leonbloder

[leonbloder]

God Like Us

In 1995, singer-songwriter Joan Osborne released a song that very nearly made it to the top of the charts in pop music.  The song was "What If God Was One Of Us," and it stirred something in me when I first heard it.  

Some years before, I had gone back to church for the first time in years.  I'd embraced agnosticism pretty hard, and the few months that I spent back in a church (a charismatic Presbyterian church, if you can believe it) helped to crack open some of the walls I'd built around my heart.  

But when I moved away from that church, I really never went back to one for another five years or more.  It wasn't that I wasn't open to faith, I just had no idea how to find my way back to a God I'd come to believe either didn't exist, or was so far removed from Creation that it really didn't matter.  

But then there was that song.  And the chorus got stuck in my head: 

What if God was one of us Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus Tryna make his way home? It would take years before I realized just how true and beautiful those lyrics were, and how they helped me realize that God is present in the world, and in us.  

One of the most powerful truths of the Christian faith is that God did not remain distant from human suffering, struggle, or joy, but instead chose to enter into it. 

In Jesus, God became fully human. Not just to save us, but to show us. To show us how God loves, how God forgives, how God dreams for the world to be.

Rachel Held Evans put it beautifully:

Jesus didn’t come to hand out a checklist for moral perfection. He came to embody divine love in human skin. To weep with the grieving, eat with the outcast, bless the children, and confront the systems of injustice that trample the vulnerable. 

He came to show us that true power lies not in dominance but in compassion, not in grasping but in giving.

And because God became like us, we know this: God gets us not just in a theological sense, but in the most intimate, personal, flesh-and-bone way. 

God knows what it means to be tired, to be tempted, to feel joy and sorrow, to face rejection, to suffer, and to love deeply. That changes everything. We do not follow a God who is far removed, but one who walks with us still.

And here’s the incredible part: when we embrace our true humanity—loved, flawed, and made in God’s image—we are invited to continue what Jesus began. To be the hands and feet of Christ in the world. To show up in our neighborhoods, workplaces, and homes with the kind of love that heals, restores, forgives, and brings life.

To follow Jesus is to live as though we are the ones showing the world what it looks like when God gets what God wants—peace instead of violence, mercy instead of vengeance, belonging instead of exclusion.

You were made in God’s image. You are called to embody that image in the world. Not perfectly, but faithfully. Because God became like us, we can become a reflection of God's love in everything we do.

Prayer: 

God of love and mercy, thank You for becoming one of us in Jesus. Help me to live each day as a reflection of Your grace—healing, loving, and serving. Make me Your hands and feet in this world. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Love Is Bigger

I have had more than my fair share of angry conversations with God over the years.  I'm not ashamed to admit that, even though in a former life I would have been.  God and I have had some salty one-way conversations to be sure.  

I learned as a young man that not even declaring to God that I didn't believe in God would result in the earth opening up and swallowing me whole into everlasting perdition, so I feel like God doesn't mind when I get a little raw sometimes about the state of the world.  

Maybe this resonates with some of you, as well.  

There are moments when the brokenness of the world hits us like a tidal wave. Violence, injustice, hatred, and division scream from every screen and corner of culture. In those moments, many of us feel an anger rise that feels holy, but also terrifying. 

Anne Lamott captures this perfectly when she writes:  

I love that so much.  Lamott's words are both humorous and haunting because they ring true. The depth of our frustration and grief over the world’s darkness can feel like too much to bear.

And yet, anger—while sometimes righteous—can consume us if we let it. It can leave us bitter, resentful, and spiritually drained. When anger becomes our constant companion, it robs us of the very thing we most need to keep going: hope.

That’s why another quote from Lamott is so essential for our souls: 

“Hope is not about proving anything. It's about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak s**t anyone can throw at us.”

Hope doesn’t demand that we deny the pain or pretend the world is better than it is. It asks us, instead, to believe that even in the worst moments, love is still alive—and love still wins.

This kind of hope doesn’t float above reality; it lives in it. It’s found in small acts of kindness, moments of reconciliation, shared tears, and silent prayers. It is the unshakable belief that God’s love is always working—healing wounds, breaking down walls, and lighting paths through the darkness.

As followers of Christ, we are called to see the world not through the lens of fear, cynicism, or tribalism, but through the eyes of God’s relentless love. Love that crosses boundaries. Love that softens hearts. Love that reaches out even when it’s easier to turn away.

Today, ask yourself: Where do I see love breaking through? Maybe it’s a neighbor’s helping hand, a stranger’s smile, a story of redemption, or a quiet moment of peace you didn’t expect. Let those moments anchor you. Let them lead your heart in a new direction.

Because in the end, love is bigger. And where love is, there God is also.

Prayer: God of love, when anger clouds my heart, give me the courage to choose hope. Help me to see the world through your eyes and find strength in your love that never fails. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Shine Brighter

From time to time, I encounter people who identify as Christian, and as soon as they know what I do for a living, they will share in a conspiratorial way something like this: 

"Don't you think that the world has just gone to hell in a handbasket?  It feels like the end times. I just can't wait for Jesus to come back and take care of this sinful, old world once and for all." 

For the sake of brevity, I condensed the information those people will share into a couple of sentences, but you get the idea.  They've been taught that the world is a bad place, and full of darkness, and the best they can hope for is that at some point all of the "unrepentant sinners" will get their comeuppance.  

Honestly, I understand this. At one point in my life, I bought into that way of thinking.  But I've learned since then that system of belief isn't constructive, and not at all what Jesus intended for his followers.  

Some years ago, I read an amazing quote from author Rob Bell that has been in my thoughts lately.  

“Why blame the dark for being dark? It is far more helpful to ask why the light isn’t as bright as it could be.” 

