What Should We Teach Our Children?

Scripture quite often surprises me.  In fact, the more I take understanding it for granted, the more surprised I get.

Take this week’s epistle for example.  I thought I knew what was wrong with stealing.  It is taking something that belongs to someone else, something that by right belongs to someone else.    I would have told you that the wrong in stealing was against the person from whom something was taken.   

That, however, is not how the Bible understands it, at least not Ephesians.  Chapter 4,  verse 28, begins predictably.  “Thieves must give up stealing.”  So far, so good.  Ephesians goes on:  “let them labor and work honestly with their own hands.”  OK, that makes sense.  Then the surprise—“so as to have something to share with the needy.”  In Ephesians, the problem with stealing is not the issue of property rights.  It is the sharing issue.  Stealing, rather than earning with one’s own labor, limits sharing.  And in Ephesians it’s not a matter of quantity, how much there is to share.  It is a matter of quality.  After all, Robin Hood shared a great deal.  It is only in sharing what one earns by one’s own labor that one can share of himself or herself.  Sharing one’s own property means sharing one’s own substance.  And that, morally speaking, is what matters. 

It is the giving of oneself that yields the spiritual benefit, not just the giving of resources to the needy alone.  In the Ephesians model, what is being shared is not simply the material resource.  It is the human one because sharing is, by definition, relational.  It is the relationship that matters, not helping those in need by itself.  Otherwise, Ephesians might as well be about Sherwood Forest and attributed to Friar Tuck rather than St. Paul. The key to the New Testament point of view is in the first verse of this week’s lesson, “for we are members of one another.”  We do not, biblically speaking, exist in isolation from each other.  The moral point is not who owns something, but who gives of oneself.  The model, of course, is Christ, who “loved us and gave himself up for us.”  It’s not the thing we give.  It’s ourselves.

There is one more Scriptural surprise for me in this passage.  It’s not just about property rights.  It’s about rights in general.  Indeed, it seems to me to suggest something about our current situation. 

Isn’t the biblical point of having something, according to Ephesians, to give it away?  And if that’s true of our property rights, wouldn’t it be true of our other rights?  After all, according to Ephesians, we are members of one another.  The truth is we are bound to each other in God, members one of another, precisely because Christ gave himself for us. 

It may very well be correct that we have certain rights about not wearing masks, including to school, but don’t we want to teach our children that their rights might have something to do with the needs of others.  Are we teaching our children that their rights are more important than the well-being of others, that a minor sacrifice of a right is to be protected even when giving it up might help someone else?  That’s what really worries me.  It seems to me that we can’t both proclaim that we want God in public schools and not teach our children at home what Ephesians does:  “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” 

Which is more important to us?  Our rights or the truth that we are members of one another in Christ?  It seems to me the latter is not about what we have but about what we give away.

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

                                                                                    Bishop Stacy Sauls

                                                                                    Founder and President

The Real Sin

This week’s Old Testament lesson (2 Sam. 11:26-12:13a) continues the consideration of David’s sin, which you will remember, involved a lustful attraction to Bathsheba that led David to arrange for her husband’s battlefield death.  But what exactly was the sin?

Were it not for this week’s lesson, which considers the prophet Nathan’s rebuke of David, we might well get it wrong.  As an example, let me point to the online Bible I use.  It includes headings that divide the text into stories.  It is helpful in finding what you’re looking for, but not so helpful for understanding the meaning of the text. 

The heading inserted before the story of David and Bathsheba is certainly understandable.  It reads, “David Commits Adultery with Bathsheba” (see. e.g., BibleGateway - Keyword Search: Bathsheba).  Sure enough, it certainly meets the definition.   But it is not what upset God about it.

God sent Nathan to confront David.  Since confrontation with powerful people often does not go well, Nathan spoke metaphorically.  He told David a story about a rich man who had “many flocks and herds” and a poor man who “had nothing but one little ewe lamb, which he had bought. He brought it up, and it grew up with him and with his children; it used to eat of his meager fare, and drink from his cup, and lie in his bosom, and it was like a daughter to him”  (12:2-3).  The rich man was visited by a guest and ”was loath to take one of his own flock or herd to prepare for the wayfarer who had come to him, but he took the poor man's lamb, and prepared that for the guest who had come to him” (v.4).

