is why fire is one of my favorite images in Scripture. I thrill to Elijah standing strong astride the summit of Mount Carmel at his showdown at sundown with the prophets of Baal. The climax, of course, is when God rains down fire from heaven to consume the altar where Elijah’s sacrifice of faith lay drenched in water, waiting for an answer in flames. I love when John the Baptist refers to Jesus of Nazereth, stating matter of factly, “He will baptize you with water and with fire.” No greater image depicts the Holy Spirit than fire as the Spirit descended upon the early believers at Pentecost and had the appearance of tongues of fire above each of them.

So, I must ask myself, “What is it about fire that captures my attention and liberates my imagination?” Normal responses would include practical reasons such as fire warms hearts, fire cooks, etc. But more than that, fire dances with an energy that is otherworldly. Something about fire declares it is not of this world. Man may start fires, but only God can create fire. Its energy comes direct from the hand of God and alters all it burns. This explains the cry of my heart—“Holy Fire of God, dance in me! Make me to leap at your touch and draw others to You like flames attract insects in the night. Make me useful—yes—but make me more than useful. Make me creative and responsive, daring and obedient, spontaneous and steady. Give me an otherworldly glow. Make it obvious that I am twice-born and twice-baptized, immersed in water and in fire.”

Ignite in me love for the Father that burns so hot I feel it as well as know it. This was the experience of English mystic Richard Rolle who wrote:

I cannot tell you how surprised I was the first time I felt my heart begin to warm. It was real warmth, too, not imaginary, and it felt as if it were actually on fire. I was astonished at the way the heat surged up and how this new sensation brought great and unexpected comfort. I had to keep feeling my breast to make sure there was no physical reason for it. But once I realized that it came entirely from within, that this fire of love had no cause, material or sinful, but was the gift of my Maker, I was absolutely delighted, and wanted my love to be even greater. And this longing was all the more urgent because of the delightful effect and the interior sweetness which this spiritual flame fed into my soul. Before the infusion of this comfort, I had never thought that we exiles could possibly have known such warmth, so sweet was the devotion it kindled. It set my soul aglow as if a real fire was burning there (from, The Fire of Love, 1290-1349).

Even as Richard Rolle felt You burn in his chest, initiate me into the Order of the Burning Heart. Burn away all other passions until all that remains are the red-orange tongues of fire that is a passion for You. Deliver me from wanting to amass knowledge and theological understanding about You. Reveal Yourself so that I will intimately know You. As a branch exists by abiding in the vine, may I be a flame that exists by abiding in the Fire.

Do You Need An Anchor?

Anchors are essential when howling storms threaten to tear us away from sanity and hope. The trying circumstances brought about by the unseen nemesis known as COVID-19 demand that we plunge beneath the thin veneer of pop spiritual culture and drink deeply from stalwarts of the Ancient Church. Between now and Easter, I hope to shed light from forgotten beacons from our collective Church past. If they are familiar to you, rejoice and drink again from our common fountain. If they are new, welcome to a world of eternal benefit buried beneath layers of dust and disuse.

Read and relish the timeliness of The First Epistle of Clement to the Corinthians written by Clement of Rome late in the first century:

“But not to dwell upon ancient examples, let us come to the most recent spiritual heroes. Let us take the noble examples furnished in our own generation. Through envy and jealousy, the greatest and most righteous pillars [of the Church] have been persecuted and put to death. Let us set before our eyes the illustrious apostles. Peter, through unrighteous envy, endured not one or two, but numerous labours and when he had at length suffered martyrdom, departed to the place of glory due to him. Owing to envy, Paul also obtained the reward of patient endurance, after being seven times thrown into captivity, compelled to flee, and stoned. After preaching both in the east and west, he gained the illustrious reputation due to his faith, having taught righteousness to the whole world, and come to the extreme limit of the west, and suffered martyrdom under the prefects. Thus was he removed from the world, and went into the holy place, having proved himself a striking example of patience. To these men who spent their lives in the practice of holiness, there is to be added a great multitude of the elect, who, having through envy endured many indignities and tortures, furnished us with a most excellent example. . . . These things, beloved, we write unto you, not merely to admonish you of your duty, but also to remind ourselves. For we are struggling on the same arena, and the same conflict is assigned to both of us. Wherefore let us give up vain and fruitless cares, and approach to the glorious and venerable rule of our holy calling. Let us attend to what is good, pleasing, and acceptable in the sight of Him who formed us. Let us look stedfastly to the blood of Christ, and see how precious that blood is to God, which, having been shed for our salvation, has set the grace of repentance before the whole world. Let us turn to every age that has passed, and learn that, from generation to generation, the Lord has granted a place of repentance to all such as would be converted unto Him.”