There is an old adage that says, “It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.” Rob Bell’s quote is a powerful reimagining of that truth. We often find ourselves pointing fingers at the brokenness of the world—the sin, the corruption, the pain, the confusion. 

It’s easy to grow weary and cynical, to grumble about the state of things and lament the perceived decline of morals and faith in the culture we inhabit. But darkness is doing what darkness does--creating shadow, bringing fear, producing anxiety.  

The better question is: Are we doing what light is meant to do?

Jesus told His followers, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). He never called us to be the gatekeepers of who’s in or out, who’s worthy or unworthy. He called us to shine—to be a community so full of love, grace, and truth that others can’t help but be drawn toward it.

Far too often, Christians become obsessed with defining boundaries. We argue over doctrine, practice, and tradition, forgetting that the world isn’t transformed by arguments, but by love. While we debate who’s right, the world grows colder and dimmer, longing for warmth and light.

God’s creation—including the people around us—is still beautiful, still sacred, still pulsing with divine potential. When we only see the flaws, we miss the fingerprints of God in the faces of our neighbors, coworkers, and even our critics. What would it look like if, instead of lamenting the world’s darkness, we asked, “How can I shine more brightly today?”

Maybe it’s showing kindness to someone who feels invisible. Maybe it’s choosing forgiveness instead of resentment. Maybe it’s speaking up with truth and love when it would be easier to stay silent. Maybe it’s simply showing up in someone’s life with compassion and a listening ear.

Light doesn’t need to be loud. It just needs to be present.

So let us be the people who light candles—who carry the light of Christ into every space we inhabit. Let’s be known not for who we exclude, but for how well we love. Because when the light shines brighter, the darkness has no choice but to recede.

Prayer: 

God of light, help us shine with Your love in a world that needs hope. Forgive us when we focus on judgment instead of grace. Teach us to see beauty where others see darkness, and to be candles that push back the night. Let our lives reflect Your light. Amen.

[leonbloder]

A Heart Full of Gratitude

Living in gratitude is something that sounds like a great idea, and is often a whole lot easier when things are going our way.  

But there are times when it's difficult to find the strength to be grateful, which is why practicing gratitude daily is something that I have been striving to do no matter how I might feel about my circumstances.  

Notice that I said I'm "practicing" because I still haven't mastered it.   

It’s easy to be thankful when life is good—when the sun is shining, relationships are flourishing, and the path ahead feels smooth and sure. But true gratitude is not merely a response to favorable circumstances; it’s a posture, a way of being that sees the hand of grace even during trial.

 Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote: 

“Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.”

These words challenge us. Gratitude, Emerson suggests, isn’t just for the pleasant or the obvious blessings. It includes everything—even the difficult, confusing, or painful parts of our story. 

This is where the shift happens: when we begin to see that every experience, even the hard ones, can shape us, strengthen us, and draw us closer to God, we step out of a scarcity mindset and into the wide-open space of abundance.

The Apostle Paul echoes this transformative truth in 2 Corinthians 9:8 (NIV): 

“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” 

Notice the repetition: all things, all times, all that you need. 

This is not a promise of material wealth, but of spiritual sufficiency. When we live from a place of gratitude, we begin to notice how abundantly blessed we already are. Scarcity whispers that there’s never enough time, money, love, or joy. But gratitude silences that voice with the truth: there is already enough, and more.

Even our smallest acts of thanksgiving make room for the abundant life Jesus spoke of in John 10:10—the life that is full, rich, and deep. 

Perhaps this is a moment when we can tap into the theological wisdom of one of my favorite Disney characters, sweet little Piglet, and the author of Winnie the Pooh, A.A. Milne, who wrote:  “Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.” 

Come on!  That's so sweet and beautiful, isn't it?  What a lovely reminder: our hearts, no matter how fragile or weary, are capable of great thankfulness.

So today, let us practice the discipline of gratitude—not just for the sweet and easy, but for the bitter and hard. Let us trust that all things can be included in our thanksgiving, because all things can be used for our good and God’s glory. Each time we say “thank you,” we open our eyes a little wider to the abundance that surrounds us.

Prayer: Gracious God, give me eyes to see your gifts in all things. Teach me to be grateful not only when life is good, but also when life is hard. May I live each day from a place of trust in your abundance, not fear of scarcity. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Unmasking the True Self

“There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.”

—T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

We've all been there.  

We were just asked by a friend a question that is asked more than any other question we pose to one another as human beings.  It's a question that we ask without really expecting an answer, or, at the very least, an answer that is real.  

"How are you doing?"

When we are asked that question, we have a choice to make in that moment, and most of the time, the choice is made without much thought.  We can respond by telling the truth, or we can respond the way that we are expected to respond by saying, 

"Fine," or "Good," which is also acceptable. 

God forbid that we tell others how we really feel, right?  We don't want to sound like that person we know who is always complaining, bemoaning their fate, or oversharing every time they meet someone.  

But there's a world of responses that exist between a rote response of "Fine" and being that person, isn't there?  And it's within that world that we ought to be able to find a space to be real and vulnerable.  

We are experts at hiding. Some of us wear smiles that don't reach our eyes. Others wear ambition, sarcasm, perfectionism, or detachment like armor. We learn early in life that certain parts of us might be unacceptable—too messy, too sensitive, too weak—and so we begin to mask. We show the world a polished, curated version of ourselves because we fear judgment, rejection, or worse: indifference.

T.S. Eliot’s haunting lines capture this all-too-human tendency. “There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.” It suggests that life becomes a performance, a rehearsed interaction where we put on the “right” face for each setting—never quite real, never quite whole.

But what if we took the risk of removing the mask?

The Apostle Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 4:2 (NIV): 

“We have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God.” 

