BibleWorm

This week we are reading Revelation 5 – the whole thing, which is only 14 powerful verses long. We encounter the image of a scroll covered with words that might change the world as we know it -  but it has been sealed tight, with nobody to open it. We encounter the Lamb, in a series of images that just make no sense – this lamb who is the lion, this lamb who stands as if slaughtered. This slaughtered lamb who can open the scroll, who redeemed the people not for their own sake, but for God. Is the imagery frightening, or hopeful, or weird? Can it be all 3? 

This week we're continuing our series on Revelation and Resistance series with Revelation 13:1-18 and 17:1-6. We examine the grotesque images of the Beasts rising from land and sea as images of the Roman Empire, a misshapen, deceptive, and violent creature trapping people unknowingly in the worship of Satan. Then we turn our attention to Woman Babylon, the beautiful seductress whose goblet is filled with the blood of the saints. Having these images before us gives substance to our unknown fears, we think, making visible that which lurks at the edges of our consciousness. More than that, perhaps, these images invite us to unmask the beastliness and seduction of the Empire in our own day. How are we unwittingly seduced and coerced into the worship of violence?

Welcome to our summer series, Revelation and Resistance. This week we begin at the beginning, with Revelation 1:1-20, which sets the stage so beautifully for us and especially for me, who has never read Revelation before. We contemplate the “is-ness” of God – one that is beyond time as we know it – and hold all of the evocative images and sound metaphors like complex treasures. We relate to the pain of holding in your awareness both the world that is and the world as it should be. And we wonder at the awe and fear that will follow when the veil is finally pulled back. 

This week we're reading the Pentecost text in Acts 2:1-4 and then Galatians 4:1-7 and 5:13-26. We talk about the experience of the Holy Spirit, who transitions us from disciples to apostles, sent into the world to show the way to others. We wrestle again with the relationship of faith and Torah and to what extent the faithful need guidelines to show us the right way to live. And we ponder the fruits of the Spirit, wondering how we measure up and whether we can see the Spirit at work today in unexpected places.

This week we are reading from Galatians 3:1-9 and 23-29, which may be the most challenging and vulnerable interfaith conversation we've had over the years. What exactly is Paul saying about Torah Judaism and those who follow it? Is there a way to talk about this fundamental shift in history that he perceives without erasing or degrading everything that was before – everything that set the stage for his cherished moment? How can Christians today take the real power and beauty at the core of Paul's message, and also recognize and mitigate the hurt that his words can cause? 

This week we're beginning our foray into Paul's letter to the Galatians with Galatians 1:13-17 and 2:11-21. This is a difficult text, particularly for an interfaith podcast, as Paul pushes back against the Judaism of his past as he wrestles with the significance of Christ for the Gentiles. As we read, though, we begin to realize that what Paul rejects is not Judaism, per se, but rather against the sort of religious striving that makes a person's worth before God dependent on our own actions rather than on God's gracious commitment to us. For Paul, and for Christians today, that graciousness takes the form of the faithfulness of Jesus Christ, who lives in and through us, insisting that indeed we are enough, just as we are.

This week we are reading Acts 15:1-18. The community of Jesus followers is quickly expanding, and as they welcome gentiles, they are faced with a pretty existential question: must new followers of Jesus come into the faith of Israel first, taking upon themselves the commandments of the Jewish people - or not? The text made us ask ourselves – what is the role of boundaries, standards, and rules within a faith community. What do they make possible ... what might they hinder? And how do community leaders keep their finger on the pulse of what God is doing in the world right now, without fear of change, and also without dismissing the testimony and teachings of all the generations before us?

This week we're reading the story of Philip, and the Ethiopian eunuch as told in Acts 8:26-39. In that story, an angel tells Philip to approach the chariot of an Ethiopian eunuch who is heading home from his visit to the Temple in Jerusalem. When he approaches the chariot, Philip hears the eunuch reading Isaiah 53, one of the songs of the suffering servant. When the eunuch asks Phillip to help him understand, Phillip interprets the gospel for him, leading the eunuch to ask for baptism. We discuss the role of Philip in this text as a human intermediary for the Holy Spirit, going where he is called and meeting people where they are. And we discuss the eunuch, who has been seeking community elsewhere but finally finds full welcome in the community of Christians. And we wrestle with our own offerings of the welcome, and the ways that we, too, can be conduits of the Spirit, knowing when to teach and when to get out of the way.

