Advent: Awake

Awake is such an interesting word. What are you like when you're awake?

I have one daughter who insists she's awake when I first come into her room to get her up for school. Her eyes are shut, she's unresponsive to prodding, and ignores my entreaties to get up for school. If I come back in ten minutes, she won't have moved, but she'll swear she was awake all along.

Another daughter will audibly protest at being disturbed, but she's been known to go have lengthy conversations and even to go downstairs, eyes wide open;; only to have no recollection of the experience two hours later when you pry her from bed a second (or third, or fourth) time.

The third daughter springs out of bed alert, jumps into her clothes and is ready to face the door before you can say jack sassafras, but even she has been known to smack the alarm clock into next week and then complain that it never went off.

What does it mean to be awake, anyway?

I think a lot of us imagine ourselves as fully awake and alert, like the Buddha on the day he was born. According to Buddhist Scriptures, Siddharta Gautama came out of his mother's womb, looked around and presciently announced that this would be his final trip around the karmic wheel.

Being awake is a learned process, begun with the incoherent grunts that suggest we actually might be human, and running up the spectrum to the point that we actually know where and who we are, if nothing else. Usually we stop there, and become awake to our desires and needs.

Wake further. Learn to hear the lonely cry of the child seeking approval from her parents; the torment of those who struggle through life without friends to laugh, love and live with; and the pain of those whom the world was chewed on for too long and too well.

Wake still more, and discover that you have the tools within you to be the one who sets prisoners free, teaches the lame to dance, and even breathes new life to the dead.

Be awake.

Advent: When waiting is agony

Today’s the first day of Advent, the season when Christians traditionally mark with anticipation the birth of Jesus.

To the extent that we think of it, we usually think that Advent carries less importance than Christmas. It's an easily skipped prelude to the main event of the Incarnation, when the eternal, unchanging and unknowable Tao changed and became mortal for the first time and was an unremarkable baby few people outside his own family even noticed.

That’s so wrong. Oh God, we desperately miss the point when we do that.

Advent is a heavy season, darker even than Lent and that brutal Saturday when Jesus lay decomposing in the Tomb. Advent is heavy, oppressively so. It hunches our shoulders, bows our necks and furrows our foreheads with grief, with anger and despair.

Advent raises the accusing finger of human history, of every war, of every holocaust and genocide, every year of children’s lives stolen in slavery, every refugee denied safe harbor, every hour the wicked sit enthroned and defended by the powerful, and it points that finger in the face of the Almighty, and it demands justice.

“Don’t you give a shit?” it asks, and heaven’s only response is “Be patient.”

And the years grind slowly on, and God stays silent, and his people are patient, and they grow old and die; and another generation replaces them and it too is patient, and grows old and dies; and so does another generation, and another and then another.

“Come into the darkness,” the generations cry together. “Come into the darkness and make a difference.”

This month join the cloud of all the others throughout the ages who waited for something they knew was missing, even if they couldn’t express it. Learn the longing they felt, and decide with them if it was worth the wait.

Welcome to Advent.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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When the spirit of revival came

It was the summer of 1995, and the revival spirit had come to Easton. The days were a blaze of August heat that scorched the grass and trees and burned white skin to the color of bronze. Water flowed easily for those who worked and played outside, and every breeze was seized and set upon with a desperation that defied belief.

But if the body ached and burned during the day, at night the spirit yearned for new living. As the sun set, the faithful and their children would shower and change into clean pressed shirts and they'd out for the revival.

The revival! It came every year at this time, reliable as the start of school, as the idle on an '82 Chevy, as the ripening of the summer squash. From the third Sunday of August through the fourth, the revival preacher would arrive with a new word from the Lord and an unpredictable, uncontainable move of the Holy Spirit.

He would begin preaching in the early evening, once the music had stopped and the offering was given, exhorting the people of God to break anew from the ways of sin and return to their first love. Sweat would streak his forehead and soak his shirt under his arms, and as he called out the people would respond with one voice, holy and loud and determined.

There were no tongues of fire in those days, though you wouldn't know it by the people who were there. Women would swoon. Men would faint. Amid the clamor and the shouting of the revival preacher, the children would speak in tongues no one could understand and they would prophesy until peals of holy laughter would roll around those gathered and the church was filled with glory and the sighing of angels' wings.

