Luke 10:38-41
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something stuck out and made me chuckle a bit as I read this passage the other day. Luke treats Martha pretty generously! He doesn't suggest that Martha was engaged in pointless distractions. To the contrary, Luke writes is that she was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. They weren't optional. Until they were. They were necessary preparations by Luke's telling, but then Luke informs us that Jesus himself said they were not.
So which one is it?
Well the safe bet is to trust Jesus on this one, but it's fun to note that Luke has it going both ways. And after we're done smiling, the harder work begins. What things in our lives are imperatives? Which things do we think must be done? And have we asked Jesus about those things? Some imperatives are, it turns out, not. I really mean that.
2,000 years later, we still see this tension where hospitality is concerned. Being male, I'm pretty comfortable inviting the world into my home "as it is" and to relax amidst a bit of clutter. Not Imperative. My wife, however, is perfectly normal in wanting to get our home cleaned up before guests come. Imperative. It's clearly something that's wired into men and women quite differently, generally speaking. Martha, in this story, is perfectly normal. And Jesus is, too, if we'll let him be male. Mary is the exceptional woman acting like a man. Notch a victory for the boys because Jesus sides with Mary, who focuses on the company more than on the state of the house.
But before we close the books on this one and leave Martha feeling more than a little misunderstood, let's come back at this passage from a completely different angle. What if, let us ask ourselves... What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if? Here's where the boys might need to start fidgeting. A lot. Why? Two reasons. Both are liberating to women, and one (if not both) might be cause for great alarm among men.
For starters, it's important to understand that the sight of Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus would have been quite shocking to the average Jew of that day. Sitting there as she did was tantamount to declaring, "I am a disciple of Jesus." Mary was rather bold to bail on her household duties, but doubly bold to sit alongside the other disciples as a rabbi-in-training. Women simply were not permitted to become rabbis. No exceptions.
But Jesus takes the prohibited and makes it possible. Once again the rules are upended. Jesus approves of Mary's behavior so much so that he chides Martha for trying to drag Mary back to her other matronly responsibilities. This might trouble other Christian men (especially those less inclined to allow women behind the pulpit) but this is not troubling stuff for me. It's wonderful. I love that Jesus set women free to become true ministers of the word alongside their male counterparts. Others, such as Junias, would follow in Mary's footsteps. Awesome.
But before I rest on my liberating laurels, let's move to the second way Jesus liberates Mary here. (Gentlemen, you may want to sit down or, failing that, find something to hold onto tightly.) Let us return once again to that question we asked earlier. What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if?
Well, per Luke, these were things that really did have to be done. So I'm assuming Martha wasn't dusting the mantelpiece for a third time. No, the general assumption seems to be that Martha was preparing the meal. And it would be a big one, too. Thirteen men and two women, at a bare minimum. Probably more.
So... if Mary and Martha are both sitting at the feet of Jesus, you just know what's gonna happen. Thirteen men are going to look up at about the dinner hour, and they'll be expecting food. It'd better be good, and it'd better be soon. And this is where I have to speculate, because we're in alternative universes now. But I'm going to go out on limb and throw out some wild assertions.
1) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to miraculously crush three hours of preparation into three minutes.
2) Jesus wouldn't have himself done a true miracle that produced the same result. No "Feeding of the fifteen" miracle here, boys...
3) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to "get started", either. (And would the disciples have been able to patiently wait, regardless?)
4) Jesus would have enlisted twenty-four hands to help make a simpler meal happen faster.
Yes, I'm suggesting that Jesus might just have been radical enough to not only liberate a woman *from* the cooking but also to liberate (if that's the word) men to help out with the cooking. And on that note, I'd better head to the kitchen and make myself useful.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
A Good Samaritan To The Bad Samaritans
Luke 9:51-56
As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.
There are so very many places one could go with these verses. The first thing that struck me was the irony that the Samaritans treated Jesus poorly because they knew he was heading to Jerusalem. Let that sink in for a moment. Jerusalem. Where Jesus would in the not-too-distant future be crucified. As verse 51 clearly implies, Jesus is not heading for a pleasure cruise, and he knows it.
So Jesus was getting abuse from both directions. How did he respond? He certainly wasn't interested in doling out fiery judgement, as James and John proposed. But note also that Jesus didn't follow Pilgrim's advice, either. Yours truly has a need for approval matched only by an equally voracious desire to be understood. Yours truly would surely have wanted to explain. "The people in Jerusalem are going to kill me. You're attacking your enemy's enemy! I love you a lot more than those folks in Jerusalem do." But Jesus didn't explain anything. He just quietly moved on.
