When Bill Moyers was interviewing Joseph Campbell, the great scholar of religions and mythic literature, he asked Campbell whether he had ever adhered to any of the traditions he studied. In a word, Have you been a believer? Campbell said he had not. Moyers pressed. Then could he say he fully knew the religions? Campbell acknowledged the void in his manner of knowing religions.
Jesus always demanded the discipline of diversity from his disciples. More than words, his teaching aid was a table of food and fellowship. His invitation was to any and to all to come together at table and eat. He got specific. Do not invite your friends and family to your feasts. Instead, he said, Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. Two questions, now: Why them? And, now that we’re about 100,000 Sundays into the game, How are we doing?
I have never read stories of any nation so boldly self-critical as those of ancient Israel. What a gift! The people were old, tired, and few, say the stories, and they sinned monstrously. By all the stars, they should have failed. What did they do to get through? The answers are here in Just these few dozen stories called Genesis, kept because they contain lessons from the beginning for how a community in crisis can come through.
I do not know how you should use your precious hours, but note this. You seek justice and you seek peace. Very often, it will be one or the other, not both: peace or justice. Very often, they do not come together in time. You must work this out for yourself.
To take something—this is a marvel: first, a creature must perceive it, then desire it, then move for it, and only then, take it. Our awe at seeing how animals take what they need is rooted in this most basic narrative of our own nature. It is our own story.
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