This verse reminds us that integrity (wholeness) comes not from hiding who we are, but from revealing who we are. When our inner self aligns with our outward actions, we become whole. We gain not just integrity, but freedom.

There is a kind of peace that can only come when we stop pretending.

Yes, vulnerability is risky. We might be misunderstood, even rejected. But we also might find something beautiful: true companionship, deep love, and authentic connection. When we take off the mask, we discover who really sees us—and still chooses us.

There is no peace in hiding. But there is peace in being known.

Today, be brave enough to show up as yourself. Practice courageous vulnerability. Speak honestly, love freely, weep openly, and laugh without restraint. The world doesn’t need another mask—it needs you. The real you. The one created in the image of God, fearfully and wonderfully made.

There will be time. But why not now?  May it be so. 

Prayer: God who knows me fully and loves me still, give me the courage to take off the masks I wear. Help me to walk in truth, to live with integrity, and to trust that I am enough as I am. Let my life be a witness to the power of being real. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Let All Things Pass Away

I've been thinking a lot today about loss and the impermanence of things.  I'll grant you, it's not the most cheerful of things to think about, but nonetheless, it's been on my mind.   

A friend just lost his mom, suddenly and without warning.  Another friend spoke to me about a beloved granddaughter who took her life.  I've been struck today by thoughts of my mom, who passed seven years ago, and whom I miss every day.  I grieve the loss of dreams I had that dissipated and faded away.  

And yet, there is such beauty in the world, and so much goodness, all of which ebb and flow in an endless cycle of dying and rising.  The impermanence of things makes me realize the precious nature of life in all of its fragility.  

This is a hard thing to embrace, though.  

We hold so tightly to what cannot stay. Dreams shift, loved ones leave us too soon, seasons close before we’re ready. Grief can convince us that impermanence is an enemy—proof that nothing is secure and everything is slipping. 

Yet, what if impermanence is not a betrayal but an invitation? What if its ache is the doorway to wonder, urgency, tenderness, and praise?

W.B. Yeats gestures toward this paradox in lines that mingle blood, beauty, and transience:

"From man's blood-sodden heart are sprung Those branches of the night and day Where the gaudy moon is hung. What's the meaning of all song? "Let all things pass away."

Yeats begins with the “blood-sodden heart”—human life marked by suffering, love, striving. Out of that heart grow “branches of the night and day,” the passing sweep of time itself. Even the “gaudy moon,” radiant and seemingly eternal, is hung for a while upon these branches. 

Art—“all song”—searches for meaning in this fragile theater and answers not with clinging but release: Let all things pass away. The beauty was never meant to be possessed; it was always meant to be received, celebrated, and surrendered.

Scripture harmonizes with this wisdom. Paul writes that “what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18). We do not deny loss; we grieve it. Yet we grieve as people who hope, because God meets us in what fades and carries us toward what does not. Psalm 90 pleads, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Numbering our days doesn’t shrink life—it deepens it. Finite time becomes holy time.

So how do we live this? We bless what we cannot keep. We say “thank You” for ordinary mornings, for friendships that change shape, for work that lasts a season, for laughter that echoes and is gone. We tell our stories while we can. We forgive quickly. We love extravagantly. We plant trees we may never sit beneath.

Take courage: even the hard things you face now are impermanent. Anxiety, injustice, illness, conflict—none gets the final word. In Christ, resurrection is always the hidden headline. One day, every sorrow will pass away, and what remains will be love.

Embrace your own impermanence, not in dread but in freedom. Live fully. Notice beauty. Spend your life on what matters. And when loss comes—as it will—let it sharpen your joy and stretch your hope toward the God who holds all our passing days in everlasting hands.

Today's Prayer: 

Eternal God, teach us to cherish the gift of each moment, knowing that all things in this life are passing shadows compared to Your everlasting light. When we face loss and grief, remind us that even our pain is temporary, and that You hold every tear and every heartbeat in Your hands. Fill our hearts with gratitude for the beauty and wonder of life, and give us courage to live fully, love deeply, and trust that Your eternal promises will never fade. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

[leonbloder]

Resisting The Power of Media Manipulation

My middle son, Jackson, recently informed me that the Internet was "on fire" about an interview conducted by the Nelk Boys, a group of young YouTubers, on their channel with the Israeli Prime Minister.  

These young entrepreneurs have a massive following on YouTube and are what you would probably consider "alt-right influencers."  They are well-known for promoting conspiracy theories and extremist, far-right politics.  

The interviews they conduct are often bizarre (they asked the Prime Minister whether he liked McDonald's over Burger King), and meant to be entertaining, but there is a darker side to what they produce as well.  

Hundreds of thousands of young men in what one journalist calls the "manosphere," who watch the show faithfully, are being fed lies, toxic masculinity, and extremist political rhetoric that is shaping their worldview.  

I'm often troubled by stories I explore, like this one with the Nelk Boys.  Our culture is quickly becoming saturated with them, and they do little more than stoke fears, resentments, and even violence when they are taken to extremes.  

We live in a world where the truth often feels slippery, where headlines shout more about fear than hope, and where mass media frequently bends reality to fit political narratives. 

For those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus, this presents both a challenge and a calling: to discern what is true, to resist being manipulated by fear and division, and to keep our eyes fixed on a greater hope.

George Orwell, in his haunting novel 1984, wrote, “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.” His words highlight the dangerous power of those who rewrite history and twist narratives for control. 

Decades later, the band Rage Against the Machine echoed this same line in their song "Testify," a bold anthem against political and corporate manipulation. They go on to declare that the weakness of those in power is “right outside” their door—embodied by those who refuse to be manipulated, those who dare to stand and see clearly.

