Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Jesus wept. If you want to impress your friends with reciting Bible verses this is the one. It is easy to memorize, yes, but that’s where easy ends. Jesus weeps and it’s hard to watch. The fully divine don’t weep, do they? But the fully human do, I know, those who feel deeply the plight of the human spirit trying to survive in a world turned upside down and sideways.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Do I sacrifice my corn dog and let my coke splash to the ground? Let me back up. It must be told that after all the games I have watched in stadiums across the country, I am yet to catch a foul ball at a major league baseball game. I came oh-so-close twice. The first when I was twelve and came down with a fever the Sunday I was to go to a Dodger game with my friend and his parents and they gave my ticket to their uncle who sat in my seat. I get a call that afternoon saying that the uncle caught a foul ball! Came right to him, my friend told me. Right to my seat.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! John Buchanan died this week. Father of Diane, father-in-law to Rick, friend to many, leader in the Church. So much more. For twenty-seven years he was senior pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago, one of the flagship churches of the Presbyterian Church (USA), 6,000 members strong when he retired. A “light in the city” was its tagline, and it really was. More than just the city of Chicago, Fourth Pres and John’s light shone across the country and throughout our denomination.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Six stone jars filled with water. I am jarred by the news of the fires in Los Angeles. My old home and church are on the line between an evacuation order and a warning. It might depend on the way the wind is blowing on whether or not my old home and neighborhood is spared or will remain only in my memories. An old friend who sang at my installation service in 2012 told me a few hours ago that he has never been more terrified as he looks out from his front yard in Encino to a raging fire 1 ½ miles away.