This week we reading Acts 6:1-7:2a and 44-60. This is a reading that really reflects the complexity of communal faith life in ways that are both inspiring and sobering. What is possible when religious leaders recognize how the spirit moves within members of our community, and freely empowers new leaders to serve in new ways? And speaking of new ways ... Can any community hold the particular ferocity of argument that erupts when an established form of religion is confronted by a disestablished form of that religion? Communal faith life is tricky, isn't it. 

This week we're reading the continuation of Luke's Easter story as told in Luke 24:13-35, a text commonly known as The Road to Emmaus. In that story, an incognito Jesus walks along with two unknown disciples, who cannot recognize him even as he interprets the scriptures about himself for them. It is only when they invite him into the house to share a meal that he is made known to them in the breaking of the bread. We wonder in what ways we, too, are slow of heart, like those disciples unable to recognize what is truly happening right in front of us. We ponder the relationship of scripture, experience, and ritual in making Jesus known to those disciples and to us. And we reflect on the nature of truth, which is often revealed only in bits and pieces until we talk to others whose experiences can affirm and extend our own.

This week we have our Easter text: Luke 24:1-12, where we are struck above all with the stillness, the slowness of time and discovery in this text. The followers of Jesus can barely respond to his death before it's Shabbat, the great pause. And when the 3 women arise before dawn the next day to hurry back to do the only thing they know to do, they are met with an empty, quiet tomb, and told --  look to your past to remember what is happening now. We wonder - how can we open our hearts and our imaginations more widely this year, to hold what truths might be possible? What if we take seriously the idea that we already know what we need to know, and search differently? 

In this replayed Good Friday special episode from March 24, 2021, we discuss Luke's telling of the crucifixion in chapter 23:32-49. We notice the haziness around the question of culpability for what has happened - what people or forces are responsible, and did they ever realize they had this power? We see a lot of compassion from Jesus even as he suffers. And we wonder whether the second criminal is really any more honorable than the first, or whether he's just more savvy. More importantly, we wonder whether that matters to Jesus.

In this special Maundy Thursday episode we're reading the story of Jesus's last supper with his disciples as told in Luke 22:1-27. We notice the many connections between this text and the Passover story in the book of Exodus, as the disciples share a meal on the night before a foreboding moment, aware that the world is about to change but not sure how. We think about the presence of the betrayer at this meal and how the disciples so quickly slip into accusation and arguments about greatness when they realize there is a traitor among them. And we think about the role of remembrance, not only looking backwards toward the Passover but also forward toward the heavenly banquet. When Christians receive the bread and cup on Maundy Thursday, our present moment becomes enfolded in the great sweep of God's liberation—if only we will remember. 

This week, we read Luke 19:29-44 – a Palm Sunday text that, in Luke's version, is entirely without palms. Luke paints a picture of the cosmic world, the animal world, the human world, even the stones - shifting into alignment to point to one thing. To hold this wildly powerful moment of this paradigmatically holy man coming into the paradigmatically holy city. As Jesus holds up the fate of the city, we notice that it's not actually so different from the impending fate of his own body.  How can that be? What does that mean? And why are there no palms in Luke's story, anyway?

This week we're reading Luke 18:31-19:10, the stories the disciples being unable to comprehend Jesus's impending death and resurrection, a blind man asking Jesus to regain his sight, and Jesus inviting himself to the home of Zacchaeus. Each of these stories, we realize, is about perception—who is able to see correctly and whose vision is blocked. The disciples cannot grasp Jesus's words about his suffering, death, and resurrection, perhaps mercifully so, since seeing clearly what was about to transpire may have been more than they could handle. With some irony, we note that it is the blind man who sees correctly, recognizing Jesus as the Son of David and having the courage to imagine that a new reality is possible for him. And while Zacchaeus famously climbs a sycamore tree to see Jesus, it is the crowd who misperceives Zacchaeus, accusing him of being a sinner when in fact he is living a righteous life. Who is it we misperceive, we sonder, and how might we be bold enough to imagine a new reality?

