How do we see Jesus?  Paul Gauguin, the French artist known for his impressionistic paintings, particularly of the people and landscapes of Tahiti, where he spent the last years of his life, once painted the crucified Christ.  Called the "Yellow Christ," the painting stirs us to ponder.  Why would an artist who, though he earnestly sought meaning in his life, to uncover, as he put it, the "unknowns" inside him, never, as far as we know, fully came to believe in Jesus, paint him?  And why would he depict Jesus at the hour at which Jesus was fulfilling the mission for which he came to earth?  Why would he focus on Jesus' most agonizing moments?
     We may never know.  The point I wish to make with this painting is that, except for the most hard-core atheists (or anti-theists), we humans, be we living in the East or West, continue to be fascinated with the person of Jesus.  His entire life spent searching for what he didn't know about himself and perennially fascinated with the Bretons and their devotion to God, Paul Gauguin painted Jesus as the crucified Christ.  He painted the Jewish Messiah who died for the sin and alienation of the world.  For whatever reason, Gauguin captured the essence of that for which we, consciously or not, spend our lives seeking:  the love of God.
     How else can we explain the presence of humility, care, and compassion in a broken world?

     We've all heard the word:  responsibility.  We likely heard from our parents (and perhaps still are!), our teachers, our elders, our superiors, and so on.  We're all taught to be responsible, to come with grips with our lives and to take hold of the challenges before us in an intelligent way.  As Proverbs 24 notes, "He who is slack in the day of distress, his impact will be limited."
     Recently, I heard Gary Haugen, head of the International Justice Mission, based in Washington, D.C. (IJM's mission is to rescue and give new lives to victims of sex trafficking around the world, a cause, in every way, that is worth supporting) speak on responsibility. He made mention of the "dignity of responsibility."  Responsibilty is inherently dignified, Haugen argued, because it is a call to live out who we are.  It is a call to use our God given human dignity to help people whose human dignity is being trampled, be it by sex trafficking, slavery, political oppression, famine, disease, or something else, to recognize our intrinsic responsibility for the care of our disadvantaged fellow human beings around the world.  
     Rightly do our various elders urge us to live responsibly.  As Haugen sees it, part of this is to recognize the dignity of this responsibility, to understand that being responsible is to care not just for ourselves, but to care for the dignity of others, too.  It is to believe in the dignity and worth of every human being.
     Enjoy your dignity, enjoy the dignity of your responsibility

     I wonder how many of the Republicans in the U.S. Senate who drafted the recently revealed "health" care act have read the second chapter of the book of Acts in the New Testament (an integral part of the Christian Bible).  In fact, I wonder how many of them would call themselves Christians, followers of Jesus Christ.
     As Acts records it, in the very early days of the Christian church, "all those who believed were together and had all things in common; and they began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need" (Acts 2:44-45).
     Some commentators have called this a picture of "Christian communism."  I cannot find a clearer affirmation than this passage of the process that too many Christians, caught up in an allegiance to an economic system which the Bible does not fully support, abhore and dread:  "redistribution."  The proposed "health" care act aims to reduce taxes on the wealthy in order to increase the health care burdens of the poor.  It intends to enable the wealthy to reduce their financial commitment to the common good (a term enshrined in the preamble to the U.S. Constitution) while forcing the poor to do without access to health care.  All in the name of, again, an economic system which does not have full biblical support.
     What, I therefore ask, is "Christian" about this?  How does this fit into the spirit of Acts 2?  As who believes in and follows Jesus, I am embarrassed and horrified.  Where in this "health" care act is the Bible's call to care for the widow and orphan, the downtrodden and the poor?  Where in this bill is the Christian duty to do, as Paul puts in Galatians 6, "good" to all people?
     Where is the justice?

     Summer has come.  And those of us in the Northern Hemisphere can once more rejoice in the warmth and bounty that accompanies, indeed, seems to burst out of this timeless pattern of rotation, orbit, and diachronic splendor.  However much we get wrapped up in our technology, we still tend, as our ancient ancesters did, to mark our lives by the movements of the sun.  That's who we are.

     The word solstice literally means, "the sun stands still" or "the sun doesn't move."  People who live in the Arctic know this firsthand:  for a couple of months during the summer, the sun never slips below the horizon.  For people who live further south, although the sun rises and sets every day and night, on some days, time does seem to stand still.  Everything seems to shine, grass, trees, flowers, lakes, streams; the sky seems endless, not a cloud in it; and the air seems as though it could not get any better, any better at all.  The world almost seems, at this moment, and no other, perfect.  It is as if heaven, in the broadest sense, has come upon earth, as if a spell, a wondrous and glorious spell has been cast:  peace, harmony, and bliss flood the land.
     Despite its troubles, our planet remains remarkably predictable and resilient, the work of a God of love and grace whose fact of presence is beyond our imagination.  In this God is order, and in this order is us:  moral and free beings, free to move, free to seek, free to love.

     As Muslims around the world continue their celebration of Ramadan, which will end in a few days, we remain horrified at the latest atrocity perpetrated upon some of their number.  A couple of days ago, a man from Wales drove his truck into a crowd of Muslims leaving their London mosque after Ramadan prayers.  Although, happily, no one was killed, many were severely injured and remain hospitalized. 
The incident reminds me of a recent conversation I had with a person who pastors a church in the city of Chicago.  He related to me how, as he was walking to the church, a car pulled up in front of the church entrance, and some people inside aimed their guns at a young man about to enter the sanctuary.  He died on the spot, right outside his chosen house of worship.
     We may disagree with Islam, we may disagree with Christianity, but we mar, even obliterate our common humanity when we injure and kill those who are following any religion's precepts in peace and good will.  Attacks on people of religion are attacks on all of us.  They undermine who we are, creatures made in the image of a good God who has enabled people to choose, freely and unhindered, their life path.  Who are we to judge?
     Pray for these Muslims, pray for their brethren.  Pray for Christians, too.  Pray for peace on our planet.
     As Jesus said so eloquently many centuries ago, "Blessed are the peacemakers."

     Any way we look at it, it's tragic.  Otto Warmbier didn't need to die at the tender age of 22.  Yes, he probably should not have taken the propaganda poster from the hall of the hotel in which he stayed in Pyongyang, but he surely did not deserve a fifteen year sentence for doing so.  And he definitely did not deserve to come back to the U.S. in a coma and die several days later.  I feel for him, I feel for his parents.  And I'm overwhelmed by the geopolitical tensions which have contributed to this miasma of horror and pain.
     It's difficult to know what goes on inside of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un's head, it's difficult to know why Warmbier's captors apparently chose to beat him on the head until he was senseless.  It's so unspeakably hard to grasp this level of hate, this scale of malice.  The prospect is terrifying.
     Yet it exists.  It's easy to say that this is a fallen world bent by sin.  But this doesn't salve the pain of those whose lives are shattered by this fallen world's effects. Suffering still happens.  I do not wish to say that God has a plan--that's insulting to those Warmbier left behind--but I do want to note that God's light and truth continue, despite these highly diabolical circumstances, to reign.  We live in a world of purpose, a world in which somehow, some way, faith, as John puts it, "is the victory."
     Beyond this, I can say little.  Nor should I.  My tears and prayers go to the Warmbier family.  I'm so sorry, so very sorry for your loss.  All the best.