The Bible was written by many people over a long period of time, from different locations. It all began with storytelling, then the stories gradually got written down. The greatest find of ancient writ happened at Qumran. The scribes painstakingly wrote each word, letter by letter on scrolls, but had to hide them as the Roman army worked their way toward Masada.

In the Spring of 1947, a young Bedouin shepherd was near the Dead Sea, when he kicked a rock from above into a cave. To his surprise he heard a strange clang, so he climbed down and found seven ancient Hebrew and Aramaic scrolls. The next nine years yielded the discovery of ten more caves containing a dozen scrolls and thousands of fragments.

Scholars labored over the fragments, like working a puzzle. What they had at the end of the work was black letters on a light-colored material. When you think about it, that’s what the Bible is today. Nothing more than black letters on white paper. I have found the best way to bring the Bible alive, is to do the opposite of what the scribes did.

Since the scribes wrote it down, we de-scribe the stories by reading them. And to truly get the words off paper, I find that it is even more alive when we get the words into our ears. That’s why in most churches the sermon text is read aloud prior to the pastor preaching. Next time you want a fresh reading of a scripture passage, bring it alive by hearing the de-scriptions anew.

The caves of Qumran.

He answered the phone when I called a local mosque. Khadim had a pleasant voice and was immediately agreeable when I asked for someone to come to my church and give a talk on Islam. He said that he would like to get to know me first, so I picked him up and we went out for lunch. The food was going to take about 20 minutes, so we went next door to a barber shop to wait.

The barber was a Malcom X devotee and he knew his Qur’an very well. He talked the entire time and I was impressed with his knowledge. Occasionally, he would stop and ask me a question, but soon I realized it was more rhetorical than anything. After 20 minutes we stood up and dismissed ourselves. Once outside, Khadim laughed and said, “I think you’re probably the first white guy to ever go in there.”

The day of the talk, I once again picked up Khadim. He was dressed in a traditional kurtah (a long,white cotton shirt) with white cotton pants. He said that Muslim men and women who dress modestly and are humble and devout, “for them Allah has prepared forgiveness and great reward” (Qur’an 33:35). His talk to our Thursday morning study of about 40 people became a great reward for us.

He spoke in a rather mesmerizing tone. I looked around during the hour-long presentation and saw everyone transfixed. He ended by singing a blessing to us in Arabic, and several afterwards said it was very inspirational. I took Khadim back to the mosque and thanked him. He said he appreciated the ride because he didn’t drive, and as he closed the car door he said, “Oh, by the way, I’m the janitor.”

I was mostly stunned because I thought he was the Imam. But did it matter that he was the janitor? I had to do a little introspection, so here it is. I know that God loves us all equally. No exceptions. About anything. I just long for the time the human community loves equally, thereby becoming Godlier, and that certainly includes me. God bless you, Khadim, for giving me a treasured memory.

My wife and I were looking for the gravesite of a relative from the 1600s. We were in Gondlesheim, Germany and were delighted to find the town cemetery. An old German woman, obviously the caretaker, came tottering out to find what we were up to. She spoke no English, so my wife pulled out her trusty English/German dictionary. It took a long time before we understood that cemetery plots were leased for a period of time, then the space is made ready for another short-term occupant.

That got me to thinking. We really are short-term occupants on this planet. Our task is to try to leave it in better shape than we found it. We’re failing rather miserably, but the task should be held out before us as a worthy goal. I keep reminding myself that life got along just fine here on Earth with nothing more than solar power, before human beings encroached.

Then I asked myself, “Can we really own land?” Land has been fought over from the beginning of life on this beautiful blue marble. The Bible is full of bloody battles and wars, mostly over possession of land. God even got in on the act by promising land to the people who became Jews. And that has been contested by the people who became Arabs.

So whose land is it? I kind of like it that Jesus had “nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). Maybe we should learn something from that. This isn’t our land, it’s God’s. We don’t find our final resting place until the next life. That’s where I hope to be landed. Meanwhile, let’s enjoy this ride on our great, round, globe and make it better during the time God leases to us.

From the beginning, Methodism was about fighting social wrongs. They proudly took a stance against slavery, when it was the accepted norm. They proclaimed the ills of alcohol, before current understandings of its addictive and destructive nature. They vilified gambling as a potential disease, when it was all the rage.