Considering what Jesus had just recently said to his disciples, maybe this shouldn't surprise us.
Luke 9:23-24
Jesus ... said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
People carrying around crosses don't get to explain or justify. They get to die. They absorb insults and spittle. And move on. That doesn't sit well with this Pilgrim. Perhaps I have some adjusting to do?
Moving on, but not without a brief tangent. Back in Luke 7 Jesus does some mind-boggling stuff. Heals from a distance. Raises the dead. And yet, amazingly, John the Baptist is dissatisfied. Enough so that he sends a message to Jesus essentially asking Jesus, "Did I blow the bugle for the wrong guy?" If the red carpet beneath Jesus' feet wasn't yanked, it was certainly tugged. So how does Jesus respond? With a compliment. He calls John the Baptist the greatest among men. Just when John falls down, Jesus lifts him up. Why do I mention that now? Because Jesus does the same thing here.
At a distance of 2,000 years we outsiders tend to vastly underestimate the level of animosity between Samaritans and Jews. James and John may seem to be overreacting in our minds, but that just goes to show how far removed we are from that conflict. My commentary noted that "Samaritans and Jews had detested one another's holy sites. Samaritans later tried to defile Jerusalem's temple. They were also known to heckle pilgrims to Jerusalem, a practice that occasionally led to violence." Reading these words, I suddenly found myself wondering when the parable of the Good Samaritan shows up in Luke. Oh. Chapter 10. All I had to do was turn one page.
Let that sink in. Jesus had just walked out of Samaria and a situation so charged with animosity that two of his disciples literally wanted to blow up a town. And here we are, one chapter later, hearing the parable that forever changed the meaning of the word Samaritan. To our ears today, Samaritan means only one thing. A Samaritan is a wonderful person. A godly man. The truly good person who upstages pious blow-hard religious fakes.
Jesus had every right to be angry with his cousin John, but he responded with undeserved grace. So here with Samaria. Jesus could have used Samaria as the centerpiece of a story about poor hospitality. Instead he did the opposite. He forever lifted Samaria up. He changed their identify forever.
In my last blog I asked rhetorically, Do I really have to love my enemies? The answer, of course, is Yes. Which enemies? The ones that I don't want to love today, obviously. This Pilgrim was not thinking about the Samaritans yesterday when writing those words, and yet here it is in front of me. Who were Jesus' enemies in chapter 9? The Samaritans. What did Jesus do in chapter 10? Love them.
If we want to see what loving enemies looks like in practice, We need only look to Jesus. Jesus, who while travelling on the road was rejected by unkind Samaritans—and whose response was to make a Samaritan the centerpiece of his story about kindness to strangers on the road.
Hebrews 1:1-2a
In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son...
As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.
There are so very many places one could go with these verses. The first thing that struck me was the irony that the Samaritans treated Jesus poorly because they knew he was heading to Jerusalem. Let that sink in for a moment. Jerusalem. Where Jesus would in the not-too-distant future be crucified. As verse 51 clearly implies, Jesus is not heading for a pleasure cruise, and he knows it.
So Jesus was getting abuse from both directions. How did he respond? He certainly wasn't interested in doling out fiery judgement, as James and John proposed. But note also that Jesus didn't follow Pilgrim's advice, either. Yours truly has a need for approval matched only by an equally voracious desire to be understood. Yours truly would surely have wanted to explain. "The people in Jerusalem are going to kill me. You're attacking your enemy's enemy! I love you a lot more than those folks in Jerusalem do." But Jesus didn't explain anything. He just quietly moved on.
Considering what Jesus had just recently said to his disciples, maybe this shouldn't surprise us.
Luke 9:23-24
Jesus ... said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
People carrying around crosses don't get to explain or justify. They get to die. They absorb insults and spittle. And move on. That doesn't sit well with this Pilgrim. Perhaps I have some adjusting to do?
Moving on, but not without a brief tangent. Back in Luke 7 Jesus does some mind-boggling stuff. Heals from a distance. Raises the dead. And yet, amazingly, John the Baptist is dissatisfied. Enough so that he sends a message to Jesus essentially asking Jesus, "Did I blow the bugle for the wrong guy?" If the red carpet beneath Jesus' feet wasn't yanked, it was certainly tugged. So how does Jesus respond? With a compliment. He calls John the Baptist the greatest among men. Just when John falls down, Jesus lifts him up. Why do I mention that now? Because Jesus does the same thing here.