This week we read Luke 16:19-31, the story of the rich man and Lazarus. What a rich and evocative story about wealth, and suffering, and isolation – about excess and need and compassion.  What blocks the flow of compassion in the different scenarios of this story, and in our own world – when is it a chasm, and when is it just a gate? What is the difference between having been told something, and knowing it – and how do we cross THAT chasm? What happens when we build a life that insulates us from all suffering – our own, and that of others?

This week we're reading the parables of the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Son as told in Luke 15:1-32. While these stories are sometime read separately, we find that reading them together puts them in a different light, one that draws our attention to the value of each individual, the importance of the whole community, and especially the tendency of the kingdom of heaven to break out into a party. Whoever we are—whether the one who has wandered off, the one who made poor decisions, or the one who feels overlooked and unappreciated—we are invited into the party, too. Come one, what are we waiting for?

This week we read Luke 13:1-9, 31-35, a text that raised the biggest of questions for us. What exactly is the connection between sin and death that Jesus is getting at when he talks about the the Galileans who died at the hand of Pilate, or that freak accident with the tower? How does it hit readers for Jesus to explicitly name his imminent death as central to his purpose in going to Jerusalem, rather than letting us think of it as an unfortunate side effect of his work? We really felt the pull of his lament for Jerusalem – his deep knowledge of what is possible and what is meant for this holy city, and also his awareness of how the world has pressed it in another direction. His outcry rises up from the gaping chasm between them.  And our world, too, is broken in so many ways. So in this broken world, what does the fact of our death mean about how we should live?  

This week we're reading two stories that are often read separately, the Good Samaritan parable and Jesus's visit with Mary and Martha as told in Luke 10:25-42. The Good Samaritan has us thinking about the question of our obligations to our neighbors in need. When a lawyer asks Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?,” Jesus responds with a story that seems to dispense with the category of neighbor altogether, instead insisting that one must show compassion to whomever is in need. The Mary and Martha story leads us to think about the legitimate tasks of ministry and how they can sometimes be a distraction from listening to Jesus, which is the one thing a divine voice has commanded in this Gospel.

Our reading for Ash Wednesday is Luke 9:51-62–a real pivot point in Luke's story. Jesus sets his face to go to Jerusalem, and the story gains a sense of focus, momentum, and urgency. Should we be surprised, then, that he wastes no energy on anger or retaliation when the Samaritans won't host him? Should we be surprised that he asks people he encounters to follow him right there onthe spot, without a care for the people and responsibilities they leave behind? That's a hard ask to understand if we're just talking about your average Tuesday. But Jesus isn't in ordinary time anymore.

This week we're reading the stories of Jesus' transformation on the mountain top and the disciples' failed attempt to heal a possessed boy as told in Luke 9:28–45. We discuss the significance of Jesus's transfiguration and the importance of the command from the heavenly voice, “Listen to him!” We talk about the appearance of Moses and Elijah and the coming Exodus that Jesus will undergo in Jerusalem through his crucifixion and resurrection. And we wrestle with the urgency Jesus must feel, knowing that the end of his life is near, and his frustration at the disciples' inability to exercise the power he has given them. We wonder what power has been given to us, and whether we, too, might be able to cast out the demons that surround us, if only we could learn to believe.

This week, we are reading Luke 7:36-50, where Jesus, a Pharisee named Simon, and a woman who is a sinner come together at a dinner party. The emotional intensity of this story is hard to overstate. As the woman cries over Jesus's feet, we wonder – what is the tenor of emotion that has cracked her open? Is it guilt & pleading? Gratitude or vulnerability? Is it longing?  Jesus says that her faith has saved her, but what can we say about her faith from this short story where she never speaks? And how is it that she is laid bare in Jesus's presence, when the dinner host seems so ... calm?