Now we have taken a stance in support of LGTBQI+ rights, even though it is tearing us apart. United Methodism started fracturing in 1976, when wording in our Book of Discipline was being challenged. It led to nearly 50 years of fighting over homosexuality and biblical interpretation. Even though we have still not officially voted on separation, many churches have disaffiliated from the denomination.

That brings me to a recent trip I took to California. I was standing in line to order from “the best ice cream shop in San Jose,” when I noticed a sign in the window. It said “It doesn’t matter what your religion is, nor your race, your politics, your gender, your identity, your size, your age, or your financial status. All are welcome. You are safe here.”

It must have been exciting back in the day when the church was out their leading the way for social reform. I knew nothing but internal fighting during my 37 years serving the United Methodist Church as an ordained minister. And now I find ice cream shops leading the way. And Disney. And many brave enough to fight for rights. Maybe some year we will learn that God’s world needs to be safe for all.

After 37 years of ordained ministry, I was admittedly ready for retirement. On call 24/7 is exhausting so I was sure to take my four weeks of vacation. I generally left the state, too, because my uncle’s experience in ministry was that if you weren’t too far away you would get called back. For funerals, for weddings, for hospitalizations, for ER visits, for stubbed toes, well you get the point.

Retirement has been a blessing, other than COVID. My wife and I finally found a church and settled in. Then last November the pastor asked if I would preach the Sunday after Thanksgiving. To be honest, I asked for some time to think about it. My initial thought was “no.” I’d done my time and now I was free. But just like when God got God’s way to get me into ministry, God got me to return to the pulpit.

My main reasoning was that it would be a one-shot thing. Turns out I was wrong. Like usual. So, pastor asked me to preach again on the Sunday after Easter. He asked me to kick off a sermon series on “Rebooting the Faith” which I’ll do this Sunday, April 16. He offered to let me choose the text, so I picked John 20:29-23. Forgiveness is the topic, and an important one for rebooting one’s faith.

If you would like to hear it, it will be livestreamed at 9:30 a.m. (MST). It can also be watched later in the afternoon when the recorded services are posted. If you tune in, I’d love to hear your opinions. You can do that right here on my website. Oh, and how does one go about handling a sermon? We don’t. Sermons handle us. The real task is for the listener to be open to God’s message brought through the broken vessel of a messenger.

Maundy Thursday begins what is known as the Paschal Triduum. It is the thirty-eighth day of Lent for Western Christianity, when worshippers gather to “Do this in remembrance me” (Luke 22:10). It is when Jesus instituted what has become known as The Lord’s Supper, but I prefer to call it the eucharist. The best translation of eucharist I have found is “good caress,” point being that Jesus loved us so much he gave his life on the cross for us.

Good Friday is the thirty-ninth day of Lent, when Christians gather to recall the passion and crucifixion of Jesus. Our Catholic brothers and sisters participate in the Stations of the Cross, remembering the traditional path Jesus took to his crucifixion along the Via Dolorosa, or Way of Pain. My wife and I have walked the Via Dolorosa in the old part of Jerusalem, and I must admit it is a very solemn procession with each of the stations marked so you can stop and meditate.

Holy Saturday is the fortieth and final day of Lent. Some denominations hold a vigil service after nightfall, with varying rites and services, but many United Methodists (my tradition) use it as a day of rest. Of course, Easter is the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. For me, this is when Jesus became divine. I get that from Paul’s letter to the Romans, where he said that Jesus “was declared to be Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead” (Romans 1:4).

The three days of the Paschal Triduum serve as a hinge between the forty days of Lent and the fifty days of Easter. The fifty days of Easter culminate on Pentecost Sunday with the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit. That magnificent story is told in Acts 2:1-13, which coincides with the Jewish festival of Shavuoth, which itself is the celebration of the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. Whatever your faith is or isn’t, I pray that high holy days will always be uplifting. May we go forth from them and become better people.

The Garden Tomb at Golgotha Copyright © 2021 by Keith H. Adkins

Today, March 29, is the last day I am giving away my newest ebook for free. The title is The Forming of the Diamond: A Jim Caldwell Story: Book 1. It is a retelling of the Gospels, setting the stories in Phoenix, Arizona in 1881. It is also a prequel to The Secret of the Diamond: A Jim Caldwell Story: Book 2, which tells the Passion Narrative, from Gethsemane to the Grave, and was published last fall. I am now writing The Value of the Diamond: A Jim Caldwell Story: Book 3, to be released in the fall. It is the sequel, and deals with the resurrection, the Book of Acts, and the Letters of Paul.

