What are the little things that make it Christmas for you? What has shaped your perceptions of Christmas – of what it’s supposed to be? Likely, it’s a combination of your personal experiences and the ways the holiday has been presented to you by your culture growing up – what was on tv or the radio, what commercials or movies you remember, what foods your grandmother made.   For me it’s watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story. My dad on the roof putting up the lights, getting a real Christmas tree, singing carols, the little plastic Santa that sat on our front porch all lit up from within, getting dark early, the smell of cigarettes  and taste of lemon bars and fudge at my grandma’s house where we had our annual Christmas Eve party. A well decorated shopping mall with way too many people. These things make it feel like Christmas to me.  I love the movie Christmas Vacation. I watch it every year. This year our middle child was finally old enough to watch it: A rite of passage in our family. Actually, to say I love Christmas Vacation is sort of irrelevant. Love is beside the point: It’s a part of how I experience Christmas. I saw it in the theater in December of 1989 with my family. I was 10 years old. I have seen it at least once nearly every year since then. It’s not Christmas until the lights on the Griswold’s house blind the neighbors. This movie has shaped my very perception of what Christmas is supposed to be. How could it not? 

About ten years ago I was working with this therapist and it was a very good fit. She and I had both grown up in similar religious, geographical, and cultural contexts, and we both had come to similar places in our relationships with those things. Which is to say I felt heard and understood, and she was able to speak a language to me that didn’t need a lot of translation. I learned a lot from her about life and about myself. But the thing she taught me that may stick with me the most – at least on a conscious level – was something about God.  I was speaking with her about the pursuit of perfection: My desire to get everything right, to be the right kind of person, and specifically my belief that I needed to make all the right choices in order to be that right kind of person. I wanted to get it right, you know. And I wanted to get it right for God. It seemed like the least I could do. But I put a lot of pressure on myself to do that: To get it right for God, to make the right choices for God. To be the person God thought I could be. I was not able to see what a burden I was placing on myself in all this. But my therapist saw it.   Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

So there I was last Sunday putting up Christmas lights. It was the first week of Advent. I had spent the morning preaching at church. Now I was in my front yard. I was on a ladder. I had my Christmas mega playlist of over 500 of my favorite holiday themed songs set to shuffle on a speaker on the porch. I had the Santa hat on. And I was miserable. I could barely hear the music over how much I was cussing to myself. It was cold. My hands were numb if I wore no gloves, but when I put the gloves on I could not manage the lights. My family had given up and were inside drinking hot chocolate. I didn’t even want to hear the songs that were coming on. Merry Christmas indeed.   Expectations will kill you. Every time.  Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

We do not and cannot hear the Bible in a vacuum. We are living in a time when our country is radically reducing support for those who are poor and struggling. We are seeing this most drastically with the federal attack on SNAP funding – our primary food assistance program for those in need. The threads of the social safety net are actively being cut. More and more people are finding themselves on the margins of society, and once there, they are finding less help than ever before. Some careless, clueless Christian leaders will even use the text from 2 Thessalonians to support this action.  Much of the rhetoric around reduction and removal of this kind of assistance is that it incentivizes people not to work – that essentially people are lazy and these programs reward their laziness. Anyone unwilling to work should not eat. This is an age-old and pernicious characterization that allows us to distance ourselves from those in need, allows us to conveniently sidestep our mutual belonging, our responsibility to one another.  It also ignores reality.  Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

Regardless of how Jesus responds, it is essential for us to recognize and name this: The question itself is disingenuous. It is not asked with sincerity. It is not asked with respect. It is not asked out of curiosity. It is not asked with the desire to engage for the sake of a deeper understanding of how Jesus’ mind works. The challengers seek only to trap Jesus, to shut him down, to disprove him. He is not a sibling, friend, or conversation partner: He is a threat. They posture themselves as wanting to sit at Jesus’ feet and learn, but the narrator lets us know ahead of time that this is pure pretense. They are acting in bad faith.   We are well acquainted in our own time with disingenuity in disagreement. We are quite capable of recognizing bad faith questions disguised as debate.   Argument and debate are important parts of relationships and of living in a society. But not all argument is created equal. There is a marked difference between trying to reach an understanding and trying to win. In one, the goal is to know one another better and find a place of connection – even in disagreement. In the other, the goal is to be right and prove the other wrong. That’s it.  Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

