It is that moment.

Jesus continued to sit in his hometown synagogue on the Sabbath while those in the crowded worship space gazed at him. He’d finished reading Isaiah, but the hopeful words echo, if not in the room, then certainly in their hearts.

No one whispered. Not a cough. Several held their breath. All eyes remained wide open.

The synagogue thrummed with expectation.

“Today,” Jesus said, “this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

So far, the scripture he read has been safe. Isaiah’s call for the release of the captives and sight to the blind resonated with Jesus’ neighbors. As Jews with long memories, they had a history of captivity. Their ancestors wept by the waters of Babylon. As Jews of today, Rome’s empire oppressed them. They seethed about taxes and cowered when a Roman sword was drawn. But some day they’d be free. On some tomorrow all would clearly see, literally and figuratively. Not now, but soon.

But Jesus had more to say. His next words didn’t inspire once-upon-a-time dreams or somewhere-over-the-rainbow longings, but confronted the pettiness and arrogance of every soul in the stuffy synagogue. Continue reading →

While walking my dog not long after the official dawn, we didn’t cast any shadows. In Fresno, in the center of California, at the beginnings of January, a slurry of gray fog hugged the gray asphalt path on the gray day.

Cold.

Dreary.

Still.

A young man approached us, bundled in a jacket, moving quickly. On this early Sunday, he was the first person I’d seen since leaving home fifteen minutes before. As he spied my dog—off leash and happily trotting ahead of me—he sidestepped, and then hopped over the low bushes that created a border between the narrow path and the wide suburban street. He continued heading towards us. Continue reading →