And now the revival preacher, would grow quiet and earnest. "Are you ready to commit yourself, brother? Sinner, are you ready to come home?" The music returned, soft and pleading until one by one, in the summer's heat, the wandering children found Jesus and the lost came home.

Testimonies came from the revival meetings like bulletins from the front. Little Warren Jameson had come to the Lord on Sunday night. Old Betsy Worthington had received a miracle on Tuesday, when her left leg had been healed and she had danced in the aisle like a young girl again, and let us pray for Old Betsy, as it is now three days later and Satan's attack has left her unable to stand or even get out of bed for three days now.

The Holy Spirit was moving, the messengers said. Come prepared for a tremendous work of God on Sunday night!

And Ystur Redneb listened to it all, and nodded his head, and he asked what the work was that God was doing. Were the elders going to open a soup kitchen in the city? Would there be a partnership going forward with Mt. Zion Holy Tabernacle Baptist Church? Was God raising an army from the church to enter the missions field? People are coming home excited, but what are they excited for, or will this all be another memory in just two more weeks?

To everyone he spoke, he asked the same question. "If this is real, please tell me. Give me a reason to go." And the pastor shook his head to see such lack of faith, and the elders shook their heads at his lack of faith, and the righteous shook their heads at his lack of faith.

And Ystur never did go, and he never knew whether it was all excitement without form or substance

... or if God truly spoke and he simply missed it.

Copyright © 2020 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Suggestions to improve the men's retreat

It's time for the annual men's retreat once again, and my wife already has noted my negative attitude. (What can I say? I am nothing if not consistent.)

I would like to make a few modest proposals to improve these retreats, broaden their appeal, and deepen their value to attendees. Follow some of these, and I'm more likely to show up, as are other people who have avoided men's retreats for the past 20 years.

First, no speakers. Get someone to lead a group discussion instead. Truth does not follow a hierarchy; it spreads through relationships and we discover it together. Paul didn't lecture his audiences, he reasoned with them. 

Second, anyone who talks about the manly atmosphere or who says how great it is to be surrounded by men is a toxic, misogynistic asshole. Kick him out, even if he's the leader. Especially if he's the leader. 

Open the retreat to people of all genders, sexualities and identities who want to come. Please note that this includes gays, lesbians, bisexuals, the transgender and women. We won't learn and grow in grace until and unless we spend time with people different from us.

If you expect me to listen to you yammer on about the Mets, the Eagles and the NBA, you'd better be prepared to hear me explain why the Tenth Doctor is the best, why I'd rather serve under Kirk than Picard, and why I hate what DC Comics has done with the Watchmen characters.

Seriously. Not every guy likes sports. This cannot be the default conversation. Show some consideration for the rest of the room.

In fact, make way for me to talk about gardening, someone else to discuss his sewing hobby, and so on. You want us there? Then welcome us.

Just once, I'd like to have an actual Bible study. You know, where we study the Bible together and talk about it, rather than what the speaker said or what some author wrote. An actual Bible study, where we wrestle with how complicated Scripture really is.

Poetry slam. Give a chance for artistic types to go artistic, and give everyone else a chance to explore in a friendly, welcoming format. Share a poem, read a story you're working on, perform an original song or scene from a play. The arts speak in a way church rarely does.

What, that's too awkward to read a poem or share a song? Remember that time I didn't really want to play soccer with you guys but did anyway, in the name of "community?" Trust me, I'll be more gracious and encouraging than you were. 

Absolutely no "accountability time." If I want to talk about my personal stuff, I will. I'm not "wounded" or "afraid of vulnerability," I just don't share deeply personal feelings with people unless I have a deeply personal connection. 

Topics. Please don't pick "relevant" retreat topics; pick stuff we're actually dealing with, like "Help! My parents voted for Trump" or "Liberation: What the gospel really looks like when you're not a straight white male." Also, remember what I said about group discussions.

Downtime. I like you, but I don't want to spend every minute of the retreat in group meetings and discussions. Having time to read a book, work on some writing by myself or just chat with a couple close friends will do more to recharge me than everything else planned. 

