I know both the criminal and the “honorable.” I’m not saying I respect the criminals more than the “honorable,” at least not out loud. I’m rarely sure where to draw the lines between criminality and honorability. Armed with lethal force and a botched warrant for a criminal who was not at the scene, the “honorable” men

eginning in August of this year, CTM Kenya shifted its base to another community called Kawangware. There, we have a cohort of 75 leaders who are learning, in community, what it means to bear witness to good news in hard places. There, they are practicing incarnational leadership by serving in some of the most challenging spaces in our city. They are also working on their own formation.

In the summer of 2005 my wife said to me, “If our church is going to keep talking about reaching out to Dimond Estates, someone ought to live there. I think we should sell our house and move into the trailer park.” My response was, “Why would I sell a perfectly good house and move into a trailer? Don’t ever talk to me about this again!” In the end, after a lot more discussion, we moved into a doublewide in Dimond Estates in 2006.

Our lectionary text this week picks up on a common theme in Luke’s Gospel. The writer of this gospel often places those that have little political power or religious clout, social outsiders, at the center of the story. This usually happens to the dismay of those that might consider themselves righteous and worthy of being at the center. Luke often decenters and recenters through table fellowship; Jesus has dinner with undesirable characters and the meals foreshadow a heavenly feast filled with celebration and community.

As I’ve read today’s passage, I’ve been wracking my brain with this question: Have I ever had to persist in my prayers to God? Has there ever been anything I have desired so much that I have continually petitioned God like the widow in today’s text?

A couple of weeks ago I was invited by a seminary classmate to “speak” at a camp for the homeless just outside of Manila. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I would share with them. So, I decided to listen to their stories of hope and hurt. I found out that they are from different parts of the city, occupying the borderlands and in-between spaces of Manila. What unites them is their shared experience of exclusion.

I have a mulberry tree that popped up in my yard a couple of years ago. I didn’t pull it up right away. Now it is completely entangled with my fence. In just two years it went from a skinny sprout to a thick-trunked tree (taller than I am) that’s ruining my fence. I would like to throw it into the sea.

This week in Luke 16, Jesus shares the parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus at his gates — a strange story full of inversions for any listener.

This story isn’t an isolated tale. It comes as part of a series of parables, beginning in Luke 15, that are told in the presence of his disciples; the gathered crowd, including tax collectors and sinners; and the Pharisees. I picture the Pharisees on the edge

Harry always insisted on buying the pizza.

He was one of six kids from the neighborhood who would gather each week for a Bible study to see if Scripture had anything to say to their lives.

Even though I knew his money wasn’t exactly honest,

Recently, as I was returning home from a long day at the office, I came across a crowd of people not far from my home. It kept on growing and within a few minutes, the road was completely blocked. It was hard to tell what was going on. But a few meters away, in a ditch across the road, I was told, there were two young men who had been beaten.

When I was a teenager there were perhaps no words from Jesus that I found more troubling than those on the concept of biological family. The story in Mark 3 for instance, when Mary and Jesus’ brothers were lingering outside and he uttered famously, “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?”

I have an 18 year-old young person in my life; they have not had an easy go of things. This person recently graduated from high school, which was a touch-and-go situation. They haven’t had a stable home environment for all the years I’ve known them. And they are rarely ever, what I would describe as, “happy” — it’s almost as if they don’t trust themselves to experience happiness.

The lectionary text for this week feels bizarre to say the least. Jesus says that he didn’t come to bring peace, but division. At first glance, this runs counter to everything we believe is Jesus’ message. After all, isn’t the work of sowing division and discord Satan’s doing? What’s happening here?

A friend of mine recently told me that when her brother learned to walk, he always looked back over his shoulder, watching where he’d been, never looking where he was going. Of course, since he was looking over his shoulder, he’d run into all sorts of things — coffee tables, stairs, trees, pets.

A group of leaders in a Mayan urban community in Guatemala were very enthusiastic about the idea of running a program to combat teenage alcohol consumption — one of many issues negatively impacting young people in their community. They had great plans, but one question remained: where could they obtain the necessary resources to run a program like this?

A group of leaders in a Mayan urban community in Guatemala were very enthusiastic about the idea of running a program to combat teenage alcohol consumption — one of many issues negatively impacting young people in their community. They had great plans, but one question remained: where could they obtain the necessary resources to run a program like this?

South Camden has the coolest little playhouse with high-quality seating, sound, and lighting. It is well crafted for the works of famed playwrights like Tennessee Williams, Eugene O’Neil, and David Mamet. It’s the perfect neighborhood theater, but the neighbors and I have never sat for a performance. South Camden is not exactly Tennessee Williams’ territory,

This year 27 leaders from the Kariadudu area in Nairobi will graduate from our center. These are leaders who started small churches in their neighborhoods and have accompanied those churches for years. Out of love, many have chosen to serve and live in one of the most challenging parts of our city,

The call to peace, in all of its complex, costly, extensive, nuanced layers, is now feeling rather akin to a call of vulnerability. It is the vulnerability that strikes me in this week’s lectionary reading. Jesus sends out his disciples, two by two, to bring this costly, complex, extensive message of peace to foreign villages, unknown houses, strange countrymen.

Today’s passage tells of Jesus’ encounter with a demon-possessed man. This isn’t the only story about possession in the Bible, but it’s one of the more dramatic: exorcised demons cast into a herd of pigs, a man healed and restored to society, and a community struggling to grasp what God was doing right before their eyes.

There is a story that has haunted my country for the past six years. It’s the story of those killed in the government’s war on drugs. Police say 6,000 have died. Human rights observers say the number is closer to 30,000. Regardless of whose statistics you use, far too many lives have been taken.