This week we're reading Luke 7:18-35. John the Baptist has been in prison since Jesus's baptism, so he hasn't been able to witness any of Jesus' ministry for himself. Now he sends his disciples to Jesus to ask him if he is really the Messiah or if John should look for another. Imagine John, the great disciple preparing the way for the Lord, suddenly doubting his faith in Jesus. Rather than make a declaration to John, Jesus tells John that the blind see, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news proclaimed to them. That should be enough, Jesus seems to say. Among all our squabbles about who Jesus is or isn't, who he should be or shouldn't be, all that matters is that the hurting are being healed and that poor are receiving good news. 

This week, we are reading Luke 7:1-17 – stories of two miraculous healings, both of which seem to focus more on the person who is well, who is concerned or bereaved, than on the person whose body is failing. What might that tell us about the nature of healing, or faith, or community? And of all the suffering one might alleviate, why does Jesus respond to these two cases? One, an Israelite woman who mourns her son, one a Roman man concerned for his slave. A powerful person and a vulnerable one. Is there a system at play? Is that even the right question? 

This week we're reading three stories of Jesus told in Luke 6:1-16. In the first two, Jesus is in a dispute with some Pharisees about observing the Sabbath. In one story, Jesus seems to claim authority over the Sabbath, given his identity as the Son of Man. In a second story, Jesus presses the boundaries of mercy, healing a man on the sabbath even though he is not in life-threatening danger, creating anger among the Pharisees. Then, in a third story, Jesus calls the twelve apostles who will carry on his ministry after his death and resurrection. Together, these stories make us think about the relative importance of sabbath and mercy, the extent of our obligation to engage with our community on its own terms, and the danger that accompanies apostleship, both for the twelve and for Jesus himself.

This week, we're reading Luke 5:1-11, a story of a miraculously large fishing haul. In the midst of stories of miraculous healing, why is it this one, about fishing, that launches Simon Peter into his discipleship? Is it because the miracle is so stark against the backdrop of his knowledge and experience? Is it because he has tools to help Jesus in this case, to partner with him? What did it take for Simon to walk away from the kind of catch he'd probably dreamed of all his professional life – to just leave it there in the boat? 

This week we're reading Luke 4:14-30, the story of Jesus giving his inaugural sermon at his home synagogue in Nazareth. In the Gospel of Luke this passage serves as a kind of mission statement for the ministry of Jesus, which he envisions as fundamentally “good news to the poor.” This is a good measure, we think, for our own communities. To what extent is our work in the world good news to the poor, and so to what degree does it conform to the Gospel of Jesus? Yet, while the people of Nazareth are initially receptive to Jesus's message, he goes on to describe his ministry in light of the Israelite prophets Elijah and Elishah, who in Jesus's telling focused on ministering to people outside of Israel altogether. Understandably, perhaps, this comparison makes the people of Nazareth angry, as he seems to say his ministry has nothing for them. Why does Jesus do this, we wonder, and what does it have to say to us today? If Jesus is always pressing toward the margins, then what is the good news for those in the center? And if Jesus is constantly expanding the boundaries of inclusion, how can we remain rooted in the communities that have shaped us? 

This week, we read Luke 3:1-22, a text that orients us first in all of competing political powers at play at that moment in history – and there are many! But then we simultaneously zoom IN to the personal and zoom OUT to the godly with the accounts of baptism. We wonder - Does something change in that ritualized moment, or does the ritual mark a shift that has already happened, or is the ritual lay a foundation for change in the future? Can they all be true? We wonder about the paths we are on and the paths available to us, laid by our ancestors or by God or by the needs or cravings of our bodies or our communities. Can we hold onto both our own belovedness, and the belovedness of others? Can they both be true?