David fell into Nathan’s trap.  He was incensed at the rich man’s taking advantage of the poor man and proclaimed that the rich man deserved to die and dictated a fourfold restitution.  Then Nathan spoke.  “You are the man” (v. 7a). 

There may well be an issue of sexual ethics.  David had indeed committed adultery.  But what God focuses on is something even more serious.  Putting aside for the moment that Nathan treats a woman as property akin to a lamb, what kindles God’s anger is the rich taking advantage of the poor, the powerful taking advantage of the weak. 

It goes counter to the baggage we tend to ascribe to the Bible, as my Bible’s heading did.  But it goes directly to the heart of God. 

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

                                                               Bishop Stacy Sauls

                                                                                    Founder and President

God’s Faithfulness

            As I contemplated this week’s Old Testament lesson, 2 Samuel 11:1-15, I happened to accidentally tune into a radio preacher in the car.  I didn’t listen very long, so I don’t know exactly what he was preaching about.  Probably the same old thing.  But I do recall is declaring “unfortunately that means you’re going to hell.”  I may not know exactly what the preacher thought worthy of such utter condemnation and punishment, but it did occur to me that it had some relevance to King David.  And it occurred to me it didn’t much sound like God in the Bible.

            David’s behavior described in this week’s lesson was about the most despicable thing I can imagine.  He observed Bathsheba bathing on her roof and was, let’s face it, filled with lust, which he satisfied.  When Bathsheba became pregnant, he concocted a plan first to get Uriah, who was away fighting a war on David’s behalf, to come home so that the baby could be plausibly traced to him rather than David.  Uriah was too committed to what he had dedicated himself to in the king’s service and did not lie with his wife or even see her for that matter.  So in a truly dastardly deed, David arranged for Uriah to be killed in battle, which indeed came to pass.  It seems to me there are few more worthy of eternal hell than David.  But that is not what happened.  Indeed Bathsheba went on to bear a son to David, Solomon, who would be great in the history of Israel.  As Samuel reports, not only did the Lord love Solomon (12:24) but David was granted a great victory on the battlefield (vv.26 ff.).

            Here’s what I take from that.  David may not have been faithful to God.  God was steadfast to David, despicable or not.  I’m afraid David makes a pretty good representation of humanity.  And still God does not abandon him.  I find this pretty hopeful overall.

            No matter what we do, it seems, God chooses not to separate from us.   It isn’t about what we’ve done or not done.  It isn’t about whether we’re despicable or not despicable.  It isn’t even about whether we’re faithful or not faithful.  God is and that makes all the difference.

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

                                                               Founder and President

The People Come First

The readings for the eighth Sunday after Pentecost share a consistent theme.  It is simple.  The people come first.  The people come first.  The people come first.  Godly leadership always displays  this single characteristic. 

The reading from the Gospel of Mark tells a story about Jesus and the disciples seeking respite to recover from their labors.  “He said to them, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’  For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat” (Mk. 6:31).  No matter how hard they tried, though, it was not to happen.  The people saw where they went and quickly followed.  Jesus had compassion on the crowd and taught them.  Then he and the disciples tried going somewhere else.  Again their plans were thwarted.  People gathered the sick from all over the surrounding area and brought them to be healed.  There is no rest from doing good.

There is a similar theme in the Old Testament lesson for this week, 2 Samuel 7:1-14a.  I particularly like this story.  King David, having settled himself inside a palace in his new capital at Jerusalem, tells the prophet Nathan that he intends to build God a palace in which to dwell.  God, however, is having none of it.   

Are you the one to build me a house to live in?  I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle.  Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, “Why have you not built me a house of cedar?”  (vv.5b-7). 

 The people come first.  Always.  Even to God.  Especially to God.

That is the very thing that defines godly leadership.  It isn’t some idea of earthly glory.  It isn’t wealth.  It isn’t even piety.  It is people first. 