Scratched onto parchment two thousand years ago, Clement’s admonition is as relevant as this morning’s headlines. “Let us turn to every age that has passed, and learn that, from generation to generation, the Lord has granted a place of repentance to all such as would be converted unto Him.” Turn aside from today’s stress and frustration, forge a quiet place, and turn your heart toward Christ in contrition and expectation. He will meet you, take you by the heart, and walk with you into his holy sanctuary of rest.

How To Live With the Coronavirus

How will you live with the COVID-19 pandemic? Whether we want to admit it or not, each of us will answer this question for ourselves. This is not the time to bury our heads in the sand and pretend we can evade the ripple effects of a pandemic. It is, however, a grand opportunity to flesh out what it means to live as Christ.

According to Francis Collins, Director of the U.S. National Institutes of Health:

“If you look at the rates of new cases that are being diagnosed, we’re on an exponential curve. That curve, some would say, places us only about eight days behind Italy. If that’s true, we have only a very short period of time before this becomes an obvious national crisis with many people presenting with serious illness and hospitals quickly becoming very stressed with the ability to handle all of these sick people, especially older people who are at higher risk and who may need not just a hospital bed but even a ventilator.”

Collins goes on to speak about moral and ethical issues such as the importance of selflessness in the midst of a pandemic. “I think we as a nation have to get into a place of not just thinking about ourselves, but thinking about everybody else around us, and particularly the most vulnerable people—those who are older and those people with chronic diseases.” (From an article in “The Atlantic”)

Eventually, the virus will subside and life will piecemeal return to normal. The question of the hour is what our memory on the other side of this will remind concerning our behavior during the pandemic. Will I reflect in regret that I acted selfishly, hoarding and hating? Or, will I think back on moments of grace in which ministry transpired in the name of kindness and generosity? Will my predominate memory be one of paralysis and self-importance, or will it be of compassionate care of the elderly, family solidarity, contentment with our daily bread, and divine dependence rather than stoic self-reliance. This crisis will eventually pass and offer ample time to consider whether or not we were among those who acted out the Golden Rule (St. Matthew 7:12) and implemented the Great Commandment (St. Matthew 22:35-40).

My life matters in measure of how much other lives matter to me. As Thomas Merton wrote, “No man is an island.” Frederick Buechner touched on this as well, “The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.” I am to respond to the coronavirus in the same way that in ordinary circumstance I show my faith in Christ to be vital and perpetually transforming. In other words, live today like your actions count for eternity—because they will.


“Once you become aware that the main business that you are here for is to know God, most of life’s problems fall into place of their own accord.” ~J. I. Packer

What could provide more solace of soul, or so I thought, than attending Ash Wednesday service at our community’s Anglican Church? My anticipated retreat into introspection began as expected with priests advancing ceremoniously up the center aisle on their way to the altar. I stood with the other communicants in relative silence, and took my seat as the Deacon instructed. It was at that moment that the sacred space was shattered by the cries of a small child, followed by similar cacophony in stereo from across the sanctuary. I mentally allowed the initial vocal flurry to pass nonplussed thinking the worst was behind me, and returned my attention to the serious matter at hand—namely, sinful transgression and its remedy in the Cross. As I listened intently to the reading from the Old Testament, a whirring sound kicked in ahead of me and to my left. I sat on the third pew from the front, and seated just in front of me was a man far more senior than me. I had not noticed it before, but the man was connected by plastic tubing to a breathing apparatus that emitted an artificial cadence of exhaling and inhaling. I struggled to regain mental and emotional composure so that I could follow the New Testament reading, but as if on cue, the children raised their voices again from behind. I almost laughed out loud when sirens sounded off just outside the church as the minister ceremoniously began reading the Gospel selection. At the selfsame moment that Jesus spoke to us from Matthew’s Gospel, small children screamed, a man gasped for mechanical breath, and sirens blared en route to someone’s emergency. My impulse was to bolt and escape to the serenity of my Jeep, but I forced myself to remain. I leaned toward the rector and by God’s grace was able to hear from the Lord despite the seeming chaos that surrounded. From the center of the storm I sensed an important truth—The Christ-life is much less about retreat than it is learning to lean toward Him and detect His voice despite all distraction to the contrary.