As Christians, we are called to be those people, to resist being swept away by the constant barrage of fear-driven news cycles and half-truths. We are invited to live differently, to see the world through the lens of God’s kingdom rather than the lenses handed to us by those in power.

Scripture reminds us that our hope does not come from the shifting winds of politics or the day's headlines. 

Our hope comes from the God who has been faithful in the past, who is present with us now, and who promises to carry us into a future filled with His purposes. The same God who parted the Red Sea, who walked with Daniel in the fire, and who raised Jesus from the grave is with us here and now.

When we anchor our hope in God, the noise of media manipulation loses its power. We are no longer tossed about by every narrative of fear or division, because we know who truly holds the past, present, and future. It is not the powers that be, but the God who is Love itself.

Today, choose to resist the negativity that surrounds you. 

Be discerning about what you consume. When the world shouts hopelessness, whisper hope. When fear rises, stand firm in faith. Following Jesus means believing that no matter how dark the headlines, there is light on the other side of every challenge—and that His kingdom will outlast every empire built on fear.

Today's Prayer: 

Lord, in a world filled with noise and confusion, help us to discern Your voice above all others. Teach us to seek Your truth when the world distorts reality and to anchor our hope in Your unchanging love. Guard our hearts from fear and division, and give us the courage to live as people of light, resisting the darkness around us. Remind us that You hold the past, present, and future, and that we can trust You completely with what is to come. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

[leonbloder]

Resilient Faith: Embracing God's Purposes

I had a pastor friend once who had a sign on his desk that read, "God loves you, and has a difficult plan for your life." 

That sign always drew a wry smile from me, but I was also troubled by the language of it.  I  grew up in a Christian culture that used the term "God's plans" pretty freely, and often in very unhelpful ways.  

People in that world I lived in frequently stated that all they wanted was to discover God's plan for their life, or to do God's will, which was nearly the same thing.  Interestingly, God's plans more often resembled their own, and when things didn't go as they planned, it created some challenging theological issues for them.  

Truth be told, I held onto those same notions for many of my early years in ministry.  However, things shifted for me after a serious crisis of faith in 2011, when I began to see a difference between what I thought were God's plans (which were really my own) and God's ultimate purposes. 

The resulting shift in my thinking became an exercise in resilience, which I needed to experience and internalize.  Instead of focusing on the concept of plans, I learned that believing there was a greater purpose at work in my life enabled me to become more resilient and to keep forging ahead even when the plans shifted, changed, or fell apart.  

You see, resilience is not simply the ability to endure hardships—it is the courage to keep moving forward when life takes unexpected turns. 

So often, when challenges arise, we find ourselves clinging to the plans we’ve carefully constructed, believing that if we follow them perfectly, life will unfold the way we think it should. 

But what happens when our plans fall apart? In those moments, God invites us to shift our thinking from “plans” to “purposes.”  

Plans are rigid and linear; they assume a predictable future. Purposes, however, are dynamic, fluid, and shaped by God’s transformative love. God’s purposes are not thwarted by detours, failures, or setbacks. In fact, they are often revealed most clearly when our own plans collapse, leaving space for something far greater to emerge.

Joseph Campbell once wrote, “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” 

This is not a call to abandon our dreams, but rather a reminder that God’s purposes are always bigger and richer than anything we can script for ourselves. When we release our tight grip on “the way things should be,” we create room for the Spirit to work in ways that surprise and renew us.

The Apostle Paul reminds us in Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” 

Notice Paul’s emphasis on God’s “purpose” rather than a strict plan. God’s purposes weave through every circumstance—even the painful and confusing ones—to bring about redemption and hope.

Resilience, then, is not just the act of enduring difficulty, but of trusting that God’s purposes are unfolding even when life looks nothing like we imagined. It is the faith to believe that what feels like an ending might be the beginning of a new chapter, a better chapter—one aligned with God’s heart for us.

If your plans have crumbled or your path seems unclear, take heart. Let go of the life you thought you needed and open your hands to the life that is waiting for you. Trust God’s purposes, for they are never derailed by obstacles but strengthened through them.

Prayer: Lord, help me release my need for control and my attachment to the plans I’ve made. Teach me to trust in Your purposes, which are always good and life-giving, even when I cannot see the way ahead. Give me the resilience to face each challenge with faith, knowing that You are guiding me into the life You have prepared. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Reading The Bible For All It's Worth

When I was a kid, I fell in love with the Bible. 

I loved reading Bible stories from the comic book version I wore into tatters (I eventually replaced it about ten years ago).  

By the age of 11, I  had read the Bible through cover to cover at least once.  I was on a Bible Quiz team in the 8th grade that won state and national competitions.  If there was a Bible trivia contest in my youth group or Christian school, no one wanted to go against me. 

However, when I entered my high school years, I began to notice some problems with the Scripture — contradictions, stories that seemed too fantastic to be literally true, and various interpretations of God from different eras of history, among other issues.  

By the time I graduated from high school, I had walked away from not only the Bible, but my faith in God as well.  It would take me a couple of decades before I would truly find my way back, and begin to understand the Bible differently.  

What I've learned is that the Bible is far more than a rulebook or a static set of instructions. It is a living, breathing collection of stories, poems, letters, and teachings that invite us into a deeper, more authentic journey with God. 

Too often, we have approached Scripture as though it were meant to answer every question in black-and-white terms, but when we do that, we risk missing its true beauty. The Bible is not designed to reduce mystery but to lead us into it.

Peter Rollins captures this well when he writes: 

"The sheer amount of ideological conflicts playing out within the text hints at the fact that the writers were writing about a reality that could not be reduced to one description, a reality that was testified to better in the clash of perspectives than in the development of a single, finely honed one. The text was written not to be approached as an academic document detailing facts about the life of faith but rather as an invitation into the life of faith."