In any case, it’s certainly not a straight answer, as centuries of varied interpretations attest.   This anecdote is often seen as Jesus refusing to engage in politics. He declines to clearly answer an explicitly political question, and his riddle of an answer has the whiff of separating church from state. This text then is often used by Christians as a way of discouraging the mix of religion and politics. It is especially used by Christians when another Chrisitan is espousing a political perspective that makes us uncomfortable.  Please understand that the question posed to Jesus is not asked genuinely – and I will say/write more about that next week. But it is worth saying here that the question is not asked with a desire for understanding Jesus’ perspective: It is a trap. Whichever way Jesus answers is problematic. Not because it is political, but because it is partisan. For Jesus to answer in either direction would put him in a category with a specific existing political constituency. To radically oversimplify things for our current context, the ones asking the question are doing something akin to getting Jesus to tell them if he is a Republican or a Democrat. Those who confront Jesus aren’t seeking his wisdom, aren’t interested in learning from him: They want to know which group to put him in so that he can be more easily classified, managed, and dismissed.     Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

This week's episode of When Love Shows Up explores the role of outrage in media consumption, tracing its evolution from the days of Howard Stern’s controversial radio show to the present era dominated by social media. Rev. Phil reflects on how media companies profit from keeping audiences engaged through provocative content. He examines the addictive nature of outrage and its implications for our social interactions and mental well-being. Drawing on Christian principles, he advocates for a community centered on love and human connection as an antidote to the divisive and profit-driven nature of current media practices.   Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

While we were memorializing our beloved, millions of people were marching and demonstrating in cities across the country. Every record of this event I saw showed grieving and laughter in potent coexistence. Homemade signs that embody rage and humor. Sorrow and hope - neither strangers nor enemies. For these millions, disillusionment with our present reality has not undermined a belief in what can be, in what we can be. It is a mighty love that produces such sorrow and hope. A hope that does not acknowledge sorrow is all artifice and denial. But a sorrow without hope? I don’t want to know it and neither do you. We are built for hope.  The next day, we drove through 6 hours of rain to get home to our children. I reached the front door exhausted and held onto them for dear life. It is such a cliché to say my children give me hope. But clichés are clichés for a reason, aren’t they? It is not my kids’ innocence I love – in all honesty I don’t consider them all that innocent. Children experience anger and shame and fear and sorrow and joy and all sorts of what we call “big feelings” just as much as adults do. They’re clueless and naïve and idealistic and wholehearted, but I do not worship or idealize them.  

Blessing does not exist in a vacuum. Blessing does not exist solely as a reward for good behavior. Blessing is a calling. Blessing is a vocation. The reason Abraham is blessed is so that he will be empowered to bless others. The land he is given is meant to provide a homeland for a whole people. His name is meant to be great so that he can use it to help others. His children and children’s children are meant to facilitate and embody God’s love and blessing  to the whole world – to all the families of the earth.  I often struggle with the temptation to make myself the center of my own life. I am thinking about how my life will turn out. What will come my way, what will I accomplish. I want to be blessed in practical ways like Abraham, and like so many others I’ve known. Who wouldn’t want that? But I am not the center of the universe, and I should not be the center of my own life. As a Christian, I am supposed to place God at the center of my life – but I have to tell you that doesn’t mean I’m supposed to be a holy roller who is, as one old song goes,  so heavenly minded that I’m no earthly good.   No, the Christian is commanded to center God by serving God’s people – which to be clear is everyone. 

This is not Christian education. It is abuse.   You know it’s abuse in your heart. Because if anyone – a spouse, a partner, a sibling, a friend - ever loved your best friend the way we are told God loves us, you’d tell them to run, and you’d be right.   Spiritually abusive Christianity, however prevalent it may feel in today’s world, is not reflected in the life, words, and ministry of Jesus. If you are a Christian who is being taught you were born dead and undeserving of love, you are in an abusive relationship. If you are someone who has left the church because you could no longer digest such a violent, toxic message about yourself, your leaving was not apostasy: It was an act of love – it was you recognizing something sacred within yourself that deserves to be nourished. That is exactly what Jesus wants for you.  

Jesus was a victim of political violence. But the real political violence against Jesus began before he was ever beaten, whipped, or killed. It began long before the night he was arrested. From very early in Jesus’ public ministry there are accounts of people plotting to silence him by force. The first time he preached at his home synagogue, he outraged his neighbors such that they sought to throw him off a cliff. The narrative of his ministry is laced with the threat of violence against him.   But the political violence against Jesus goes further back than that. Shortly after his birth, his parents were forced to take him and flee the country: Herod, then the king of Israel, sought to kill the baby he saw as a threat to his power. The violence against Jesus went further – as Jesus was born into an occupied country; his safety and the safety of his family contingent upon the whims of the Roman Empire, subject to their ability to accept their systemic oppression without resistance.   I’ve been thinking more and more about how Dr. King said, “True peace is not merely the absence of some negative force—tension, confusion or war; it is the presence of some positive force—justice, good will and brotherhood.” He observed repeatedly that one does not need to strike or stab or shoot in order to be violent: Violence exists in the threat of violence; violence exists in the creation and perpetuation of a system that maintains the status quo through the threat of violence.   Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