The alternative Old Testament reading, Jeremiah 23:1-6, contains a warning about that.  “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord” (v.1).  But even more to the point, the words of Jeremiah also contain a promise.  “Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply” (v. 3).  It all comes back to caring for the people.  God will assure it. 

In this time of almost unprecedented national division, the lens of putting the people first might be a useful one to apply.  It isn’t a left or a right thing.  It’s a people come first thing.  Always.

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

Adoption Means Brining Extra Diapers

I am an adoptive father.  Given this week’s epistle, I certainly can’t resist writing about that reality.  It is something I know a little about and that means the world to me.  It means a great deal to me to read that just as God chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world, so God has also destined us for adoption as God’s own children (Eph. 1:3-6).  It is easy for me to extrapolate from my imperfect love for my two sons to God’s perfect love for us all. 

That is why one of my pet peeves has to do with the casual way people use the word adopt to apply to zoo giraffes, African elephants in danger of extinction, and my personal favorite, highways and roads.  At the end of the day, your adopted highway gets left behind.  Not so with your children.  Adoption produces the same result as birth.  It is based on love and commitment.  Has nothing to do with good deeds.  It has to do with forever; no matter what.  Let me give you an example.  It involves applying for my son Andrew’s citizenship (he was born in Korea).

Let me tell you, even under the best of circumstances, there is nothing easy about it.  I had to go to the INS office to make the initial application.  At least in those days, if you had any hope of doing anything else on the day you went to the INS office, you had better be there when the door opened.  If you arrived later in the day, you might very well wait for hours to speak to someone.  I learned that the hard way, and when I found it necessary to go to the INS office, I would arrive at 5:00 a.m.  Even then, I was never the first person in line.

Part of the process involved an interview with an INS agent.  These were not easy to get.  You had to sign up and would be assigned an appointment several months in the future.  One could, however, request an earlier date if there was a cancellation.  That is what we did. 

Sure enough, one day we got a call that there had been a cancellation and were told to bring Andrew for his interview the next day for an appointment at 4:00 with the instruction that we would have to be there by 3:00 because that’s when the door to the office was closed to anyone else coming in.  Because my schedule has always been more flexible than that of my wife, who is a teacher, I took Andrew to the interview. 

Now because Andrew was all of 10 months old at the time, it would have seemed sensible to leave him at home for this, but no, Andrew was required to be there in person.  Although Andrew’s mother did not come with us, she had bought him a new dress suit for the occasion, baby blue, and I had instructions to dress him accordingly for the big interview.  We got there in time.  Sure enough, the door locked behind us promptly at 3:00.  We waited.

Here’s where the fun begins.  As babies can sometimes do, Andrew picked this particular moment to have, shall we say, an upset stomach.  It was not pretty.  It was major.  It was oozing out from the diaper in a major way.  It oozed onto the new baby blue suit.  It oozed all over my suit.

Why didn’t I excuse myself and take Andrew to the bathroom you might ask.  I’ll tell you why.  The bathroom was on the other side of the locked INS door, that’s why.  Yes, I was told I could take him but that I wouldn’t be able to get back in.  So I dealt with changing diapers on the floor of the INS waiting room.  This did not make the INS staff happy.  That’s OK because it didn’t make me happy, either.

Finally, with baby diarrhea smeared all over both of us, we were called in for the interview.  I apologized and sat down with my 10-month-old placed somewhat strategically on my lap.  The INS agaent began.  “I have some questions to ask you on behalf of Andrew,” he said while looking down at the application on his desk.

“OK,” I said”

“First question.  Has he ever been married?”  I laughed.

“This is not funny,” I was cautioned.

“I apologize,” I said.  “No, he has never been married.”

“Has he ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

Even I know there is nothing funny about the Communist Party, especially to a member, which the INS agent might have been for all I knew.

“No,” I replied, “he has never been a member of the Communist Party.”

“Has he ever plotted to overthrow the government of the United States by force?”  It did occur to me that given what I’d just been through in the waiting room, little Andrew might have the ability to overthrow the government, but I decided it was best not to make jokes.

“No.  He has never plotted to overthrow the government of the United States by force.”  I couldn’t resist.  “To my knowledge,” I added. 