This perspective helps us see that the tensions and differences within Scripture are not problems to be solved but rather invitations to think, wrestle, and trust God in the gray areas of life. The Bible does not shy away from questions or contradictions because faith itself is not about certainty but about relationship.

Peter Enns, in "How the Bible Actually Works," echoes this when he says: 

“God’s purpose isn’t simply to give us a rulebook but to shape us into wise and discerning people who reflect the image of God in the world.” 

Scripture is less concerned with giving us a list of answers and more interested in forming our hearts, expanding our vision, and pointing us toward the love and justice of God.

When we read the Bible this way, we discover that it’s not about being “right” all the time—it’s about being open to God’s ongoing work in us. The stories of faith invite us to step into the unknown, to embrace the journey, and to seek God’s presence in every moment.

Today, approach the Bible as an invitation rather than a checklist. Read it with curiosity, with questions, and with a willingness to be changed. God doesn’t call us to a rigid, dogmatic belief system but to a living, growing relationship built on trust, love, and faith.

Prayer: 

Lord, thank You for the gift of Scripture—not as a rigid set of rules, but as a living invitation to know You more deeply. Teach me to read Your Word with curiosity and an open heart. Help me to embrace the questions, the tensions, and the mystery, trusting that they lead me closer to Your truth and love. Shape me into a person of wisdom, compassion, and faith as I walk this journey with You. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Light Beyond The Shadows

I've been thinking a lot lately about the theology of suffering and why life can be so challenging at times.  I'm sure I'm not alone in wishing that we didn't have to go through suffering or hard seasons in our lives' journey.  

However, I also know that when I look back on my life, I've grown spiritually each time I've had to go through something challenging.  

To that end, author Ann Voskamp asks this powerful question: 

“Who would ever know the greater graces of comfort and perseverance, mercy and forgiveness, patience and courage, if no shadows fell over a life?”

Those words cut to the heart of something we often forget amid our pain—our darkest seasons can become the very soil where grace grows deepest.

When we walk through suffering, everything in us longs for escape. We pray for the shadow to lift, for the valley to end. But what if the shadow is not the absence of God’s presence, but the backdrop for His greatest work? Shadows only exist because there is light. 

As I write this, I recall a line from the band Switchfoot that goes like this: “The shadow always proves the sunshine.” I love that song (just listened to it again). It’s a reminder that even when the world feels dim and heavy, there is light—stronger and steadier—just beyond what we can see.

Scripture affirms this truth in 2 Corinthians 4:17-18: 

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 

The struggles we face aren’t meaningless. They shape us, stretch us, and ultimately lead us to hope that cannot be shaken.

If you’re walking through a season of darkness right now, hear this: the shadow you see is proof of the light that exists. Your pain is not permanent. Your valley will not last forever. There is a sunrise coming, and when it breaks through, you’ll see how every shadow reveals God’s faithfulness in ways you never imagined.

So take heart. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not win (John 1:5). Begin to see your shadows as evidence of the coming brightness. Trust that God is working something beautiful and eternal—even here, even now. Hold on. The sunshine is real, and it’s closer than you think.

Today's Prayer

Lord, in the shadows of life, remind us of Your light. Give us strength to endure, courage to trust, and eyes to see the hope that never fades. Thank You that even when darkness feels overwhelming, Your light is stronger, and it will prevail. Amen.

[leonbloder]

Embracing The Freedom Of God's Love

One of the many questions I have been asked over my twenty-five-plus years in ministry centers on the ideas of free will and God's love.  

People often ask me, "What does it mean when we speak of our free will concerning God?" In other words, do we have the option to resist God's love or God's will for us?   Typically, the conversation leads to another question: "Why does a loving God allow bad things to happen to good people?" 

I see these two questions as inextricably intertwined.  And I found the perfect quote from one of my favorite books from over a decade ago, "Love Wins" by author, and former pastor, Rob Bell.  

“Love demands freedom. It always has, and it always will. We are free to resist, reject, and rebel against God's ways for us. We can have all the hell we want.” 

Those words are both sobering and liberating. God’s love is not coercive. It does not manipulate or force us into submission. Love, by its very nature, must allow for freedom—otherwise, it ceases to be love. God created us with the capacity to choose because genuine love cannot exist without the option to walk away.

Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 3:17: “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” Freedom is not a careless license to live however we want; it’s an invitation to live fully in the presence of God’s Spirit. This is a freedom rooted in grace—a freedom from fear, from shame, from the endless striving to earn God’s favor.\

And yet, freedom can feel risky. What if we misuse it? What if we fail? That’s where another powerful truth comes in: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18). Fear has no place where love reigns. God’s love is perfect, not ours. It’s steady when we waver, constant when we falter. It casts out fear because it reassures us that nothing—absolutely nothing—can separate us from the love of Christ.

Rob Bell’s quote forces us to face the reality that God gives us room to resist. If we want to cling to anger, bitterness, or despair, we can. But why would we? God’s love is not a cage; it is an open horizon. In God's love, we discover what it means to truly live—free from fear, free from condemnation, free to become everything God created us to be.

So today, what will you choose? Will you settle for the smallness of fear and control, or will you embrace the spacious freedom of God’s love? Take a deep breath and let God's Spirit remind you: you are loved, you are free, and you are called to live boldly and joyfully.

Step into that freedom today. Learn what it means to embrace God’s love so fully that your life reflects His purpose. Live as one who is genuinely free—because where God's Spirit is, that’s exactly who you are.

(I'm trying something new today, I'm adding a short prayer that you can pray as you finish reading today's Devo)

"God of love and freedom, thank You for setting me free through Your Spirit. Help me to let go of fear and embrace the life You have called me to live. Teach me to walk boldly in Your love and use my freedom for Your glory. Amen."