Promote this event honestly. "It's the best hundred bucks you'll spend this year," "The food is excellent" and "It's an amazing time with God" are empty words. Tell me what's being planned, so I can make an honest and informed decision.

Saying that it's a men's retreat already has invited my derision. Focus on this with comments about how manly it is, and I'll never show up. I don't care about your testosterone.

Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Understanding the wounded heart of God

I wonder sometimes about God's attachment pattern.

He claims he wants a close, loving relationship with us, and frequently describes an ideal where all know and are fully known, where our dignity and identity are affirmed, and when we pull away, he pursues.

Think of the Garden, when he comes looking for Adam and Eve after they break fellowship with him; or the Parable of the Prodigal Son, where the father goes out looking for the son who wandered away, and then for the self-righteous son who won't celebrate his brother's homecoming. These are all examples of a healthy attachment style. He wants to be close, but recognizes our moral agency. He asks respectful questions to understand our choices, but doesn't press the issue beyond what is comfortable,

In practice, he's extremely dysfunctional. You can talk to him for hours, asking the same question over and over, and never get an answer. He says he wants a close relationship, but then have you seen how he treats people who care about him? And on those rare occasions when he does speak to someone, off they go to get psychoactive medication so they don't have to go through that again.

I have a friend with a fearful avoidant attachment style, but at least I understand that because I know my friend's story.

Sometimes I just want to hold God close, let him cry it out, and ask "Who hurt you?" but if I did that, he'd probably just tell me to go to hell.


Copyright © 2020 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Building bridges with my Muslim neighbors

Sunday evening found me at the local Islamic center cynically debating the merits of interfaith meetings and events such as the one I was attending, my third iftar in as many years. (The iftar is the sunset breaking of the fast during Ramadan, when faithful Muslims do not eat during daylight hours, to celebrate the revelation of the Quran.)

I've been to enough of these that I have the whole routine memorized. First the director of the Islamic center will say a few words to introduce the hafiz, who will proceed to chant a passage of the Quran. After he finishes, a rabbi from the area will speak, followed by a local representative of the Christian clergy. A few local political figures will speak, followed again by the director of the Islamic center. Everyone will say how nice it is that we're all here together; and everyone will stress our commonality and the value of community.

At sunset, there will be a signal, and everyone will take a date or a candy from the middle of the table and break the fast. (Children often sneak candies before sunset while the adults pretend not to notice.) After this there's a call to prayer and everyone moves into another room for the prayer service. The men pray up front and the women pray in back, everyone face down and turned toward Mecca.

With the prayers done, everyone returns to the dining area and eats the meal, which is delicious as always. Polite conversation ensues between guests and hosts. What's your name? Where do you live? (This year we sat with a gentleman who grew up in Bridgewater, attended Rutgers University, and now lives in Somerset. I'm pretty sure I sat with him the first year we came too.)

The whole evening is congenial and pleasant, but when it's over, we've built no bridges, and closed no gaps. Our communities are still separate from one another, our knowledge of our respective faiths is no deeper than it was before, and that great interfaith moment still hasn't arrived.

Meanwhile the hatred and Islamophobia that has permeated our nation for at least the past 11 years is as strong as ever. This interfaith event, which we attended to light a candle against the darkness, seems weak and pallid. What can it possibly do to thwart a Christian nationalist with a gun?

Never mind the nightmare scenarios, what about the smaller hatreds? For all our pretty words, I'm certain that if the preacher's son at my church attended one of these events and began a spiritual odyssey that led him to convert to Islam, there would be a strong negative reaction from some quarters of our church. A few people would affirm his right to self-determination if not his actual decision, but others would feel hurt, angry and betrayed. Some might even call for removing the pastor as unfit for the job.

I know very little about the internal culture of the local mosque, but I wouldn't be surprised if something similar happened should a family member of the hafiz convert to Christianity.

As we all attest at these interfaith events, Islam, Judaism and Christianity do have a lot in common. All three are Abrahamic religions, for starters, tracing a common spiritual heritage to a nomadic Hebrew who lived 3,500 years ago and worshiped one god. Our sacred books tell many of the same stories, about Noah and the Flood, God calling Abraham to sacrifice his son, Solomon and his wisdom, and more.

