There’s a common meme on Twitter in which someone will write something very straightforward and then say “That’s it. That’s the Tweet.” Doing a little internet research “Brie Larson’s Endgame Look. That’s it that’s the tweet” is where this kind of tweet entered into memedom. The idea is that the statement or picture is so obvious or straightforward or awesome that no further commentary is needed.

Looking at these two passages, there is only one appropriate response: “Immanuel. God with us. That’s it. That’s the blog.”

John the Baptist was in prison. He figured it would happen eventually. You bring the prophetic thunder down on a thin-skinned despot enough, he’s going to toss you in jail. It didn’t stop John from continuing to call out Herod. But he also had lots of time on his hands to think and he wondered about his cousin. Was he really the One?

John’s disciples would come periodically with what Jesus was up to. The stories were incredible, but also sometimes confusing. Sure there were the miracles, but there was also the interactions with the centurions and tax collectors. Jesus’ disciples didn’t exactly seem to fit the fasting and praying aesthetic of John’s disciples. And, again, John was in prison. The imprisonment had to tug at him and make him ask questions. So John sent his followers to ask the big question: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

It was a blunt question, which fit John perfectly like a camel-hair suit. One likes to think that Jesus chuckled at his cousin’s brassiness. Then he gave a non-straightforward answer, which fit Jesus perfectly. He told the Baptist’s buddies to tell John what they had seen and heard: “The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.” Then he added, “Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”

Every Friday night at our house is movie night. We get pizza, pop some popcorn, and one of our kids selects what we’ll be watching. The quality of what they pick varies wildly. But the appetizer to the evening—and I don’t exactly remember how this started—is always an episode of the PBS cartoon Wild Kratts. Each episode of Wild Kratts, for those who are uninitiated, focuses on the the titular Kratt brothers and their team learning about and then rescuing some wildlife creature utilizing special suits that give them that specific animal’s “creature powers.”

As children’s TV shows go, it’s pretty good. Just don’t pull on the threads. Things fall apart. On a related, unsurprising note, I have been pulling at the threads of every cartoon that has graced our TV screen for about a decade. I will not go into all of my Wild Kratts quibbles right now—none of us are here for that—but I got to thinking about one of them in light of this week’s Lectionary passage from Isaiah.

Here’s the thing, Wild Kratts isn’t really that, well, wild.

I totally understand why it’s not wild. Wild Kratts is geared towards children. As such, it probably shouldn’t show a mongoose killing a cobra or a Komodo dragon feeding on the corpse of a water buffalo that it had earlier injected with venom (because that’s what they do!). They talk about it, but never show it. All the animals are really chill with the Kratts coming into their habitats and cuddling their babies. Again, the show probably shouldn’t have the Kratt brothers weekly getting mauled by a wild animal because once again the bros got way up into some creature’s business. Even though that is what actually would happen in the wild, it wouldn’t make for a good children’s show. It would make for a very educational program to be sure, but not one that parents would be keen on showing their kids.

We can get behind swords being turned into plowshares. Well, there might be a few organizations and corporations that would not be thrilled about weapons being turned into gardening tools. But for most of us, the picture presented in the second chapter of Isaiah is an appealing one. The whole world coming together. Nations no longer entrenched in war against one another. The picture the prophet paints is the great hope of the world. It’s hope like a toasty cup of hot chocolate. We can sit down with it by a crackling fire at Christmas time and feel safe, comforted.

And yet…

That sentence right before swords are beaten into plowshares grabs my attention every single time. “[The Lord] shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples.” The NIV and CEB translations say that God will settle disputes. This hoped for future is not just some happy time in which every slate is wiped clean and the past is the past. Peoples are held to an account. There is a reckoning here.

For about three years, I would pick one of the Revised Common Lectionary passages for the forthcoming Sunday and write some kind of reflection about it. Sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes earnest, sometimes goofy. But I stopped doing that a little over two years ago. Writing, which was once as natural as breathing, has become exponentially difficult for me of late. With apologies to Anne Lamott, I’m going to try to bird by bird this sucker starting with resurrecting this old practice. It might be rough, but I’ve got to start somewhere.

Jeremiah 23:1-6
First Reading for Reign of Christ Sunday (Year C)

“Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord.”

I’m going to try my best to be honest: Reading this my mind immediately goes to the dumpster fire and, I don’t know, port-a-john pyrotechnics that are presently engulfing our political and religious lives in America. And I want to steer out of that. It’s there. It’s important. We need to stay informed and be vigilant. But I am just too exhausted by it tonight.

Matthew 15:21-28 goes a little like this:

Canaanite woman asks Jesus to heal her daughter, Jesus ignores her, Canaanite woman persists, Jesus basically calls her a dog, Canaanite woman points out that dogs get scraps, Jesus is impressed, and heals daughter of the Canaanite woman.

Pardon?

This was the gospel passage for the Lectionary today. People have to preach on it. I taught it a few year back in Sunday school. It's a crazy passage. Going over this passage the first time, then the second time, and then the third time, I was fairly flabbergasted.

I don't know if I could really do it. In my heart of hearts, I hope I would. If white supremacists marched into town, would I stand in their way? Would I boldly andnon-violently protest their hatred? If Charlottesville happened in Nashville, would I stand arm in arm with my brothers and sisters of all races?

Showing that solidarity is what Jesus calls us to do. There is no doubt about it. Racism is a scourge and a lie. It has taken the lives of countless people and held down exponentially more. Its evil is alive and well in this country. Watching Virginia today has stomped on my heart. Yet then I remember that so many African-Americans see this ugly side of the country every day. More than that, I know that I have benefitted where others have not because of this ugly side.

I hope I would do the right thing. God, I want to do the right thing.

Dusty: Welcome back to Wrestlepalooza א! Joe, this event has been nonstop, bone-crushing action!

Joe: That’s right, Dusty. The crowd is still going bonkers after the Nephilim destroyed EVERYONE in the Steel Cage Match!

Dusty: Well, those half-human, half-angel giants are not to be messed with! But even that catastrophic beatdown will be nothing compared to the upcoming Main Event!

Joe: That’s right! It’s Jacob “The Heel” Isaacs versus his brother Esau “The Red Storm” Isaacs! These two have a history and it’s full of bad blood.

"Oh Lord, You have searched me and known me."

That can be a terrifying statement. It seems pretty innocuous at first. God has searched us and known us. That's what God does; knowing is one of the things the Divine just does. But then I consider the reality of God searching and knowing me. Not the front that I put up. Not the version of myself with my best foot forward. Not Writer Chris. Not Youth Minister Chris. Not even Husband or Father Chris. Sure all of those are part of me.

But the me that God has searched and known contains a tangle of insecurities, failures and screw-ups too numerous to mention, a heart that wants to follow God, but often veers from that path in a single beat. I read that first verse and sometimes I am flooded with every mistake I've made, every person I've hurt, every bit of myself that I wish were better in some way and I feel like the stoner at high school who feels nervous when the drug dogs come around. Please God, don't search me.

From a wire
a cry
a song

one in a million
nothing special
nothing different

yet the divine
turns an ear and
soaks in the melody