I don’t remember any of the other questions.  No matter how ridiculous it was, somehow Andrew passed, and his naturalization application was approved.  A couple of months later, he was sworn in as a United States citizen.  I took the oath on his behalf.  I brought extra diapers along with me for the big event.

That’s the tip of the iceberg about adoption.  You don’t bring extra diapers for your giraffe, your endangered elephant, or your stretch of highway.  You do for someone you love more than life.  I’m guessing God has a massive diaper bag.

                                                                                                Agape,

                                                                                                +Stacy

                                                                        Bishop Stacy Sauls

                                                                                                Founder and President

It Means Nothing

Lord Acton wrote profound words to a professor of history and theology and scholar of the medieval papacy named Mandell Creighton at Cambridge in 1887.  One line in that letter is remembered and quotable by most everyone:  “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  The next sentence is unfortunately not as well known.  Perhaps it should be.  “Great men are almost always bad men.”

Lord Acton goes a long way in helping me understand some of the most confusing words I believe St. Paul ever wrote.  They are found in the Second Letter to the Corinthians.   

[Christ] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”  So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.  (vv.9-10) 

Now, I confess, I prefer power to weakness.  But when I think about it, I have to admit that power, as fun as one would think it is, has not generally served me well.  Indeed the worst things that have happened to me in life happened at the pinnacle of power.  The details of that are not important in the present context.  What does matter is that I know from personal experience, which is about the only way adults learn, that the things Paul mentions—insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities—in the end mean nothing.  What matters, indeed all that matters, is the presence of Christ.  And although I regret this is how God made the world, I have found that the presence of Christ is easier to experience from a position of weakness than one of power.  I think it is because power tends to make us too full of ourselves for Christ to be able to get in.  Maybe it’s because power hides our needs even from ourselves. 

 A priest I very much admire, who had his own share of calamities, once told a story I continue to reflect on.  It was a story of a young man who was visited by Jesus and asked to come out and play.  The young man was too busy to accept the invitation, pursuing no doubt the trappings of power, probably in his mind the power to do good.  My priest friend was making a point about what is really important in life, and it certainly isn’t power, something it took me a long time to figure out.  In fact, power tends to get in the way. 

Tom ended his story on a personal note with words directed to me. 

Sometimes people will say, “Thank God, Stacy’s here; now everything will be alright.”  It means nothing.  Other times people will say, “It’s all Stacy’s fault; we need to get rid of him.”  It means nothing.  What does mean something is taking time to play with someone who loves you.

 That’s where Jesus comes into this story.  Jesus is inviting us, especially me, to play, just as he invited the people of his hometown to play in the gospel for this week (Mark 6:1-13).  They turned him down.  I wonder if it is because he somehow, maybe just inherently, threatened to disturb their power, illusory though it probably was.  They responded, “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” (v. 3)  In other words, “Who does he think he is?”  Mark concludes,  “And they took offense at him.”  Power can do that to you.  Weakness is generally immune.

 There is one detail about Lord Acton and Mandell Creighton I glossed over.  Creighton was not only a Cambridge professor.  He was a priest of the Church of England, and he went on from Cambridge to be Bishop of Peterborough and eventually Bishop of London.  It doesn’t get much more powerful in church circles than that.  It doesn’t get much more ecclesiastically great than that.  It makes one wonder why Lord Acton addressed his words to whom he did.  I hope Bishop Creighton heard them, especially the line that followed the one we all remember.

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

                                                               President and Founder

                                                                                    Love Must Act

DIY Faith

Dr. Jay Walters was my professor of political thought in college.  I’m so grateful to him for many things, not the least of which was the confidence he gave me that I was (or could be) academically capable.  Another was a tip on reading ancient Greek documents.  “Pay attention to what comes in the middle,” he said.

This week’s Gospel reading may be a good case in point.  This story is typically referred to as the Raising of Jairus’ daughter.  We are never told the little girl’s name.  That story is interrupted in the middle by another story, that of the healing of the woman who had suffered from a hemorrhage for 12 years.  Like the little girl, she is not given a name, but we do learn some very important things about her.

She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.  She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well” (Mk. 5:26-28)

If Dr. Walters was right, it may be that the point has more to do with the woman with the hemorrhage than with the daughter of Jairus. 