But for all that we have in common, there remain impressive gaps that keep us separate. Even when our different sets of Scriptures align with one another, our understanding of what they mean often will disagree. All three religions place a premium on peace, but the 1500 to 2000 years of history that we share are marred by bigotry, conflict and even outright war. And, amazingly, we can't even agree what monotheism looks like.

When the evening comes to an end, my hosts at the Islamic center and I are still strangers to one another, belonging to two separate communities that live side by side and rarely interact.

We need to stop waving the Mission Accomplished banners at these events. They're just the start.

I do have hope that we can forge a deeper interfaith connection. The director of the Islamic center laments that his children don't know the Beatles. I've heard Muslim congregants lament when speakers take too long that the food is getting cold, and I've watched as teens in hijab text their friends on the phone during the recitation of the Quran.

With minor variants, these are all things that happen in churches all over America. They seem minor and inconsequential, but they all speak to our common humanity. For all the differences in our religious beliefs, we're all weighted down by the same concerns, faced with the same distractions, and led ever onward and ever upward by the same insatiable longing for purpose and meaning.

It's a mystery how it works, but with effort we can find common cause in our common questions. Even if the answers each of us finds don't satisfy us all equally, still we can learn to appreciate the value others do see in them. Like everything of value, it won't come in just one evening. It will take work, and it will take time – a whole lifetime, to be exact – of respect, listening and open conversation.

As my family left the iftar Sunday night, the director of the Islamic center intercepted us at the door and invited us to come back for Family Night. It involves a talk or sermon, followed by group discussion. He stressed the other parts as well, such as the food and childcare. I joked later to my wife "We've been tagged as potential converts." (I'm sure that's not the main intent. He's probably just noticed we come whenever we're invited.)

So I find as I leave the iftar that I am given the answer to the quandary I mulled when I entered. Want to gain understanding and build bridges with the local Muslim community? Want to dispel stereotypes and poke a finger in the eye of those who peddle hate?

Family night is the fourth Friday of the month. Discussion and dinner start at 7:30 p.m., and child care is provided. This year the talks are based on "Treatise for the Seekers of Guidance," by Imam al-Muhasibi. I have no idea what that means.

I guess I'll find out on Friday.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Be

This rock is part of a memorial near where I have my social work internship.

The memorial obviously is important to the borough, in how it honors a group of veterans The face of the rock anchors the plaque that explains the memorial's purpose.That's important, but it's not what the rock does that gives it its value, it's what the rock is.

The rock is large. It's solid. It's heavy. It's smooth. The rock is common, and not easily moved. Replace any of these intrinsic qualities of the rock -- replace it with a different rock-- and its value is gone. A larger rock would overwhelm the memorial, while a smaller rock would let the memorial be overshadowed by the very grass. A different sort of rock could be too fragile, too uneven to hold a plaque, too costly or too easy a target for vandals.

The rock doesn't have to do anything to make this memorial. It just is what it is, and that's all it needs to be.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Name

Ever wonder what your name says about you? If you think about it, you'll find that it says quite a lot. My name, for instance, is David Learn. Let's break it down.

My first name is David. That name ultimately comes from the Hebrew Scriptures, and some people automatically assume that I was named for the biblical king of Judah To them this name suggests something about my religious devotion, or the religious devotion of my parents, since David was a man after God's own heart.

Alas, it is not so. I was named for my Uncle David. David Dahlman was a salesman who married my Aunt Frances, and even became an Episcopal to do so. (He was, as you might have guessed from his last name, born Jewish.) My mother liked her brother-in-law and saw qualities in him that she admired, and gave him his name when I was born.

My name is David, but my closer friends and intimates generally call me Dave, the name I prefer and usually introduce myself with. It's friendly. It's informal. It's relaxed and unassuming. "David" is the name I use professionally, in my byline or when I have to sign things; so it's usually how I'm known in formal contexts. (A theater director once asked if I prefer Dave, or David. I responded: "Well, my friends all call me Dave, so I guess you'd better call me Robert.")

Some people use their middle names to carry a piece of their identity, like ethnicity or a family name with meaning. My brother's middle name is Hayward, for instance; the maiden name of one of our great-grandmothers. My middle is name is Andrew. Its chief function in my childhood was to serve as an early warning system. I only heard it in the context of my full name, and when my mother called "David Andrew Learn," I knew I was in trouble.