I am a Christian. This means I have committed my life to following Jesus, to love like Jesus loves, and, for lack of a more attractive term, to obey Jesus. Jesus is crystal clear in his command that I love others the way he has loved me. It’s a good time to remember that the command to love is not a command to feel a certain way about someone. It is impossible for us to control all our feelings, and I don’t believe Jesus would give us impossible commands.   To love Charlie Kirk does not mean to ignore or rationalize the things about him I find objectionable or harmful. To love him is to honor the dignity of his humanity – to recognize that he and I are both creations of the same God. To love Charlie Kirk is to be for him – and this is tricky, I acknowledge. I do not mean it means to accept or go along with everything he says, or to hope he gets what he wants. No, to love him is to hope for his heart to be filled with love, for him to experience liberation from hatred, for him to know true joy.   This is a non-starter for a lot of people I love and respect. Because we are all caught up in the condition of believing love, liberation, and joy are only for people we think deserve it – that love, liberation, and joy are rewards for good behavior. But what if true love, liberation, and joy are the things that enable us to let go of hatred in the first place?  

Jesus did not take issue with this. For a people to understand themselves in relation to the God who made them, and to believe they have a purpose on this earth is empowering and beautiful. But Jesus noticed that certain people among him thought this relationship and purpose made them better than others – made their people somehow more worthy of God’s love and acceptance. They believed that they were an exceptional people.   That didn’t work for Jesus. He told parables highlighting the faithfulness of people outside their culture. He uttered prophetic warnings to the effect that if they weren’t interested in creating communities that authentically recognized the dignity of every human being, God would gladly find others to do it. Jesus’ point again and again was simple: Just because we matter to God, just because God gave us a purpose, does not make us exceptional. We are all people – and every person has the capacity to glorify God in ways you can’t even imagine.  I need to pause here and make it very clear that I do not believe the exceptionalism to which I refer is somehow a characteristic unique to the culture of ancient Israel, or of Jewish people. In our current times, we are seeing a horrifying surge in anti-Jewish rhetoric and violence in our country and across the globe. Christians in particular have an abysmal track record in terms of anti-Jewish rhetoric and violence. Of course there are and always have been Christians who have been supportive and respectful of our Jewish siblings. But some of the gravest threats to Jews throughout history have come from Christians, been condoned or undertaken by Christians. Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

I remember sitting next to my dad in a hospital room in Maine many years ago. He had accidentally overdosed on pain meds during his cancer battle and was in a coma. I sat in stillness next to his unnervingly quiet body in that unnervingly quiet room – helpless and useless. And, because I’m a religious guy, I pulled out my Bible. I turned it to the Book of Job. Maybe when you’re sad and scared you want something happy and hopeful: an inspirational Bible quote or cheery encouraging song. Not me. I want the saddest music possible. Music was not allowed in the ICU, so I read through the Biblical story of the man who lost everything he ever had and never got a good explanation for it. Nobody ever told him why his life fell apart, and no amount of faithfulness made it clearer for him. Job was simply miserable and clueless, and at the end he hadn’t learned a thing.   It made my day. Because in that moment I realized not that I should be hopeful or happy or positive or cheery: Instead I learned I was not unique in my misery. I was not alone – even in my pitiable pilgrimage. What a gift.  Want to support our podcast? Give Here 

By the time we got back to the parking lot we were beat. Our wives were nowhere to be seen. So we called them, and it turned out the appointment they’d made wasn’t done yet and they were 3 miles down the road and wouldn’t be ready for a while.   Martin and I looked at each other, and just started walking again. But we were no longer on the trail. We were on a sidewalk. Walking towards the wives and the minivan. Instead of creeks there were mini malls, instead of trees there were power lines and cell towers. Martin sighed, “Well I guess the hike continues.”   I shook my head emphatically and said, “No, Martin. The hike is over. Now we’re just two guys without a car.”  Intention matters. Want to support our podcast? Give Here https://redeemercincy.tpsdb.com/Give/podcast

I grew up a Christian who believed the best thing I could possibly do as a Christian was make other people Christians. I was taught and believed that people who weren’t Christian would go to Hell when they died and spend eternity in conscious torment for believing the wrong thing while on earth. If I could just make someone Christian, then I would be saving them from an endless loop of torturous agony. What’s more, these previously damned souls would now get to experience the nameless eternal joys of Heaven all because of me! What could be a higher aspiration?  Many Christians believe saving others from going to Hell is the purpose of life. And I think this is where it helps to have a real understanding of what Jesus asks of his followers. Jesus’ instructions to those who would act in his name is to serve others, to love others, to forgive the debts of others. Jesus is less interested in his followers trying to convince people something about God then he is in them embodying the loving presence of God. In other words, your job is not to save people, it’s to love them.   There is a world of difference between saving others and serving others.