You may remember from last week (stilling the storm on the Sea of Galilee) that at least I think Jesus has been using this part of his travels to teach about what faith means.  I think the passage we have this week is more of the same. 

Here are some key points about the main characters. 

• Jairus asked Jesus to do something (alter his travels to come and heal his daughter).  The woman took it on herself to sneak up on Jesus, if you will, and touch his clothes.  She did not ask permission nor did she speak to Jesus at all before being healed.  She’s more of a DIY sort of person.  I think of her faith that way.

• Though brief, something of a relationship developed between Jesus and the woman.  Jesus felt the power go out of him and began to look for who had touched him, which his disciples thought a little peculiar since the crowd was pressing in on him.  “But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth” (v. 33).  The woman overcame her fear to approach Jesus. Now that’s beginning to sound like faith.

• Jairus also came into a relationship with Jesus when he sought Jesus out and asked for help about something obviously on his heart.

• Jesus, however, responded to the woman in public, right out there in front of everyone.  Not so with Jairus.  In that case, Jesus worked in secret with only the girl’s parents and his closest followers present.  Indeed, he orders those who witnessed his raising of the girl to tell no one about it.

• Jesus responded to Jairus and the woman a little differently as to the matter of faith.  He commended the woman for her faith.  “Daughter, your faith has made you well” (v. 34).  He encouraged rather than commended Jairus, though.  “Do not fear, only believe” (v. 36).  (Believe is a most unfortunate translation, in my opinion, because the Greek work in both cases is the same.  It is translated as faith in one case and as believe in the other, but it is the same word in Greek.  Jesus is saying in both cases that faith is what allows us to overcome fear.)  The woman displayed faith.  Jairus was encouraged to have what she already did. 

The point, it seems to me, is not what you think is going to happen or even the assurance of what is going to happen.  Jesus has not said anything to Jairus, after all, about what he has in mind.  He told Jairus to be like the woman, to meet his fear about his daughter’s death with courage just as the woman met her fear with the courage to approach Jesus.  Faith is about courage.  It is not about what you think.  It is about how you overcome fear.    

                                                                        Agape,

                                                                     +Stacy

                                                                        Bishop Stacy Sauls

The Essence of Faith

This week’s reading from the Gospel of Mark (4:35-41) ends with two different perspectives on faith.  One is that of the disciples.  The other, which is quite different, is that of Jesus.  Both are responses to the same set of circumstances that make the disciples understandable but Jesus more hopeful. 

 Jesus and the disciples have set out from one side of the Sea of Galilee for the other in a modest boat.  If it was like the first-century fishing boat recovered from the mud of the Sea of Galilee a short distance from the beach during a drought in 1986 (27 feet x 7.5 feet with walls 4/3 feet high), it was not a very substantial vessel.  A significant storm struck while the boat was crossing the sea.  “A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat so that the boat was already being swamped” (v.37).  Things looked bleak.    

 Jesus was not alarmed.  He was, in fact, asleep in the stern.  The disciples, however, were terrified, and their panicked reaction was to wake Jesus to do something about the storm.  Jesus rebuked the wind.  It ceased.  The sea calmed.  All was well.

 This is where we get to the two different perspectives on faith at the end of the story.  The disciples asked about Jesus’ power and where it came from.  The question of faith for them was about knowing something—who he was.  “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”  (v. 41).  That’s one way to understand what faith is, a kind of knowledge, often without proof.

 Jesus, though, sees what has happened a bit differently.  He sees the episode as being about courage.  “He said to them, ‘Why are you afraid?  Have you still no faith?’” (v. 40).  For Jesus, the essence of faith has to do with courage to face what is difficult and challenging.  For the disciples, it has to do with knowing something and avoiding what is difficult and challenging.  Life, I think, is a lot more about having courage than knowing much of anything. 

                                                                        Agape,

                                                                        +Stacy

                                                      Bishop Stacy Sauls

Founder and President

Rainbows

One of the Old Testament options for this week (Ezekiel 17:22-24) ends on a very important note.  “All the trees of the field shall know that I am Lord.  I bring low the high tree, I make high the low tree; I dry up the green tree and make the dry tree flourish.  I the Lord have spoken; I will accomplish it.”  Things are going to change for the better for the low; less so for the high.  The question is how?