My last name is Learn. What it reveals is less obvious than you might think. When a surname is also a common English word, it often reveals something about an ancestor: where he lived,,what he did, or who his father was, for instance.

"Learn" is not actually an English name. Originally it was Loehrner, a name that reflects Prussian roots and a Germanic heritage. That it was shortened and given a common spelling reflects how long my family has been in America. (The earliest Learns on record fought in the Pennsylvania militia during the War for Independence.)

I first saw the value of a good name when I was 26 and trying without much success to buy auto parts with a check. Bob Plante happened to be working at the store, and rang me through because he knew me from church and trusted my name. His co-workers let him do it not because of any respect they had for my name but because of the respect they had for his.

My name as a whole has different meanings, depending on who says it. Some people hear the name and they think "hard worker." Others think "royal jerk." I'd like to think a few hear my name and think it means integrity, creativity, or decency and compassion. My name says many things about me, not all of which are pleasant to hear but most of which have some truth to them,

And what does your name reveal about you?


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Favor

Right now I'm killing time between dropping my daughter off for dress rehearsal for her end-of-term circus show and the show itself. While she practices her stilt-walking I'm taking a couple hours to get some work done and to eat.

Dinner tonight is a barbecue chicken sandwich on flatbread. Over the years since I first became aware of this place, I've found that this is the sandwich they have that I like most. I sometimes get something else to shake things up, but for the most part when I come in, I know what I want, I tell the cashier, and five minutes later I'm in gustatory paradise. It's good to have a favorite.

Granted, it's not such a great deal for the sandwich, but what can you do about it?

I read a story once that God asked all the peoples of earth to be his chosen people, and only the Jewish people were wiling to take the risk. Everyone recognized what a golden opportunity they were being offered to be God's favored, but they also recognized the burden that such a status would carry, with its obligations to keep Torah and to be a light to draw all nations to God.

Being favored with honor, wealth or status carries with it the obligation of using those things for the good of others. In the 1995 release "Braveheart," while Mel Gibson's William Wallace has been fighting a long battle for Scottish independence against King Edward Longshanks, the Scottish nobles have been bickering over status, titles and lands.

"There's a difference between us," Wallace tells them. "You think the people of this country exist to provide you with position. I think your position exists to provide those people with freedom."

Every gift,ever honor or privilege, every favor we enjoy, whether we were born into it, were awarded with it, or earned it with our own hard work, is never ours to enjoy exclusively. It comes with the responsibility to use it advance the welfare of others, particularly the lowest and least regarded.

It's a good thing to receive favor. And a tremendous burden.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Ponder

"Ponder" sounds so weighty.

 If "think" means that you're dropping stones plink-plink-plink into the pond, and "meditate" means that you're floating belly-up somewhere out near the middle, then "ponder" is that big rock you drop kerplunk into deepest part of the lake, and watch as it sinks down to bottom.Tie a rope to that rock, and it'll anchor your canoe to the spot for a summer afternoon, if not for the entire season. It's not the length of time that matters to those who ponder, it's the depth of thought.

Pondering is a solitary process, best done in places that might be considered lonely, if we stopped to notice.

What is good? I have one thing, but want something else that I have no right to. How do I live like this?

If service means more when it is given than when someone compels it, then which is greater in the eyes of heaven: a rich man with many servants, or the servants who make soup in the kitchen?

Who am I? What is God?

And how is that the key to answering all these questions is "Who are you?"


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: With

I like "with." Grammatically, it's a conjunction that shows the relationship between its object and the word it modifies. As words go, it's all about partnerships and doing things together. "I went to the store with Joey." Or "With Heather's help, I made sure we put frogs in the boots of everyone in first grade."

Some things just belong together, after all. Peanut butter and jelly, Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, Spidey and MJ, bacon and eggs, Sylvester and Tweety. They're a two-for-one package deal that can't be broken up without inviting calamity:

It makes it odd that we so often romanticize being alone.

And that's what Lent is about, isn't it? Kids whose families observe Lent frequently are admonished to pick something to give up for the six weeks of Lent, as teens and adults we tell ourselves that somehow not eating cheeseburgers will help our personal spiritual walk, and giving up Fortnite is just the penance God requires of us.