Why give away a book? Well, of course, the hope is to let it rise through the rankings in its category so more people will discover it. And that’s for more than personal profit. It is my hope that my books, which will ultimately be called The Jim Caldwell Trilogy, will find a new audience for Jesus. The setting of the Old West, with it’s rough and tumble times, is an interesting mirror of the Holy Land in the time of Jesus.

If you have been reading my “Spirituality for Today” blogs, it is my prayer that they have and/or will bring you to a new understanding of the workings of the Holy Spirit in your life. Life is precious, and of great value. Perhaps you could consider giving away something of inestimable value: your love for humanity, your care for God’s world, and your respect for those in your orbit.

The Forming of the Diamond: A Jim Caldwell Story–Book 1 – Kindle edition by Adkins, Keith. Religion & Spirituality Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Shock at first. Disappointment to say the least. Aggravating thoughout. What can I say? This sort of thing just shouldn’t happen. I mean, the place is a part of my past. A space that formed my future. But the present is sad for more than just me. A whole city mourns. Our collective joy has been taken from us.

What am I talking about? What else could have such great consequence at this time of year? How could the whole world not know our pain? After all, it was right there. Right in front of us, for everyone to see. But they didn’t. Some no doubt have no idea. Unfathomable. How could there not be shared outrage?

But there isn’t. I’ll get over it. You see, my team lost in the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. My fellow alumni will get over it, too. And well we should, because college basketball isn’t what life is all about. Well, I guess a case could be made that it is, in Indiana, but not everyone lives in Indiana. So maybe my thoughts should drift toward religion.

Christians are in the season of Lent. The time for introspection. A season to confront our demons so we can enjoy the celebration of Easter. As spiritual joy and satisfaction prepare to invade our soul, I pray this world can move away from win/lose, right/wrong mentality. And maybe, just maybe, we can seek to appreciate and love one another. After all, we are all part of God’s creation.

It has been said that most people’s understanding of hell comes from Dante. Kind of sad when you think about the fact that Inferno is the first part of his epic poem Divine Comedy. Did you catch that? It’s a poem! Not history. Not even biblical.

So what is the biblical hell? Oh, it’s hellish alright. Or at least it was. It’s a valley outside Jerusalem where children were sacrificed to the gods. Even Kings Ahaz and Manasseh sacrificed their children at this site. As the concept of an afterlife grew, judgment was metaphorically referenced as this accursed valley.

As the New Testament came into being, the valley was called Gehenna, and the English translation of that Greek word is hell. Jesus used the word Gehenna 12 times as a continuing metaphor of fiery judgment. In Jesus’ time, the valley was used for eternally burning the city’s refuse.

I’ve been to hell. My tour bus passed by so fast I nearly didn’t get a picture. In fact, all of my pictures came out except that one. The sun was shining directly at me and the picture looked like, well, hell. I’m not trying to belittle the concept. Inspiration to do good isn’t a bad thing, but I prefer good news. It’s heavenly.

Ever feel totally alone? I mean almost like there’s nobody in the world who cares. Those are horrible times, and they happen to most of us, sooner or later. Before I retired as a pastor, I would occasionally have a parishioner come to my office and share a gut-wrenching story about not even sensing that God cares. That’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anybody.

A story like that needs careful attention. One that comes to mind was about a person who had a car accident and was laid up in the hospital for quite a while. He prayed during that time, and genuinely felt God wasn’t there. It was my job to convince him that God was there and did care. A rather daunting task, that needed addressed.

All I could say was that in my own life, when I felt I had hit rock bottom, I found the solid rock of Jesus Christ was there. The image I gave him was that God is always close, but sometimes we are far away. That needed to be said carefully, so he didn’t think I was blaming him, so I drew a picture. Of a hill. With Jesus at the top. On the cross. When we feel God isn’t present, we just need to move closer.

If religion is about anything, it’s about relationships: to God, to others, and to self. That’s where Church comes in. Church pales in comparison to God, but it is God’s way to find community. A community that brings people together, through joys and concerns, and parties and loneliness. If God seems far away, why not try a Church. It’s far from perfect, but you just might find someone who cares. I know God does.