This week we're reading Luke 2:41-52, the story of twelve-year-old Jesus left behind in the temple as his parents return home from the Passover celebration. We talk about the ways repeated rituals like that ancient Passover pilgrimage can open up space for new and profound encounters with God, opportunities to integrate one's own life into the story of the Torah and into the light of God's revelation. We also ponder the tension in this text between Jesus's earthly family and his heavenly Father. While it seems at first as though Jesus' relationship with God necessarily takes precedence, we find that ultimately Jesus goes home to live obediently with his earthly family. We think about the tensions in our own lives between God's calling and the calling to be with our own families, and what it means to discern our own priorities in any given moment.

This week, we read Luke 2:21-38. The baby Jesus has been born just a week prior, and our reading today is scaffolded by the Jewish rituals that surround his birth. We wonder about the role of ritual in our lives, and about the very different ways that Simeon and Anna, two individuals who seem very close to God indeed, navigate the passing days of their own lives – one in constant ritual devotion, one out in the world awaiting the Divine pull to the Temple.  And as readers in a world where Jews and Christians are sometimes defined in opposition to each other, it seemed important to take in the centrality of Jewish practice in Luke's rendition of things. The infighting later is real. But for now, this child is called both a revelation to the Gentiles and a glory for the people Israel. 

On this special Christmas Eve episode we're discussing the birth of Jesus as told in Luke 2:1-20. We talk about the imperial setting of this story, which takes place during the reigns of Augustus, Herod, and Quirinius but announces the good news of a different lord and savior who brings peace to all rather than to the few. We ponder the way that the message makes its way into the world—through an unwed mother, a band of shepherds, and an assortment of people who happen to be awake in the middle of the night—leaving the official power structures unaware of the fact that the world has been fundamentally changed. And we talk about how this story challenges us to pay attention to who we listen to, where we look for good news, and what divine announcements we might sleep through because we've gotten too comfortable. Merry Christmas, y'all.

This week we're reading Luke 1:26-46, the annunciation of Mary and the Magnificat. In this biblical version of the Bechtel test, we find two women, Mary and her older relative Elizabeth, as the only two people on earth who know that God is in the process of upending the world. We marvel at the strength of young Mary, who doesn't flinch when the angel Gabriel tells her she will give birth to the messiah. And we ponder the wisdom of Elizabeth who, filled with the Holy Spirit, is able to see beyond the social taboos of a pregnant teenager to recognize that the woman standing before her is the mother of God. We read Mary's words, “My soul magnifies the Lord,” and we wonder…what do our souls magnify? And how can we recognize the subtle work of God happening right before our eyes?

This week, we read the beautiful and inspiring language of Isaiah 61 – a chapter that made us think about the work and the power of restoring human dignity. We saw in this chapter a call to care for both emotional and physical needs – to attend to people in their wholeness. We were reminded that once people remember their own beauty and dignity, they just might not need someone else to rebuild their community for them; they may be ready and able to do it for themselves. And in this moment where many of us may be feeling powerless in the face of systems gone awry, we couldn't miss the message about the power of the word, the prophet, the preacher, in setting things right. 

This week we're reading Joel 2:12-29, a text most familiar from the Christian celebration of Pentecost as remembered in Acts 2. Read in context, though, Joel is about God promising to restore the land after it has been devastated by a plague of locusts, not only bringing an abundance of grain but also pouring out the Spirit on young and old alike. But now, before the restoration, in the midst of the devastation, God says, “Even now, return to me, with fasting, with weeping, and with sorrow.” Before the spirit can be poured out, our hearts must be torn open. Before the blessing comes the weeping. Even now, says the Lord. Even now. 

This week we read Daniel 6:1-27. It's the very well-known story of Daniel in the lion's den, but it seems much more complicated now than it did in that picture book from childhood. How exactly do we hold the power of a king – that's real power! -- alongside the power of God – which is also real? Daniel's special touch seems to lie in his willingness to engage with both, and precisely not to force them into opposition with each other. When push comes to shove, which it does, his feet are firm in his orientation toward God ... NOT his orientation against the king. We see so many connections to Solomon's speech at the inauguration of the Temple, and to the theme of writing – that new technology of its time that we've been turning over for weeks. Oh, and we manage to make not one, not two, but three references to TV shows from our childhood.