At a distance of 2,000 years we outsiders tend to vastly underestimate the level of animosity between Samaritans and Jews. James and John may seem to be overreacting in our minds, but that just goes to show how far removed we are from that conflict. My commentary noted that "Samaritans and Jews had detested one another's holy sites. Samaritans later tried to defile Jerusalem's temple. They were also known to heckle pilgrims to Jerusalem, a practice that occasionally led to violence." Reading these words, I suddenly found myself wondering when the parable of the Good Samaritan shows up in Luke. Oh. Chapter 10. All I had to do was turn one page.
Let that sink in. Jesus had just walked out of Samaria and a situation so charged with animosity that two of his disciples literally wanted to blow up a town. And here we are, one chapter later, hearing the parable that forever changed the meaning of the word Samaritan. To our ears today, Samaritan means only one thing. A Samaritan is a wonderful person. A godly man. The truly good person who upstages pious blow-hard religious fakes.
Jesus had every right to be angry with his cousin John, but he responded with undeserved grace. So here with Samaria. Jesus could have used Samaria as the centerpiece of a story about poor hospitality. Instead he did the opposite. He forever lifted Samaria up. He changed their identify forever.
In my last blog I asked rhetorically, Do I really have to love my enemies? The answer, of course, is Yes. Which enemies? The ones that I don't want to love today, obviously. This Pilgrim was not thinking about the Samaritans yesterday when writing those words, and yet here it is in front of me. Who were Jesus' enemies in chapter 9? The Samaritans. What did Jesus do in chapter 10? Love them.
If we want to see what loving enemies looks like in practice, We need only look to Jesus. Jesus, who while travelling on the road was rejected by unkind Samaritans—and whose response was to make a Samaritan the centerpiece of his story about kindness to strangers on the road.
Hebrews 1:1-2a
In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son...
Monday, September 12, 2016
Questions We're Afraid To Ask Jesus
Luke 9:44-45
“Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men.” But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.
As I reflected on these verses this morning, I found myself wondering why the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus to clarify himself.
At first, I remembered those feelings when you're in class and feeling a bit dense. You don't want to admit in front of other students that you don't get it. But this explanation fell short for me, because it appears that all of the disciples were in the dark. When everyone is confused, usually someone will screw up the courage to ask the question on everyone's lips.
And then the thought struck me. "Maybe they were afraid to ask because they didn't really want to know the answer." A wave of understanding began to roll over me, and I began to commiserate with the disciples in a new way. Jesus has said many things that I don't want him to clarify, either.
A Pharisee once made the mistake of asking Jesus a clarifying question. "And who is my neighbor?" Ouch. Ouch precisely because that Pharisee had not really wanted to know the answer. He was just looking for an easy out. By the time Jesus was done, the easy out was nowhere in sight and the Pharisee was answering an uncomfortable question he clearly wished Jesus had left unasked.
So Yes, asking Jesus clarifying questions is dangerous business indeed. I am reminded of these words:
Mark 12:34b
And from then on no one dared ask him any more questions.
But here's the funny thing—that verse from Mark? It concludes a passage recounting how Jesus had responded to a series of questions. Most were asked by his enemies, but the last question came from a teacher of the law who clearly respected Jesus. Jesus clearly liked the teacher's question. The teacher in turn clearly liked Jesus' answer. Jesus responded to that appreciation with the assertion that the man was not far from the Kingdom of God.
This leads me to the uncomfortable hypothesis that it is those most like Jesus and those who most want to be like Jesus that are least afraid to ask Jesus clarifying questions. Because they are already on the road to becoming the person who would like the answer that Jesus will give.
Returning to our disciples in that passage in Luke, it's worth noting that Jesus had been perfectly candid with his disciples on this topic. Quite recently.
Luke 9:21-24
Jesus ... said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”
Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
Yeah, that's not exactly vague or misleading information. Jesus explained to his disciples that he was going to die, and that his followers (if they intended to follow) would need to pick up crosses and follow him to his own execution. Who can blame the disciples for not wanting any more information about that? After all, they themselves were Jesus' most intimate followers. But who they were following? And where he was leading? Those are questions they very much didn't want clarified.
The disciples did believe that they were following the Messiah. That much Peter had just explained in the prior verse. But what kind of a Messiah? Well, there our accounts diverge a wee bit. Jesus had one answer. The disciples had another. And it's clear that the disciples didn't want to bridge the gap in understanding. Right after Jesus reminded his disciples that of his impending doom, look at how the disciples responded! They respond (as we have noted already) first with confusion, and then with silence. And then?