Ash Wednesday is Full of Joy

“Ash Wednesday is full of joy… The sources of all sorrow is the illusion that of ourselves we are anything but dust.” ~Thomas Merton

Forgiveness breeds hope. We met Andy in the least likely of places. My wife and I hiked carefully down the saturated earthen slope to view The Basin where water cascades into a granite bowl and whirlpools around its walls. American naturalist Henry David Thoreau stood on the same spot on his first trip to the White Mountains in September of 1839, and later wrote in his Journal: “This pothole is perhaps the most remarkable curiosity of its kind in New England.” Samuel Eastman in his White Mountain Guide called this spot, “One of the beautiful haunts of Nature, a luxurious and delicious bath fit for the ablutions of a goddess.” High praise indeed for a boiling pot of frigid liquid. Standing on the rim of this natural marvel was a young woman with long dark hair and even longer quilted down coat. She turned to look at us through round black spectacles, greeted us, then asked without blinking if we would use her phone to shoot a video while she spread ashes over The Basin. Andy explained that her mother had died the year before and that she was traveling literally across the globe to sprinkle her mother’s remains in meaningful places. I accepted her phone and awesome responsibility, asked how to manipulate the video controls, and proceeded to miss the shot as she sprinkled her mother over the swirling water. I was crushed, having failed to capture this once-in-a-lifetime moment. I confessed as such to Andy and waited for tears to fall in response, but she simply smiled and said, “Don’t worry. Let’s try again.” More of her mother remained in a ziplock plastic bag, and fortunately I got it right the second time.

Grace is not escape; it is engagement at the highest level of risk, and forgiveness is the remedy for everything. This is why the chief of sinners was also the most prolific evangelist and church planter the world has ever known. Fortunately for me and you, we are forgiven, not only for past failures, but for all future blunders we’ve yet to commit, what Piper calls “Future Grace.” The only possible way to avoid hypocrisy and self-loathing is to step ever deeper inside the labyrinth of forgiveness. We were never intended to wander looking sadly behind, lost in a world of anonymous bridges. Forgiveness begins with believing in Jesus Christ; it flourishes as we forgive ourselves.

After Andy walked away with her mother in her pocket, I watched a leaf surrender today to the cold and pirouette into the whirlpool. I oddly felt sorry for the Sugar Maples, dropping what they worked so hard to nurture and retain, but I watched as other leaves followed suit. Forgiveness means the final curtain never has to fall; this moment is not the final word for those who live by Grace.

The Bell and The Cross

It may surprise you what theology may be encountered in a fast food joint. More to the point, who would have thought that Taco Bell could become a classroom on the Cross? Some background is in order. Label me “simple” or simply “cheap,” but I freely admit that I am a Taco Bell connoisseur. I first frequented the Bell for financial reasons as a struggling college professor—where else could I eat my fill for well under $5, or feed my family for under $10? I continue through the years out of preference for the flavor as well as deference to the budget-friendly prices. These days, I have introduced my grandkids to the dollar menu, and my oldest grandson knows he can talk me into a Taco Bell run most any time of day or night, which explains why one of my favorite stocking stuffers from my wife this Christmas was a three-pack of Taco Bell gift cards—she knows me so well.

I ordered my usual lunch selections just yesterday, filled my cup with diet soda, but was forced to sit in what is not my usual table because another gentleman had beaten me to it. While waiting for my name to be called to collect my bean burrito and chalupa supreme, I glanced over at the man at my customary table. He appeared roughly my age, bore a day or two’s growth of whiskers, and was dressed in dungarees, sweatshirt, and a low profile ball cap. I saw my reflection in the window and couldn’t help thinking how much we resembled one another. He neatly arranged his food in front of him, much like I am accustomed to doing, but he disrupted the similarities by doing the unexpected—he crossed himself before bowing his head, and sat in silence for a minute or so before raising his head and unwrapping what looked to me to be a quesarito. A simple gesture and unobtrusive prayer, but it set me to thinking, and I spent the remainder of my lunch (and the balance of my day for that matter), reflecting on the practical and eternal centrality of the cross of Christ.

“The fact that a cross became the Christian symbol, and that Christians stubbornly refused, in spite of the ridicule, to discard it in favor of something less offensive, can have only one explanation. It means that the centrality of the cross originated in the mind of Jesus himself. It was out of loyalty to him that his followers clung so doggedly to this sign.” (John Stott, The Cross of Christ, p. 31)

The cross of Christ is the center of all faith in God for good reason. I may not cross myself before meals or when entering a church building, but in a very real sense, every created thing is a sign that points back to the cross. All things are either hidden behind the cross, or exposed by the cross. I cling to the rough and weather beaten cross of Jesus, because it is my only hope for this life and the life to come.

“Life is wasted if we do not grasp the glory of the cross, cherish it for the treasure that it is, and cleave to it as the highest price of every pleasure and the deepest comfort in every pain. What was once foolishness to us—a crucified God—must become our wisdom and our power and our only boast in this world.” (John Piper, Don’t Waste Your Life)