18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B, RCL)

Robert Barron’s grasp of the complex development of David’s character in 2 Samuel is unsurpassed. And his references to history and literature are more than adornment.

Frances Taylor Gench doesn't ignore difficult texts about women; she wrestles with them. That's because she is committed to the Bible as scripture.

I've always admired the prophets. Their job of truth-telling required such courage and personal sacrifice. Yet they never held back. They spoke the truth no matter the consequences. I imagine they were lonely, then. Who could stand their challenging company for very long?

Personal relationships, however, weren't the prophets' priority. Their job was to tell God's truth in a way that would be heard.

In this week’s reading, Bathsheba, the woman David drew dripping out of her bath and into his story, is not named.

I believe God can make us completely over, but I also believe that this is not always necessary.

In my younger, decidedly anti-Christian days, I did not like the way Christians asked God for mercy. It reinforced my idea that “the Christian God” was cruel and punishing. After all, if God was a loving and compassionate God, one would not have to beg for mercy. And if God was cruel and punishing but at the same time righteous and just, then human beings were clearly bad and unworthy.

This whole system of thought—shameful people and cruel God—made me want to stay far, far away from Christianity and Christian churches.

Growing in prayer is not simply acquiring a set of special spiritual skills. It is growing into Christian humanity.

I used to read Ephesians 4 and get that vague, warm glow we Mennonites feel when we see the word peace. Now the passage stops me cold.

In the Bible, forgiveness involves repayment of what is owed. One way to pay down the debt is through charity to the poor.

"Speak the truth in love," and "see that none of you repays evil for evil," exhorts St. Paul. Which is easier said than done.

There are lots of ways to talk about the relationship between sports and religion.

The opening scene of Bull Durham comes to mind. As does the cultic quality of America’s obsession with football.

Sport as the center of personal and communal piety has a long history in many cultures, with the U.S. perhaps—to keep the competition motif alive here—winning the prize for the world’s most zealous devotees of the faith.

Perhaps we should not be too hard on the people who ate their fill on the mountain and chased Jesus down on the other side.

The psalms are poignant. They bear emotion in a way that grabs our souls. They are comprehended by the heart in a way the head can’t.

But I falter when I try to preach them.