God Doodles

  I came into my office one morning to hear a whining, grinding sound.  “Now what?” I wondered. But a quick check revealed the source of the noise. It was the clock on the wall, howling in discontent over long years of thankless service. 

     I unplugged it and resigned myself to purchasing a replacement. But a friend’s advice interrupted that plan. “Turn it upside down for awhile,” she said. So I did. The clock began to grow quieter. Soon it was purring along nicely. 

     All of which is a roundabout way of pointing out that people, too, sometimes need to be inverted in order to be returned to a peaceful, normal life. Born upside down, in sin (which we also call self-centeredness) we tend to live our lives that way, regarding everything from 180* off center. Even God’s smiling face looks like a frown to someone looking at it from this topsy-turvy position. We need to be returned to a right relationship with God and the world before we can appreciate either one.

     The Greeks called the turning metanoia.  We can call it repentance. 

     The clock was howling. I suppose in a way it was expressing its discomfort at the poor lubrication it had received. It was the discomfort that resulted in the turning and the correction of the problem.  Theologian Joe Sittler once described himself as “a rascal kept alive and kicking by the church to stimulate its own discomfort.”  Maybe we should keep someone around to stir things up for us, every once in a while. As a prod. As a stimulus to repent, to get right side up again. 

     One fellow said,”I don’t need to repent.  I already did that a long time ago.”  

I gazed deeply into his shoelaces as he spoke.  They were at eye level. And they were untied.

  Capt.G.M. Gilbert, prosecutor at the Nuremburg Trials, noted that the one characteristic that united all the Nazi defendants was a lack of empathy. “Evil is the absence of empathy,” he said. 

Empathy is the inherent human capacity to understand and share what it feels like to be human, in whatever situation. It’s so much a human quality that the lack of it relegates one to the realm of dysfunction; narcissism, psychopathy, sociopathy, or simply monstrosity. 

     And yet, empathy is increasingly viewed by some as a weakness, especially among those on the right politically. Some who use the title “Christian” have said that empathy makes one vulnerable to manipulation and becoming a doormat.  They reject the Gospel teaching of forgiveness and redemption, and living freely as citizens of God’s Kingdom, and embrace The Law, emphasizing justice and obedience. 

     But this way of thinking misses the fact that the Law, God’s commandments and demands, exists to drive us to the Gospel of forgiveness and newness of  life. Neglecting the Gospel, as some have done, even in the face of the preaching of their church leaders, leaves them in the hopeless situation of living in perfection. In fact, no one can live up to the expectations of the Law. 

     J.D.Vance has been outspoken in opposition to empathy, drawing concentric circles around himself and saying that it’s only necessary to care for those inside the smaller circle and less and less for those in the outer rings.  Here he draws on what he called an “old school” Catholic doctrine called Ordo Amoris (order of love). His initial statement and subsequent comments have sparked debate among religious thinkers and theologians about the place of empathy in the church today.  So it seems necessary to look at what the scriptures teach us about the subject. 

     First, look at John 11:35, the shortest verse in the Bible, “Jesus wept”. When Jesus saw that Lazarus had died and saw his friends and family crying and coming together in grief, he understood and went there himself. The prime example of empathy. 

     Then there are specific scriptural instructions, like Romans 12:15, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn”, and Galatians 6:2, “Carry each others’ burdens”, actively help others who are struggling. Ephesians 4:32 urges us to be kind and compassionate to each other. There are many, many passages teaching us to be kind to strangers and foreigners, since our ancestors were strangers in a strange land at one time. 

     So the message seems clear that empathy and caring for others is the proper way, and it is correct to reject the pointed cruelty we see devolving from the misapplication of Christian teaching that seems prevalent in some churches. If we’re to draw circles around ourselves, let’s make them big.

What kind of man am I?

I’m the kind that picks up after my dog.

I’m the kind of man who shares my home made barbeque rub with my neighbor.

I’m the kind of man that uses my pickup truck to help a friend move.

I’m the kind of man who prays.

Why do I pray? Because that’s the kind of man I want to be. I don’t pray to change others. I want to change me.