[leonbloder]

The Gift of Uncertainty

“It may actually be more healthy to be disturbed, confused, or searching than confident, certain, and secure.” – Mark Scandrette

We live in a culture where it's hard to be certain about anything.  It's hard to know what is "real" and what isn't at times.  

My social media feed is becoming increasingly inundated with AI-generated news stories, photos, videos, and the like.  

For example, I've seen the same news story about famous sports figures, musicians, and actors who donated money to the families of Texas flood victims, complete with photos of the stars hugging people, all of which was generated by artificial intelligence.  

Same story. Different stars. Fake photos.  Many of the people on my social media feed shared these stories, believing them to be real and wanting to assume the best about them without closely examining them.   

In a world that is seemingly less and less certain, it's no wonder that these kinds of things happen more and more frequently.  

Most of us long for certainty in life and faith. We want clear answers, neat explanations, and a roadmap for every twist and turn. But faith was never meant to eliminate uncertainty—it was meant to help us live well within it.

Peter Enns, in his book "The Sin of Certainty," reminds us: “What God desires most is our trust, not our ‘correct’ beliefs.” Faith, then, isn’t about having everything figured out; it’s about leaning into God when nothing makes sense. In fact, if we had absolute clarity, there would be no need for trust at all.

The Bible gives us a striking example in Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Notice the call is not to "know" everything, but to "trust" completely—even when understanding is out of reach.

Uncertainty can feel uncomfortable, even frightening. But consider this: every moment of confusion is an invitation to deeper dependence on God. When our confidence in our own understanding wanes, our capacity to listen, learn, and grow expands. That’s where transformation happens.

Scandrette’s words challenge our assumptions: “It may actually be more healthy to be disturbed, confused, or searching than confident, certain, and secure.” Why? Because certainty can breed complacency, while searching keeps us humble, open, and responsive to the Spirit’s leading.

Jesus never promised us a tidy faith. Instead, he called his disciples to follow him, without providing full explanations or guarantees. They walked uncertain paths because they trusted the One who walked with them. That’s the essence of discipleship: not clinging to perfect answers, but clinging to Jesus.

So if you find yourself wrestling with doubt or asking hard questions, take heart. You’re not failing at faith—you’re living it. To live with uncertainty is to live in the tension of trust, and in that tension, we are shaped into true followers of Christ.

Today, may you have the courage to embrace the unknown, trusting that Jesus is leading you—step by step—into an abundant life. Let your searching become sacred. Let your uncertainty be the space where faith comes alive.

May it be so, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever. Amen.  

[leonbloder]

When Heaven Feels Like Home

When I was a kid, I didn't really want to go to Heaven, at least as it was described to me by Sunday school teachers and preachers.  

They said that it had streets of gold, and gleamed with priceless jewels and all manner of cleanliness and brightness.  I used to wonder if it would be the kind of place where I would walk around worried about breaking something, like when my mom went into a shop filled with glass vases and decorative figurines.  

"You break it, you bought it!' signs in these stores made me wonder if I was fit for Heaven.  

And then there was the notion that was perpetuated by the church-y folk in the Baptist churches I attended that eternity in Heaven was like one long worship service where angel choirs sang, and the redeemed stood round and sang with them. 

For a kid like me, these visions seemed more like Hades than Heaven. 

Church was something I endured, rather than enjoyed.  I would have resonated with the words of Mark Twain: 

“Most people can't bear to sit in church for an hour on Sundays. How are they supposed to live somewhere very similar to it for eternity?”

Plus, I didn't really like most of the people in my church, and the thought of having to spend eternity with them didn't sound all that appealing.  They were grumpy and shushed me when I whispered with my friends in the pew next to me, and seemed to not have a lot of joy about much of anything outside of church, either.  

To be fair, I also had no desire to spend eternity doing laps in the Lake of Fire, so I lived with the existential dread that came with all the teachings of the afterlife I was given.  

It would take years of study, experience, and a complete change in my understanding of God before I came to the conclusion that a vision of Heaven that wasn't great for a kid isn't a vision worth having.  The fact of the matter is, we can't map the geography of what comes after we "shuffle off this mortal coil," to draw some Shakespeare into this, which is never a bad idea.  Perhaps we dream, as the Bard wrote for his troubled Hamlet, and "what dreams may come," we do not know.   I've come to believe that what comes next is an "undiscovered country," and is subject to a great deal of imagination, so why not imagine something wonderful?   George R.R. Martin, the author of the Game of Thrones books, once wrote: 

I rather like that.  The world of Tolkien's Hobbiton from The Hobbit was a huge part of my childhood imagination, and the fact that it resembled my beloved English countryside drew it into my adulthood as well.  

I believe Heaven is just on the other side of our own reality, and that there are thin spaces in this world where we can catch glimpses of the next.  I've experienced enough of those thin spaces to feel this deeply in my heart, and I can't help but think that whatever Heaven might be, it includes the very best of this world, too.  

So now, when I think of Heaven, I no longer imagine cold marble, intimidating brightness, or an eternal church service with forced smiles and stiff collars. 

I imagine laughter echoing across green fields, meals shared without hurry, music that stirs the soul without demanding performance. I imagine a place where joy is effortless, where love is unfiltered, where every part of you is fully known and fully embraced. I imagine wholeness—not perfection, but restoration.

And I believe that God, the Creator of galaxies and gardens, oceans and imagination, is far more expansive and loving than any of the narrow visions of Heaven I once feared. 

If God is love—and I believe with my whole heart that God is—then the life to come must be the fulfillment of every deep longing we’ve ever had to belong, to be free, to be at peace.

So, if the images of Heaven you grew up with left you cold, or even afraid, you’re not alone. But don’t let those old ideas steal your hope. Trade them for something richer. 

