Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Jesus sits for his portrait. I did once. Back in my first church when a young woman who painted in oils asked me to sit for my portrait. I was flattered. Until I realized she only wanted me for my black clergy robe because it had folds in the sleeves. She needed to practice her sleeve folds! Fair enough. So I agreed and after many sittings the day arrived for its unveiling. The sleeves looked great. Me? I looked faintly like a young Robert Redford in his Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid days, minus the mustache, which means it looked nothing like me at all.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! The Seven Mile Walk. I remember reading a story years ago about a young high school football player who ran 82 yards for a touchdown. It was a Friday night game under the lights in front of his hometown fans, his parents, and his girlfriend. Eighty-two yards! He was on top of the world that night and he expected his life to be filled with more accomplishments like this. It never was. How sad to me. Nothing would ever be as good as that Friday night on a football field, that life would never get to the eighty-third yard.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! I never thought much about Holy Saturday before. It has always been a day of preparation, to catch my breath after Holy Week which seems to be more busy and anxiety-provoking than I think. So, I spend my Saturday consumed with the Easter sermon I give the next day. Can I find the right angle? Do I have the right message? Is it good enough? Will anyone remember it?

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Healing you, me, and the world. I know this sounds a bit far-fetched, but the Bible doesn’t think so. Page after page is filled with stories of people who are ultimately persuaded that they and the world can be healed, with God’s help. Like our story last Sunday of Naaman, the great commander of the Aramaean army who was healed of a skin ailment. Let’s start there. What did Naaman do to be healed? Not much really. He got angry. He felt entitled. He thought he could buy his way to healing. Then he listened to his wife who listened to a slave girl who talked about the power of God through the Prophet Elisha. And just as Elijah said, Naaman was healed on the seventh dip. How, again? And what about those first six dips? Here are some ideas, dip by dip . . .

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! When I think about it I am a bit amused and somewhat surprised. I never imagined in my early years that I would ever give a sermon, let alone keep giving them for forty-one years! By my rough calculation I have given 1600 sermons and logged around 13,000 hours preparing them. I cringe thinking about my first sermons and still cringe when I can’t figure out a way to make scripture come alive and grab hold of us and take us to a new address. That’s on me, not scripture. It has plenty of power and resources to change lives.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places: Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ! Here I am, Lord. Have you ever said this? I know we sing the hymn a few times a year with this refrain, but have you ever thought more about what it means? Be careful if you do. Ask a prophet, any of them, and you’ll learn that a call from God is not all sunbeams on a golden field or fluffy clouds spelling out your name. (Where did we ever get that idea?) Instead, God’s call comes in times of spiritual desolation, religious corruption, political danger, and social upheaval.

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.