I don’t pray to change the physical world. Saying special words to change the physical world is called magic.

I don’t pray to change God’s mind, or convince God to care about my concerns. Instead, prayer is a way to align myself with God’s will.

When I practice prayer as a discipline, some good things happen. I move toward becoming a stronger person, with a better perspective and a more positive outlook on life. Consistent prayer as a life practice helps develop my character, toward greater patience, kindness, and humility. (Yes, humility is something we can strive for.)

Prayer brings me closer to God, to a better apprehension of God’s will and improves my ability to carry that out. What is God’s will? Well, in another context we call it doing the next right thing.

Love,

Norm

The silence the silence the silence was

my life, 

watching the innkeeper laugh with his belly

and seeing that little girl make mysteries with her lips.

A dead quiet world of goings and 

doings of which the why

was hid.

It was a strange deliverance I had, bumping and

stumbling and trailing along toward some unknown

something or one.

They dragged and pulled with faces grinning and gestures and beckoning and 

I came trusting.

Then Love looked at me.

Love touched me, ear and tongue. 

I stood meekly apart from gazers while Love spoke with spit and fingers a message for me alone. 

Hope wiggled in my heart like a fish.

Word Planter spoke skyward and I

heard

and believed.

James 1:21b, Mark 7:32-37

     I woke early, just after dawn, to hear raindrops hitting the roof. I took a moment to remember where I was; in the Little Belt Mountains of Montana, at a Unity Campout of the Rain or Shine group from Great Falls.  

    Hurriedly I got dressed and set out for a walk. I wanted to explore a bit. 

It was a beautiful place just a few miles from Monarch, on the banks of Dry Fork of Belt Creek, among tall pines. My eyes were refreshed with a thousand shades of green and golden brown. Wildflowers were sprinkled among the grass. Bird calls greeted the new day. A fine misty rain kissed my face and watered the forest. The creek burbled along beside the road. 

     This was the lush purveyance of life. This was God’s will for the face of the planet– life in abundance, life in a thousand varieties, life in harmony. The Garden of Eden came to mind, and I was there. I was Adam. 

     Suddenly there was at my feet something not green, not alive. The bleached white bones of a dead animal were scattered across the grass at the base of a big pine. They were shocking in their whiteness and their reality. And I was reminded that never, never can any of us go back to the Garden. It’s too far, and God is too fair. Instead we must move through whatever lies ahead, experience the dry desert and bleached white bones. But there still is that gnawing remembrance of a time when everything was very good. Perhaps there is another garden somewhere in the way that lies ahead. 

                                                                              Love, 

                                                                                  Norm

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     Not long ago I was asked to help some folks bury their dead loved one. They’re good people, They believe in God. They pray. But they don’t go to church. And they asked me an honest question, “Why should we go to church? Isn’t it enough that we believe that Jesus did for us?” And I answered, “Well, errr, umm, ahh,” which isn’t a good answer to give to an honest question.

     I’m sorry to say I failed to communicate to them what I know; that faith is a community kind of thing.  The Gospel in its fullness only comes in a gathering of people. The reason I failed to communicate is that I couldn’t say WHY that is. But now I can. 

     Sure, you can hear Gospel words at home. You can watch a TV preacher. You can read the Bible. You can know you are forgiven for Jesus’ sake. But that’s not the fullness of the Gospel. You need to know more. You need to know that it’s not just you who has failed. You are part of a world that needs forgiveness. That’s why Jesus taught his disciples to pray, “forgive US our trespasses.” 

     Being forgiven isn’t easy.  Our pride gets in the way. But seeing Tom, Dick and Mary in the same fix you’re in, praying with them and for them, being forgiven together with them, makes it different. That’s something you, and we all, need. 

That’s why you should come to church. 

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AT THE CATHEDRAL’S ALLEY DOOR

Norman Wear

Jun 05, 2025

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He came down the alley shortly before six a.m., making agonizingly slow progress. He wasn’t riding in the wheelchair, but shuffled along behind it on stiff legs, resting his weight on the handles. I could tell that his body was ancient, even though it was shrouded in a long, ragged black overcoat and broad brimmed hat. His incongruent blue jogging shoes made shuffling noises as they traversed the pavement in painful one inch steps.