There's something to be said for entering the desert by yourself. Away from the press of the daily grind, you lose the distractions and start to notice what's essential. Separated from the inane and repetitious chatter that fills our lives, we start to hear One Voice clearly and we realize that there is another with us.

But what I love about the story of Jesus' time in the wilderness was that the mystic journey wasn't enough. In order to be in harmony with that voice he needed to be with others.

I like to think that in the Judean desert, Jesus came to the same profound understanding that rocked John Steinbeck's preacher Jim Casy in "The Grapes of Wrath." Casy went out into the wilderness to find his own soul, only to discover he didn't have one. He just had one piece of a great big soul, and the only way to care for that piece was to care for the pieces held by others.

In the end, we all need to be with one another. It's a package deal and to break it up would only invite calamity.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Fruit

I planted raspberry cane in a sunny corner of my back yard several years ago. New shoots have grown and old ones have died, but every year the cane grows a crop of berries. Not now, and not next month, but only during raspberry season.

Every year I've had to remove some stalks. They look healthy enough right now, in the early spring, but by the time summer comes, these stalks have turned brown, and produce no fruit. And if you're not going to produce fruit, what good are you anyway? I cut them off at the base and toss them into the compost pile, where they decay in short order and end up boosting the garden some other way. (I mean, come on, raspberry cane. You had one job.)


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Planted

Shortly after we bought our house in 1999, we planted a maple sapling in the hole that had been left in the front yard by the post of the Realtor's sign.

The tree was planted with two things in mind. One, we were planting it to celebrate the impending birth of our daughter. Second, like all things that we plant, it was an expression of hope for the future, that we one day would enjoy benefits from that act of faith.

That first summer was touch-and-go,and the tree didn't seem to grow any taller. The summer was hot and dry, and at the end of every day, the leaves of the sapling would droop and the tree as a whole looked wilted as a result. Every morning and every evening I would dutifully water the tree, the leaves would pick up and it would survive another day.

The second summer wasn't so bad. It was still hot, but not as dry; and while it no longer wilted, it grew a few new leaves but seemed no taller at the end  of the season than it had been at the start.

Something happened between years three and four. This tiny maple grew taller and stronger. The trunk shot up so quickly that you could hear it, and a crown of branches spread out that began to shield the rest of the front yard.It turns out that for the first two years the maple was putting down roots where it was planted to anchor itself and boost its own chances of survival.

We're coming up on 20 years since we planted that tree, and it's amazing the difference it has made. Its branches are so thick and so leafy that they shade the front of the house from the heat of the day during the summer. Every fall it blankets the front yard in a thick layer of color that our youngest rustles through on the way to school in the morning. Birds have built nests in its branches, squirrels have raced up and down its trunk, and on the ground below shade-tolerant plants have begun to establish themselves.

It's like that all over the yard where we've planted flower beds and gardens. Painted ladies and monarchs have had their fill at the butterfly garden, and bees of all sorts celebrate the arrival of spring as the crocuses life their faces to the sun. Whether I planted these things myself or if as is often the case they planted themselves is irrelevant. The plants are flourishing where they are planted, and they make the yard a wonderful place to sit in the evening, or to walk through during the day.

What about you? Where are you planted,and how is it better for your presence?


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Frame

We have a lot of picture frames in my house. We need them, for all the photos and art we have on display.

My kids have prints of classic art like "The Vetruvian Man" and "The Virgin on the Rocks" in their bedrooms, and on the fridge we've had originals like "Sleeping Beauty Descending a Staircase" and "The Big Bad Spotted Wolf." Around the living room are a zebra painted with coffee, a palm tree drawn in inks and this sunflower painted in oils, among many others.

Frames almost seem like an afterthought to the work, but they have a lot of potential to shape how people perceive the work that they're presenting. The wrong framing material can clash with the picture, tell a different story and provide so many distractions that anyone would be left wondering what the point was. But with the right framing, you can emphasize or draw out important details of the artwork, improve the story it tells, and make its beauty accessible in ways you never imagined. It just takes a little extra work.

For him with ears to hear.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Sacrifice

There's a municipally owned cemetery a few blocks from where I live that includes this memorial. Everyone whose name is engraved in this block represented the city during the Civil War.