This week we're reading a set of texts from the book of Jeremiah, beginning in 36:1-16 and 21-28 and then continuing in 31:31-34. Together these texts tell of Jeremiah's written prophecy, read by his scribe Baruch in the Temple, calling the people to repentance. But when King Jehoiachim hears of the prophecy, he cuts it to shreds and tosses it into the fire. In Jeremiah 31, God responds by promising to inscribe the Torah on the hearts of the people, where it will not be forgotten…and where it can't be destroyed by the king. We reflect on the nature of the written Torah, which is vulnerable to the whimsy of the king, whether by being burned in fire or being so twisted by interpretation that it becomes a text of violence rather than a text of justice. In this day and age, we think, it is imperative to keep the Torah written on our hearts, to remember the true Torah that calls us to care for the most vulnerable, no matter what the king may try to tell us. 

This week, we read Isaiah 6:1-13 – definitely an MVP candidate in both the Jewish and Christian communities. We wonder – what can we learn from the way that the seraphim offer praise, and what would it feel like to be a human in the middle of this scene? It's tempting to stop reading after Isaiah tells God “Send me” – we just want to dwell in the beauty of that moment. but what happens next is important. Are we willing to hear that not every True Word is a word of hope, at least in the short term? If so, how can we help each other persevere through dark times when they are inevitable? 

This week we're reading the story Jonah as told in the book of Jonah chapters 1, 3, & 4. The story opens with God sending Jonah to prophesy against Israel's greatest enemy, the Assyrians, in their capital city of Nineveh. Jonah at first runs away from God, preferring to take his chances in the sea, where he is famously saved by spending three days in the belly of a fish. But when Jonah finally does make it to Nineveh, speaking only the minimum words of prophecy, the city undergoes a massive repentance, from the king to the cows, evoking the mercy of God, who decides not to destroy them. What might this story tell us about God's compassion toward our own enemies, we wonder. Are there people that we, like Jonah, wish God would not be merciful to? And what small word might God be asking us to say to our enemies so that they, too, might experience God's compassion? 

This week, we read 1Kings 17:1-24, and meet the larger-than-life figure of Elijah. How should we understand his boldness – is he a man of God who has taken things into his own hands, kind of gone rogue ... or is he so tied into God's ideals that he is willing to inhabit them even when they are an awkward fit for the world of humans? And what does it mean this Bold Figure to leave from the presence of the King only to immediately become more vulnerable than the most vulnerable person in society. What does it mean for this widow who is nearly starved to death to be in a position to care for him? 

This week we're reading the story of Solomon dedicating the Temple as told in 1 Kings 5:1-6; 8:22-30, 41-43, and 52-60a. We talk about the task of temple building and the tension that comes with trying to create containers for the uncontainable God, whether that be the sanctuaries we build or the services we design to control our interactions with God. But ultimately we realize, along with Solomon, that it's not the container that matters but the prayer itself, the mutual listening between God and humankind that makes all things possible. Solomon appeals to the witness of the ancestors but also asks that his own prayers remain near to God so that God will deal rightly with the people in the future. What if our prayers linger before God, too, we wonder. Whose ancestors are we, and how will shape their relationship with God in the days and years to come?

This week, we read 2 Samuel 7:1-17 – King David's got an idea, y'all. Having just built himself a house – a palace – he wants to build God a house – a Temple. Is he motivated by a love for the Lord, or by political savvy? Or a little of both? And why does God say no, but then offer David yet another kind of house – a dynasty? With all this house language flying around, we've got to ask – where does God dwell among us, anyway? 

A special live episode on 1 Samuel 1:1-20 and 2:10, recorded at Heartland Retreat Center in Parkville, MO, with pastors from the Omaha Presbyterian Seminary Foundation's Pastoral Leadership Revitalization Program.