I am often looking for ways to appear good to others, to justify my own goodness to myself, to you, to God. Jesus rejects this outright. “Don’t even call me good,” he says, though if ever one was meant to be called that, it would be him. Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he seems far less interested in people being good than he is in them being merciful, loving, forgiving, working for peace, justice, and equity, and above all, ready to spot the presence of God in the person right in front of them. Awareness, readiness, and willingness to do the work are infinitely more interesting to Jesus than abstractions like goodness.  When asked what matters most in this world to God, Jesus says loving God and loving your neighbor – and he makes it clear that these things are connected, and that they are on the same level. It is phrased as a commandment, yes, but more than that, this kind of love is a defining feature of anyone who says they follow Jesus. If I call myself a Christian and I do not love my neighbor, I am fundamentally missing the point. Conversely, if I do not call myself Christian, but I love my neighbor, I understand Jesus much better than the unloving Christian. And please remember that this love Jesus describes is not about sentiments and feelings – it’s about action. It’s about the practical work of caring for others.   Want to support our podcast? Give Here https://redeemercincy.tpsdb.com/Give/podcast

It is impossible not to think of the brown-skinned people, many of whom are of Mexican origin, who are being racially profiled, snatched off the streets and detained without due process all across our country so that we might be made great. It is also impossible to forget that this disaster occurred just a month after our own government announced plans to defund FEMA – our country’s federal emergency response program. While our own country seems to be unclear about who our neighbor is, firefighters from northern Mexico had no such confusion.  In Butler County Jail here in Ohio, sits a man named Ayman Soliman. He is an Egyptian refugee who has been in our country for over a decade. He fled Egypt under threat of death, and after surviving incarceration and torture because he spoke and acted in support of democracy during what has become known as the Arab Spring. He is a Muslim, and since living in the Cincinnati area, he has served as an imam in the local Muslim community, as well as a chaplain at Children’s Hospital, pastoring to people across religious and cultural affiliations. He has been charged with no crimes. He has devoted his life to the care of others. No reason has been given for the revocation of his asylum status. He has been imprisoned for nearly a month.

In this crossover episode, join hosts Tym House and Anny Stevens Gleason from our new podcast, The Priesthood of All Queer Believers as they welcome their first guest, The Reverend Philip Hart DeVaul. They discuss the intersection of queer identity and faith, addressing common misconceptions about 'pride as sin' and the hypocrisy within certain Christian traditions. Reverend DeVaul shares his personal story of his father's coming out and its impact on his faith. The conversation also covers the transformative power of embracing queer identity within religious spaces, the normalization of queer presence, and the importance of inclusive and affirming practices. This episode emphasizes the potential for growth and deeper understanding within the church through the inclusion and celebration of queer believers. 

The idea that my Christianity would be at odds with my patriotism makes me wildly uncomfortable. I hate it, really. For as long as I can remember I’ve been a Christian, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been American. I remember watching a US aircraft carrier docking in San Diego. I was in 6th grade, and that ship was carrying a family friend who had been deployed in the Persian Gulf. As the ship pulled in, its deck lined with uniformed sailors, the loudspeakers blared “I’m Proud to be an American” and I felt it in my 11-year-old bones. And God bless America, I thought. This country that has formed me has been in my prayers since I could pray.   I love Jesus and I love America, and I am not interested in changing either of those things any time soon. I have to admit, though, that I have been conditioned to believe that my love of country and my obedience to Jesus are synonymous – or at least that they are cozy bedfellows, resting comfortably with each other side by side, never at odds with one another. And this is profoundly problematic.   America is not Christian, and it never was. Even if the majority of people who created this country identified as Christian, it was not a Christian country at its founding. And it wasn’t founded with Judeo-Christian values, because there is no such thing as Judeo-Christianity. That phrase is a modern invention with no teeth and less meaning. And as a lifelong (and professional) Christian, I am fine with America not being Christian. I just want us to be honest about it.