It doesn't appear any of them died, but all of them made sacrifices: years of their lives, sleepless nights, memories of warfare that would haunt them forever, possibly even lost limbs. They did this in a war to keep the South from seceding over slavery, that eventually became a war to end legal slavery in the United States,

Those are both good causes, but I love the second more. As good as it is to have a unified nation, it's better to have one that is unified and committed to the welfare and freedom of all its people.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Present

I like cooking.

The hours before mealtime are spent all over the place, pondering things that I have done, second-guessing myself and wondering if I could have done them better, and remonstrating myself for not having done the job right the first time.

Or I spent my time in the future. Can I make this trip, take care of this project, work on this goal, and fix that problem? If i screw it up,how many people will die?

Sometimes I feel like I live on the Enterprise on a mission where they have to slingshot around the sun perpetually around the sun. Everything is so focused on saving the past to rescue the future, there's no time for now.

But then I start to cook. There's an oven to preheat, ad food to prep. In a few minutes the oven is driving out the chill of the kitchen, and soon after that the air is filled with the sizzle of the pan and the slow simmer of chicken. There's a heady aroma that fills the senses, and gradually time narrows and comes into focus.

There's no future, there's just now. Later on there'll be time to worry about writing projects, reading assignments and important tasks. Right now, there's a pot that's starting to boil over, and I need to turn the burner down.

There's no past either, there's just now. In a few hours I can ponder the lessons there are to learn from the mistakes I made today, yesterday, last week and over the past 48 years, but right now there's a chicken baking under a rosemary seasoning that I need to baste, and there's a vegetarian alternative I need to find. I can't change the past, but I can keep the chicken from drying out.

This must be why God meets his people in the desert so much. In the cities you can worry what the queen will do if she finds you, and in the Promised Land you can dream about how you'll leverage your abundance to get the advantage over your neighbors. Not in the desert.

In the desert, we're free to plan the future and to learn from the past, but we don't have time to live there. In the desert we need enough water for today, and enough food. Right now is the present, and the present is all we need.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Chosen

Lent: Good

Last night before I went to bed, I saw the news that a gunman in Christchurch, New Zealand, had shot up a mosque and killed or injured about 50 people during a worship service.

Domestically the same sort of nationalist extremism is loose here in America, and often fanned by our president. In Europe and elsewhere, the damage it's doing to the social contract could take decades to repair.

The wall to the city is broken, and the barbarians are pouring in.

What good is in this?

I'm reminded of events that happened in Billings, Mont., in December 1993, when a group of Neo-Nazis started throwing bricks through the windows where Jewish homeowners displayed their menorahs. The community banded together, and Gentile residents showed solidarity with their Jewish neighbors by placing menorahs in their own windows.

The message was clear, if costly: We're in this together. An attack on one of us is an attack on us all.

It's that same solidarity that the Dutch resistance showed during the Nazi occupation during World War II, as they hid their Jewish neighbors from the Nazis and smuggled them to freedom and safety. It's the same commitment to justice that Sunni Muslims in Egypt showed when they stood in solidarity with Coptic Christians to protect their houses of worship and services after terrorists struck on Palm Sunday in 2017.

It's that spirit that we must show now in the face of white nationalism and white supremacy, especially when it comes dressed in the outward clothing of Christianity. "Beware those who appear to be sheep but inwardly are ravenous wolves," Jesus told his followers. The words ring as true today as they ever did.

People of conscience and goodwill stand together in the face of hatred. Take a moment to let a Muslim neighbor know that you are horrified by the attack in Christchurch, and offer your support. When someone calls Islam a religion of hate or denigrates Muslims, speak up, shut them down, and tell them to go to hell.

When we see someone targeted for hate and it's not our fight, but we stand with them and make it ours, that's not just good, it's the very work of God.

Stand tall, stand together and we can repair the breach.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Weigh

What's your favorite creepy Bible story?

Is it the zombie uprising in Matthew 27? The seance in Endor where a ghost appears, frightens the medium and tells Saul he's going to die tomorrow morning? For me there's no contest; I love the story of Belshezzar's banquet.