Luke 9:46
An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest.
Ah, ignorance is bliss. Let's gloss over what Jesus just said and get back to the important question. When Jesus whups on the Romans, which of us will be his favorite commanding general?
But enough on the disciples. They got their answers. Much later, but they got them. And in the end, they earned their well-deserved prizes. Those disciples did go on to carry crosses. Most of them died as martyrs, just as Jesus had said they would. No, now is not the time to fault the disciples. Now is the time to ask myself two very uncomfortable question.
What questions have I myself been holding back from Jesus. And why?
Sad fact is, I know which questions I'm avoiding. And I know that I'm avoiding them precisely because I'm pretty sure I already know the answers. Let's look have a look at one.
Do I really have to love my enemies? Jesus answered that one already. Factually speaking, I know the answer. The problem is that I don't like the answer. And here I should learn a lesson from that Pharisee. One dodge I should not attempt is this: "And who is my enemy?" Thanks to that foot-in-mouth Pharisee, I already know. My enemy might be my neighbor. And he's certainly that very person in my mind. The one I don't want to love today.
There are, of course, many other questions like the above example. Questions that we as followers of Jesus don't really want to see clarified a whole lot. Some are general. Do I need to do anything about hungry children in Africa? Some are specific to today. Do I need to give time to this individual whom I find annoying?
The questions that most trouble us will vary from person to person, but they seem always to center around crosses we'd rather not bear. Those questions that confound us most are the ones we most want to remain confounding. We struggle with them not because they are so difficult to answer. We struggle with them because the answers are so difficult.
“Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men.” But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.
As I reflected on these verses this morning, I found myself wondering why the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus to clarify himself.
At first, I remembered those feelings when you're in class and feeling a bit dense. You don't want to admit in front of other students that you don't get it. But this explanation fell short for me, because it appears that all of the disciples were in the dark. When everyone is confused, usually someone will screw up the courage to ask the question on everyone's lips.
And then the thought struck me. "Maybe they were afraid to ask because they didn't really want to know the answer." A wave of understanding began to roll over me, and I began to commiserate with the disciples in a new way. Jesus has said many things that I don't want him to clarify, either.
A Pharisee once made the mistake of asking Jesus a clarifying question. "And who is my neighbor?" Ouch. Ouch precisely because that Pharisee had not really wanted to know the answer. He was just looking for an easy out. By the time Jesus was done, the easy out was nowhere in sight and the Pharisee was answering an uncomfortable question he clearly wished Jesus had left unasked.
So Yes, asking Jesus clarifying questions is dangerous business indeed. I am reminded of these words:
Mark 12:34b
And from then on no one dared ask him any more questions.
But here's the funny thing—that verse from Mark? It concludes a passage recounting how Jesus had responded to a series of questions. Most were asked by his enemies, but the last question came from a teacher of the law who clearly respected Jesus. Jesus clearly liked the teacher's question. The teacher in turn clearly liked Jesus' answer. Jesus responded to that appreciation with the assertion that the man was not far from the Kingdom of God.
This leads me to the uncomfortable hypothesis that it is those most like Jesus and those who most want to be like Jesus that are least afraid to ask Jesus clarifying questions. Because they are already on the road to becoming the person who would like the answer that Jesus will give.
Returning to our disciples in that passage in Luke, it's worth noting that Jesus had been perfectly candid with his disciples on this topic. Quite recently.
Luke 9:21-24
Jesus ... said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”
Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
Yeah, that's not exactly vague or misleading information. Jesus explained to his disciples that he was going to die, and that his followers (if they intended to follow) would need to pick up crosses and follow him to his own execution. Who can blame the disciples for not wanting any more information about that? After all, they themselves were Jesus' most intimate followers. But who they were following? And where he was leading? Those are questions they very much didn't want clarified.
The disciples did believe that they were following the Messiah. That much Peter had just explained in the prior verse. But what kind of a Messiah? Well, there our accounts diverge a wee bit. Jesus had one answer. The disciples had another. And it's clear that the disciples didn't want to bridge the gap in understanding. Right after Jesus reminded his disciples that of his impending doom, look at how the disciples responded! They respond (as we have noted already) first with confusion, and then with silence. And then?
Luke 9:46
An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest.
Ah, ignorance is bliss. Let's gloss over what Jesus just said and get back to the important question. When Jesus whups on the Romans, which of us will be his favorite commanding general?