Trade them for wonder. Let yourself dream again, with childlike awe and sacred imagination. Let yourself trust that whatever comes next will be more beautiful, more joyful, more healing than we could ever fully know.

Because at the heart of it all is God, and God is good. And I believe that when we finally cross into that “undiscovered country,” we will not feel out of place. We’ll feel like we’ve finally come home.

May it be so for all of us, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us, now and forever.  Amen.  

[leonbloder]

Living A Life Of Prayer

I've been thinking a bit about prayer lately, mostly because I haven't had much of a response to the prayers I've been praying to sell my house, which has been on the market for over 230 days now.  

I've got to tell you that my faith, resolve, and patience have been stretched to the limit more than once while I've been trying to hang through this season of waiting.  Not to mention, my frustration at all of the reasons why the housing market has slowed to a grinding halt, which wasn't the case before last November.  

The funny thing about prayer is that you keep doing it, even when there's no discernible answer, and mostly only silence.  

I pray the prayer of Thomas Merton every single day.  If you don't know it, look it up. It's a good prayer and one that I need to hear myself speak.  I also pray when I'm feeling desperate, and I have been praying out of grief over all the ills of the world.  

These prayers are barely more than unspoken thoughts most of the time, and occasionally whispered pleas.  I figure that God knows what's on my heart, so it doesn't matter what form it takes.  

I ran across this fantastic quote from author Joan Chittister the other day, and I had to share it : 

Chittister’s words on prayer pierce with clarity and urgency: “Spirituality without a prayer life is no spirituality at all, and it will not last beyond the first defeats.” In this, she reminds us that spirituality is not a vague sense of well-being or a casual appreciation of the divine. True spirituality is anchored. It is rooted in relationship, and that relationship is nurtured through prayer.

Prayer is not simply the act of speaking to God; it is the courageous act of opening ourselves to God. Chittister says that prayer “unmasks.” This is not comfortable work. When we pray sincerely, we are laid bare—our fears, our pride, our longings, and our brokenness rise to the surface. 

The masks we wear before the world—of confidence, success, control—begin to slip when we stand vulnerably before God. In that unmasking, we discover both our deep need and God’s deeper grace.

Prayer “converts,” she writes. This means it changes us, slowly and sometimes painfully. In a world that celebrates instant results, prayer is the patient soil where God reshapes our hearts over time. It reorients our desires, heals our wounds, and aligns us with God’s purposes. It is the furnace in which the self is refined—not through striving, but through surrender.

Prayer “impels.” When we open ourselves to God, we are often stirred to action. Real prayer does not lead us into passivity but calls us forward—to forgive, to serve, to persist, to speak truth, to love in difficult places. It becomes fuel for our mission, not an escape from it.

And yet, prayer also “sustains.” When defeat comes—and it always does—prayer is the place we return to, the place where we remember who we are and who God is. It is the quiet strength that holds us when nothing else seems to.

The final line is perhaps the most human: “Pray for the grace it will take to continue what you would like to quit.” We all face seasons when the burden feels too heavy, the calling too costly, the hope too faint. In those moments, we may not have the words or the will, but we can still pray. And in that honest cry for grace, God meets us again—quietly, faithfully, transforming defeat into deeper trust.

Chittister’s reflection calls us not just to have a prayer life, but to live a prayerful life—one where every step, stumble, and renewal is grounded in the holy conversation that never ends.

May we all find inspiration and courage in these words.  May we learn to live a life of prayer.  And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us, now and always.  Amen.  

[leonbloder]

The Hands & Feet of Christ

One of the many beautiful phrases used in Christian liturgy and worship is that those of us who strive to follow Jesus are "the hands and feet of Christ."  

While I have loved this phrase and have employed it more than once in sermons and writings, it occurs to me that it deserves a closer examination, and perhaps a bit of imagination as well to fully comprehend just how important and vital it is.  The notion that we are the hands and feet of Christ, who we understand to be present in the world as Spirit, is one that theologians and church leaders have wrestled with for two millennia.  But it is the mystics who give us the poetry to imagine Christ more fully.  

The 14th-century Christian mystic Teresa of Avila once wrote: 

"Christ has no body but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours..."

I suppose for me, the question about what it meant to be the hands and feet of Christ has always come down to "Why?"  Why would an all-powerful being even need to have tangible hands and feet?  Why would God want to use us? I have come to believe that the simplest answer to this is "Joy."  I believe that it brings God joy to experience the world through us, particularly when our actions in the world are the work of God's Kingdom, characterized by renewal, reconciliation, and resurrection.   Perhaps the greatest argument for this is the mystery of the Incarnation, the Christian belief that states that God chose to become one of us (through Jesus) to rescue all of us.  And through the Incarnation, God was able to experience the breadth of human sensation.   Author Elizabeth Gilbert wrote the following in her book "Eat, Pray, Love:"

“So I stood up and did a handstand on my Guru's roof, to celebrate the notion of liberation. I felt the dusty tiles under my hands. I felt my own strength and balance. I felt the easy night breeze on the palms of my bare feet. This kind of thing -- a spontaneous handstand--isn't something a disembodied cool blue soul can do, but a human being can do it. We have hands; we can stand on them if we want to. That's our privilege. That's the joy of a mortal body. And that's why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands. ”

I love the last line of that quote: "Because God loves to feel things through our hands."  

While I believe there is a deeper meaning to the Incarnation and to our role as the hands and feet of God in Christ, there is also significance in God's experience of the world through us.  

When we experience the wonder of the world through our senses, we often feel joy, which comes from deep within us.  It's the kind of joy that comes from watching a spectacular sunset, feeling the earth in our hands as we plant flowers, hearing the songbirds in the morning, and smelling woodsmoke on the wind on a crisp, clear day.  

