Robinson owns a set of character flaws that I can identify with. Responding to the parable of the weeds, he writes, "I wish I weren't so defensive. I'm confident God didn't plant that." Nor did God plant his envy, his quick temper, and his need for approval. We may assume that the burning of weeds is an image for God's punishment of infidels, but it's more meaningful to imagine that God rips and burns the weeds in us so that we may grow into our true nature.
Much to his own surprise, Robinson wept in church at the parable of the mustard seed. Why? He had been lashing out at his family in his impatience with rehabilitation following surgery; the parable convicted him of expecting instant results from a tiny seed. When Robinson reviews some hard times in his life, such as when he had to sleep in a barn or bathe in the sink of a public restroom, I could buy in, especially when he admitted, "But I could always call my family and return home." We can all count on God, he says, but we should remember that Jesus at Gethsemane did not call his Father for a bailout.
In one meditation, Robinson imagines how others see him. He is separated from his wife, he once exploded at a pharmacist's mistake, he didn't honor a trans person's pronouns: so much for his faith, they must be thinking. He sorrowfully concludes with a quote attributed to St. Francis, "Remember that you may be all the Gospel your neighbor will ever read."
Robinson doesn't like verses that impute violence to Jesus, such as the swords that shoot from the divine mouth in Revelation 19. Like Robinson, a young woman he knew in seminary downplayed such verses, her reaction to her upbringing in a macho fundamentalist church. But she recognized that the "flower power" Jesus is good only for people of her socio-economic status, shielded from hunger and violence. Justice needs a Jesus who wields a sword. For November 11, Robinson selects a line from Psalm 16, He broke the flashing arrows, the shield, the sword, and the weapons of battle and introduces the saint honored on that date, Martin of Tours, a Roman soldier turned Bishop. Robinson tells us that Martin gave up weapons to use his moral clout to save prisoners from torture and execution, even the heretics.
Robinson applies Micah's words to us: Hear this, you who build Jerusalem with wrong (Micah 3.9-10). Robinson writes,
They all seem like isolated decisions. A church locks the doors, keeping out desperate hurricane refugees. A community makes it harder for people of color to vote or bans books by and about them in our libraries. We allow the income gap between rich and poor to grow ever wider. ...We proclaim ourselves a Christian nation so often that it doesn't seem possible that God could be looking upon us with anger.
Robinson puts a happy twist on parables of the kingdom. In one parable, the kingdom of heaven is like the treasure that a man finds; another begins The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. The merchant gives up everything he has to buy the pearl of great price. Robinson writes, "In the previous parable, the man is enriched by finding the kingdom. In the second, the kingdom is enriched by finding us. We are the pearl of great value. It is for us that God gives everything." In the bottom line, we're asked, "Have you thought of yourself as the pearl God seeks? How does imagining yourself as the treasure in the field shape your relationship with God?" Let's think on that.
Her very first story responds to Jesus, Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant (Mt 20.26). She remembers working at a restaurant where the boss joined the guys who unloaded deliveries at the back. That's a good example of the scripture. But there's more: she knows what the boss did only because a co-worker told her about the boss's joining the crew. The co-worker was not religious, but he's the one who taught her what Jesus meant.
Keep alert (Mk 13.33) reminds Woodside of a night in her childhood when her mother was sewing in the basement and ran upstairs to get some cloth. She found a door open to the outside and bolted it before going to bed. In the light of morning, the family realized that burglars had entered the house and must've heard her footsteps on the stairs and fled. So, like the teaching of Jesus, we should keep alert. But also, sometimes, you have to "run up the stairs without fear."
Hiking and running up steep hills a lot, Woodside naturally thinks of those activities when she reads 2 Peter 1.3, 5-7 instructs us support your faith with self-control and endurance. She feels the exercise prepares her for service. Bring me to Your holy hill gives Woodside an opportunity to turn the usual lesson on its head: such an experience does stay with us forever, in the decisions you learn from on the way, and in the gratitude for returning to home, running water, and a loving family.
Woodside loves weather, Through horrific scenes of Revelation, she sees the presence of God (21.3-4): The house of God is among mortals... God himself will be with them. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Our consciousness of God should be like Woodside's consciousness of weather: it's more to her than the (in)convenient background to human activity. She remains acutely aware and appreciative.