But enough on the disciples. They got their answers. Much later, but they got them. And in the end, they earned their well-deserved prizes. Those disciples did go on to carry crosses. Most of them died as martyrs, just as Jesus had said they would. No, now is not the time to fault the disciples. Now is the time to ask myself two very uncomfortable question.
What questions have I myself been holding back from Jesus. And why?
Sad fact is, I know which questions I'm avoiding. And I know that I'm avoiding them precisely because I'm pretty sure I already know the answers. Let's look have a look at one.
Do I really have to love my enemies? Jesus answered that one already. Factually speaking, I know the answer. The problem is that I don't like the answer. And here I should learn a lesson from that Pharisee. One dodge I should not attempt is this: "And who is my enemy?" Thanks to that foot-in-mouth Pharisee, I already know. My enemy might be my neighbor. And he's certainly that very person in my mind. The one I don't want to love today.
There are, of course, many other questions like the above example. Questions that we as followers of Jesus don't really want to see clarified a whole lot. Some are general. Do I need to do anything about hungry children in Africa? Some are specific to today. Do I need to give time to this individual whom I find annoying?
The questions that most trouble us will vary from person to person, but they seem always to center around crosses we'd rather not bear. Those questions that confound us most are the ones we most want to remain confounding. We struggle with them not because they are so difficult to answer. We struggle with them because the answers are so difficult.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Where Is Your Faith, Indeed?
Luke 8:25
“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.
This verse struck me today as I read it. Usually (OK, always) I have read this to be an exasperated Jesus asking why the disciples had so little faith in him. Why they didn't believe in a Jesus powerful enough to save them from the (literal) storm that was about to sink their boat.
And to be fair... that seems to be pretty much the situation, in a nutshell. But another thought struck me this morning, and it doesn't disagree with this first interpretation so much as throw another slant on it. Simply put, Jesus never asked the disciples why they didn't have any faith. He didn't ask them if they had any faith. He asked them where it was.
As I said, this line of thinking isn't going to radically change how I read that exchange. But it's a good rabbit hole to peek down. The disciples did have faith. They had a fair bit of it. There were a number of seasoned fishermen in that boat with Jesus! The problem is, their faith was limited to what they themselves could do. And fishermen don't change the weather.
But Jesus can.
Jesus asked them where their faith was because he was also in the boat. That fact, when taken into account, substantially expands the list of options. We're back to another version of the loaves and fishes food equation. So we must always ask ourselves whether God factors in our calculations of the possible.
Sadly, I'm usually muddling my way through. Doing the best that I can with my limited resources. What's worse, I live as if that's all anyone can do.
I have two hands, but one of them is no longer healthy. I'm amused by the "almighty strength" that the left now has when compared to the right. But before the injury, the right was stronger than the left. I have rather limited faith in my right hand now, but I still have full faith in my left hand. But that's faith in a hilariously limited hand. What about the hand of God almighty actively at work in my life? What can that hand do?
Where is my faith? And where should it be?
“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.
This verse struck me today as I read it. Usually (OK, always) I have read this to be an exasperated Jesus asking why the disciples had so little faith in him. Why they didn't believe in a Jesus powerful enough to save them from the (literal) storm that was about to sink their boat.
And to be fair... that seems to be pretty much the situation, in a nutshell. But another thought struck me this morning, and it doesn't disagree with this first interpretation so much as throw another slant on it. Simply put, Jesus never asked the disciples why they didn't have any faith. He didn't ask them if they had any faith. He asked them where it was.
As I said, this line of thinking isn't going to radically change how I read that exchange. But it's a good rabbit hole to peek down. The disciples did have faith. They had a fair bit of it. There were a number of seasoned fishermen in that boat with Jesus! The problem is, their faith was limited to what they themselves could do. And fishermen don't change the weather.
But Jesus can.
Jesus asked them where their faith was because he was also in the boat. That fact, when taken into account, substantially expands the list of options. We're back to another version of the loaves and fishes food equation. So we must always ask ourselves whether God factors in our calculations of the possible.
Sadly, I'm usually muddling my way through. Doing the best that I can with my limited resources. What's worse, I live as if that's all anyone can do.
I have two hands, but one of them is no longer healthy. I'm amused by the "almighty strength" that the left now has when compared to the right. But before the injury, the right was stronger than the left. I have rather limited faith in my right hand now, but I still have full faith in my left hand. But that's faith in a hilariously limited hand. What about the hand of God almighty actively at work in my life? What can that hand do?
Where is my faith? And where should it be?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)