I would have turned then from my hotel window, from just one more poverty stricken old person, had he not begun to act strangely. The green and chrome wheelcair turned sharply right and he followed it directly to the eroded brick wall of the cathedral across the alley. Still shuffling painfully, he struggled to maintain his balance as he set the handbrakes. Rocking from side to side, he gained momentum and moved his foot an inch to the side. Snail like, he moved to the side of the chair. His arm flicked out like the tongue of a snake, testing for the security of the brick wall.

The process took several minutes. I continued to watch as he arrived at his desired position, his face inches from the ancient bricks. I wondered what important reason he had for expending what was obviously a great deal of energy to come to this point.

The question was immediately answered. A trickle of urine began to flow between his feet, winding its way toward a rainfilled depression in the pavement.

And then, I judged. I did God’s duty for God, condemning the old man for his indecency and irreverence and all around nastiness. Pissing on the church! But I kept watching, and that was how salvation came to me in that moment.

The old man turned, and in identically slow and agonizing fashion, won his way to the alley door of the church, and made his way inside. My last sight of him was of his arm snaking out in trial and error until it reached the door knob, which he pulled shut behind him. And I thought, how early did he rise, how far had he come in such tortuous fashion, how hard had he pushed himself to reach the church? What was in his heart that drew him so strongly?

Then I knew that the old cathedral would have been glad and proud to provide one of her children with that little bit of comfort and privacy in exchange for such loyalty. And in that instant I got a glimpse of the Lord of the Church.

He was smiling.

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If you’ve been paying attention on your walk through life you will have noticed something. The physical world is engaged in a “leveling” process. Water runs downhill. Dead animals and plants return to the soil. Hot coffee turns cold. Ancient cities disappear. Mountains are worn down to eventually become river deltas. Stars burn, nova, dim and collapse. Everywhere you look, things are breaking down, wearing out, slowing down, decaying, seeking the lowest common denominator. 

It’s the way of the cosmos. It’s nature. If you’ve been observant, you will have noticed this. If you haven’t, you at least accept it because it’s just the way things are. You even depend on it. 

The surprising thing in a universe that is decaying is not that there is death and evil, but the amazing abundance of good that exists simultaneously. What’s really eye opening, at least to me, is the great hope that exists in the midst of this winding down. The weeds struggling up through the pavement. Birds mating in our back yard. Children in the park adventuring on the monkey bars or jungle gym. Weddings and potlucks and food banks and all the various ways people love and care for each other. Everywhere there is a grand and glorious struggle taking place against this leveling force of the universe. If you’re lucky you will have observed this, too. 

If you haven’t noticed then I’m glad I called your attention to it because I’m convinced that if you look closely at this side of the picture something about God will be revealed to you. Not His existence. His personality.

A slice of watermelon is representative of the whole watermelon. When you look at the slice, you can tell what the whole melon is like. A slice of krumkake does not come out of a sour cream raisin pie, nor does a slice of whole wheat bread come from a loaf of San Francisco sourdough. It would be unrealistic to expect any different. The whole determines what the slice is like.

Worship is a slice of life. It’s a celebration of what goes on during the whole week. You can’t expect to serve up a big wedge of German chocolate worship on Sunday when you’ve spent the week making cow pie. That would be unrealistic, to say the least.

Worship is something we do together as the people of God. If we don’t have a sense of belonging to that same family, the people of God, all week, then our worship is, to a certain extent, phony.

And yet, our expectations often continue as unrealistic. We come for an hour of highly charged spirituality hoping to gain energy to get us through another Godless week in the trenches. But it doesn’t work that way. Christianity is a way of life together, not a Sunday morning mirage divorced from Monday’s busy-ness. We come to thank God for another week of creation and to praise God for the guts to go on living together.

Until we realize this and make this a part of our heart, Sunday mornings would be better spent doing something useful.