What speaks to us in those moments is something deep within our souls, a feeling that has been imprinted upon us, a sense of the Divine within us, rejoicing at each and every wonder-filled experience of the world.  

And if all of this can be true, then the converse is also true.  God aches with us, when we ache, feels sorrow when we feel sorrowful, weeps with us when we weep.  

I believe that God is present in this world, and the Spirit of God moves around, in, and through us. We make the presence of God tangible.  And when we come to know this, we also begin to see the world and ourselves much differently; more lovingly, with open hearts and minds. 

May you learn what it means to make the Divine tangible through you, recognizing that you are not only created in the image of God, but you contain a Divine spark within you, a spark that merely needs your assent to be fanned into a flame that illuminates the world.  

May it be so, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.  

[leonbloder]

Live Fully As Your True Self

Recently, I  decided to let my beard pursue it's inclinations to be grey.  

I'd been fighting the good fight for a long time with various beard washes that add enough color to cover most of the grey, but not enough to make me look like I'm completely coloring my beard.  

It's a little thing, but it was liberating to me.  Like a lot of other areas in my life, I long to be free to simply be who I am.  To a point.  

Despite my raised fist in the air about the color of my beard, I do actually care what people think of me.  

I've discovered that I'm not the only person to struggle with conformity and the expectations of others when it comes to living authentically.  Even the most confident among us have niggling doubts about how they are perceived.  

In a world filled with noise, expectations, and pressure to conform, it is easy to lose sight of who we truly are. 

Many of us spend our days chasing the approval of others, silencing our inner voice, and wearing masks that hide our God-given identity. We live in fear that we are not enough, and the even greater fear of being found out.  

Anb we fear death, but in our efforts to avoid it, as we pretend to be someone we are not, we forget how to live. 

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross once said: 

“It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we're alive—to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are.” 

Jesus speaks directly to this in John 10:10 when He says, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” 

The abundant life Christ offers is not a life of fear or conformity, but one of freedom, authenticity, and divine purpose. It’s a life that flows from knowing who we are in Him and living from that center, not from the world’s expectations.

Too often, fear of failure, rejection, or death leads us to live cautiously behind walls. We craft personas that meet the standards of our culture, our families, or even our churches—personas that might gain acceptance, but cost us our soul. In doing so, we risk what Kübler-Ross calls “spiritual death,” the numbing of our true selves.

But God did not create us to live numb, muted, or hidden. God created you to live fully, as you. 

Scripture tells us we are “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). That means your quirks, your passions, your story—all of it—has sacred worth. Living fully as yourself is not selfish; it is holy. It honors the Creator who formed you uniquely in love.

So today, release the need to be someone else. Let go of the fear that dims your light. Embrace the life Christ offers—a life where you are free to be your whole self, because your identity is not determined by others but by the One who calls you “beloved.”

You are a child of God, deeply loved and fully known. Live boldly. Live authentically. Live alive.

May you do so in joy, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever. Amen.  

[leonbloder]

Faith For The Here and Now

I watched an episode of the Netflix TV series "Black Mirror" the other night that got me thinking about the afterlife.  

Black Mirror is a sort of Twilight Zone for our own times, focusing on stories that reflect the current anxieties and ethical dilemmas of a high-tech future that is hurtling toward us faster than we can imagine.

The particular episode that intrigued me was about a process where people who were dying could transfer their consciousness to a virtual world in a California beach town, which they could visit in any era of time they could remember.    

They had the choice before they died to permanently transfer their consciousness there, or to roll the dice on what comes next naturally.  

You could choose your own version of Heaven, in other words, with certainty.  

I must admit, the idea of this sent my mind reeling.  Most Christians (myself included) have been taught at one time or another that the point of being Christian is to ensure you will go to Heaven when you die.  

So many people of faith live with the preoccupation of what happens when we die.  Heaven is the goal. This world, as the old hymn says, is not our home.  The TV show reminded me that a preoccupation with what comes next can truly affect the way we embrace our present.  

Too often, the Christian life is presented as a kind of cosmic transaction: believe this now, behave this way now, and you’ll be rewarded later. While the hope of eternity is certainly part of our faith, the heart of the gospel is not merely about getting into heaven someday—it’s about living in God’s presence here and now. As theologian Marcus Borg put it:

“The Christian life is not about pleasing God the finger-shaker and judge. It is not about believing now or being good now for the sake of heaven later. It is about entering a relationship in the present that begins to change everything now. Spirituality is about this process: the opening of the heart to the God who is already here.”

This quote reminds us that Christianity is not escapism. It is an incarnation. It is God with us. Jesus didn’t teach his followers to escape the world, but to love it, serve it, and heal it. When his disciples asked how to pray, Jesus taught them to say, “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10).

Heaven is not just a distant destination—it is a present reality that we are invited to participate in and embody. The Kingdom of God is not only something we look forward to; it is something we live into. Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom is at hand, already breaking into this world through love, justice, compassion, and mercy.

When we live our faith with this mindset, it transforms our relationships, our priorities, and our purpose. We begin to see every moment, every interaction, as sacred. We seek reconciliation now, not just peace in the afterlife. We serve the poor now, not just hope for a better world someday. We open our hearts to God now, trusting that the Spirit is already at work, renewing all things.

Christian spirituality, then, is not primarily about what happens when we die. It’s about how we live while we are alive. It is about abiding in Christ today, walking with God in the present, and letting that presence change us—from the inside out.

May you begin to notice the God who is already here. And may you have the courage to embody the Kingdom of God—not just as a hope for tomorrow, but as a way of life today. Let your life be a glimpse of heaven on earth.

May this be so for all of us, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever.  Amen.