           We’ve seen the answer in the last couple of weeks. 

            A small bakery in Texas posted a picture on Facebook of its Pride-themed rainbow cookies.  They lost lots of followers and some big orders.  They received hateful messages.  The dominant powers left them low.  The next day a line literally wrapped around the block of people buying rainbow cookies to support the bakery.  “I will accomplish it,” says the Lord.  That’s how.

            A couple in Wind Point, Wisconsin started flying a rainbow flag outside their house in March.  Within the last month, the homeowners’ association rules changed to allow only the American flag to be flown, and the couple was reported for the violation.  The order came down from on high to the low.  Take the flag down.  They did.  Rules are rules.  They complied but were not deterred and were no less determined.  Instead of the flag, they lit the outside of their house with different colors of floodlights creating a rainbow in the night for three hours every day.  “If we can’t fly the flag, we’ll find a different way to still show that representation and we just happened to do it through our floodlights,” one of the couples said.  “I will accomplish it,” says the Lord.  That’s how.

            A bridge in Jacksonville was bathed in rainbow colors at night.  The Jacksonville Transportation Authority says it was informed that the color scheme was in violation of its permit and had to stop.  People reacted.  Strongly.  The next day the state Department of Transportation amended the local permit to allow the rainbow.  It’s back.  “I will accomplish it,” says the Lord.  That’s how. 

            Love Must Act exists to help answer the question “How?”  We exist to lift up the low by providing educational opportunities.  We do that in South Africa (which Desmond Tutu calls the Rainbow Nation, by the way) and Gaza.  But we also exist to give Americans an opportunity to stand with the low.  We believe that’s how things change.  We believe that’s how God accomplishes a new thing.  All of the trees of the field shall know.  That’s how.

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    +Stacy

                                                               Founder and President

I Not a Pie. I Sophie.

            Have I mentioned lately that Sophie is my granddaughter?  I got to spend Memorial Day with her and her parents.  She has a little wading pool that sprays upward and soaks her.  She cackles.  She also has a sprinkler attachment that looks like daisies she likes to run through, and she cackles again.  She also was playing with bubbles, seeing how many she could make, and then trying to pop them before they hit the ground.  “Granddaddy, you want to play bubbles?” she asked me.  “I’ll show you how,” she added to encourage me as if I needed any encouragement.  So we played bubbles.  She cackled again.  And then she sat in my lap and just about fell asleep after all the activity.  She likes to play with my ear when she does that.

            We also exchanged one of the traditional greetings.  I said, “Hi, Sweetie Pie.”  She replied, “I not a pie; I Sophie.”  Verbs are optional.  She cackled again.  Sophie asserts herself adorably but strongly.  She knows who she is.  She likes who she is.  I think that makes God very pleased.

            When the sun started to go down, and it began to get chilly, her mother got her ready to go inside for a bath.  I bet she was asleep in five minutes.  But before going inside, her mother let her take one more run through the daisy sprinkler, this time without her bathing suit, at Sophie’s request.  That girl!  Sophie knows who she is and asserts it.  “I Sophie.” 

            Sophie helped me make sense of one of the Old Testament lessons for this week that have always seemed a little harsh to me.  It’s the story we Christians typically call the “Fall,” although a Jewish friend once asked me a question that caused me to rethink it:  “Who told you it was fallen?”  Sophie has made me rethink it, too.

            You know the story (Gen. 3:8-15).  The man and the woman hear God in the garden and hide because they are ashamed of their nakedness.  It is important to note they are not ashamed of their disobedience.  God asks a pointed question.  “Who told you that you were naked?”  In other words, who told you there was something wrong with who you are?  If there is such a thing as original sin, I don’t think it’s disobedience.  It is a shame, shame in who God has made us to be.    

            I’m learning again who I am from Sophie.  I Granddaddy. 

                                                                                    Agape,

                                                                                    Bishop Stacy Sauls     

                                                                                    Founder and President