This week we're reading the story of Hannah as told in 1 Samuel 1:1-20 and 2:1-10. Really we're supposed to be talking about Hannah's song in chapter 2, but we find the story of Hannah herself so compelling that we linger over it to see what it can teach us. We ponder the way Hannah prays out of her wretchedness, speaking her truth before God in ways that may at first seem overly bold. But God's response to her prayer teaches us that God can handle our truths, just as God received hers. We also linger over the responses of Hannah's husband Elkanah and the priest Eli, who don't really understand what Hannah is going through but who, each in his own way, tries to support her. And we wrestle with Hannah's song, which depicts the inversion of society and reminds us that God is the one who is in charge, no matter how much we might try to imagine otherwise.

This week we read Exodus chapter 32: 1-14 – the infamous story of the golden calf. Okay, we all know that this was not the best move the Israelites have ever made. But let's slow down our reading and see what else we can find in here. What are the Israelites feeling, and what do they mean to do by making this calf? Is Aaron sensitive and subtle in navigating this situation, reducing harm – or is he going along with whatever in order to keep the peace? And who is responsible for these Israelites at this point in the story anyway?

This week we're reading the story of the first Passover as told in Exodus 12:1-13 and 13:1-8. We talk about God setting the people free from Egypt, and wrestle with the violence that seems necessary for God to enact judgments against Pharaoh and the gods of Egypt. We marvel at the resetting of the calendar and the ritual of the Passover that are both instantiated before the Exodus even takes place. And we think about the role of ritual both in preserving the memory of the past and in creating space for new generations to claim the story as their own.

This week we are reading the story of Joseph in Genesis 37: 3-8, 17b-22, 26-34 and 50:15-21. This is an emotionally complex story- a novella maybe like none other in the Hebrew Bible. It's a story where love unequally distributed causes hatred among brothers; a story where obligation and affection get mixed up in complicated ways, and people get so turned around that they actually think deception will make everything less complicated. And it raises the question – why do things turn out the way they do? That question and the rocky emotional landscape of this story surely ring true in our messy human lives.

This week we're reading the story of God's promise to Abraham as told in Genesis 15:1-21. When Abraham expresses anxiety about the future, God shows him the stars as a sign of the good things to come. So, too, we think, the signs of God's promises are all around us, if only we can step outside of our small worlds to see them. Yet this text also speaks of promises delayed, of generations passing before God's promises will be fulfilled. In times when things feel hopeless, this text invites us to trust in God rather than being overwhelmed by our present circumstances God receives Abraham's trust and reckons it as righteousness. Perhaps God will do the same for us.

This week we are back to the beginning, reading parts of the second story of creation and the story of the Garden of Eden as they are found in Genesis 2:4b-9, 15-17, 3:1-13. For stories that we've heard a thousand times, we had a lot of questions. Is there a relationship between the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge, in the story or in our own lives? What does our knowledge of good and evil – of complexity, of our mortality, of our own shortcomings – do to us and for us? Is it possible to hold that knowledge alongside a full and trusting relationship with the Divine – without hiding, without deception?

This week BibleWorm meets Queen Esther, winner of some biblical version of The Bachelor. We learn about the blood feud between the people of Haman and the people of Mordecai, and see the all too familiar trope that Jews - or anyone deemed an “outsider,” really - is a danger to the kingdom. We see loyalty without uniformity in action. And we see all kinds of different models for standing up to the artificial and dangerous power structures in the world.

This week BibleWorm continues our summer series on the Forgotten Books of the Bible with a look at Esther 1:1-22, the story of the Persian Queen Vashti and her refusal to appear before the king. We discuss the fragile egos of the king and his courtiers who fear the capacity of women to say no. We talk about the power of the patriarchy and the lengths it will go to to suppress voices of dissent. We admire Vashti's courage to protect her own sense of dignity and the dignity of all women even though it costs her the crown. And we wonder about the ripple effects of such acts of courage, which make ruling ideologies tremble, if only for a moment.

This week BibleWorm explores Ruth chapters 1 and 3, trying to imagine Ruth's own perspective and calling out some of the ways that the book portrays painful parts of the immigrant experience. We see how the scene at the threshing floor plays on the worst stereotypes of Moabite women, and how Ruth's beautiful statement of loyalty to Naomi also carries with it an erasure of her own heritage. We try to recognize our own blind spots, and lean into the scholarship of others who can help shed new light.