For those who don't know the story:

Belshezzar was the king of Babylon, which at the time was the mightiest empire in the ancient world. The book of Daniel doesn't say much about Belshezzar, but it gives us the picture of a king who was impressed with himself and therefor given to self-indulgence.

During a feast, Belshezzar decided to impress his guests by bringing out the fine china, which in this case happened to be gold plates and cups that had been taken from the Temple in Jerusalem, and proposed a toast to the gods that made him so impressive.

When he had done this a hand appeared in the air and wrote four words on the wall: MENE MENE TEKEL UPHARSIN.

The prophet Daniel was nearby and he translated the message, which had been written in Aramaic, and explained to the king what it all meant: "God has measured the days of you kingdom and brought it to an end. You have been weighed and found wanting. Your kingdom is to be taken from you, and given to the Medes and the Persians."

The Bible notes that that very night Darius the Mede entered Babylon, took the crown from Belshezzar and had him executed.

Like all good creepy stories, this one has a growing sense of foreboding to it. The party is going great, but a feeling of dread arises as the hand appears and draws tight as Daniel explains what it means. Belshezzar rewards Daniel for telling him what it means, but you get the sense it's because he doesn't know what else to do. He and all his revelers can feel the noose around their necks, and by the time the scaffolding drops out from beneath them it all has the sense of finality that comes with supernatural retribution.

A few things I enjoy about this story, beyond its night-around-the-campfire appeal.

One, there's a promise here that the wicked will not prosper forever. Sooner or later, they overstep themselves and ruin overtakes them.

Two, that's still no cause for celebration. Daniel took no joy in giving Belshezzar the warning he did. "Why do you look for the Day of the Lord?" another prophet asks in his own book. "That will be a day of terror, not of rejoicing." It doesn't take a genius to see that if Babylon falls, a lot of people are going to die and many others are going to suffer.

Three, there's some serious self-knowledge going on here. Daniel was pulled into the feast to advise the king because he had a reputation. He had served the previous king, and had been an official in the government of Babylon for most of his life. Whatever policies Babylon had kept, whatever it had done to maintain power, it's safe to say he bore some responsibility for forming and enforcing them, which meant he also carried some of the guilt.

Weigh, but weigh wisely and weigh generously. One day we all get measured.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Accomplish

For as long as I can remember, I've been a writer, driven by a need to tell stories.

The earliest story I can remember writing was an assignment in second grade. It was a science-fiction story, written in the second person, about someone who time-traveled back to a blizzard in Massachusetts the winter of 1620 and met a pilgrim in the woods.

It was pretty bad stuff, and came complete with sound effects; but that didn't stop it from ending up on my grandmother's refrigerator. Also shared: an essay I'd written about the candlelight service at church on Christmas Eve.

I'd like to think the quality of my writing has improved since then -- by seventh grade I was writing "Moby Dick" fanfic that invariably involved the great whale trashing the middle school I attended while it fought off Ahab and his crew -- but that need to write has never gone away.

I have hobbies and fixations, I love my children and my wife, and I'm driven by the deep mysteries of life, but writing is what ties it all together. All around me is a world in pain. Writing is how I describe the injuries and how to set the bones. This is a divine spark planted in me before I was even born. Writing is not something I do; it's who I am. When I don't write, I begin to die.

You have this calling too.

Stop and think about the dream that animates you, the way that you know can help mend this broken world. It’s your personal mission or quest, the thing that you long to work at, the task that leaves you satisfied and fulfilled while you work at it. Maybe you're one of the fortunates with a career you find deeply fulfilling, or maybe you celebrate the quiet sacrament of cooking food to sow peace over a shared meal.

Whatever it is, it’s the sort of thing you need to do, but somehow it's not happening. The world is broken, and you know a way to fix part it, but somehow you keep not getting around to it, not like you'd like to.

A friend of mine from Georgia just announced this morning that she had sold a piece of speculative fiction to a magazine. I’m excited for her. This is her first step toward realizing a larger dream, of becoming a successful, published author.

It also was a needed reminder about all the half-begun stories littering my hard drive, and the notebooks I have crammed with ideas for characters, story scenes, three-act plays, essays, verse, polemics and God knows what else.

Out in my yard is a branch that fell from a tree back in January. Today I went outside and found the branch beginning to bud. It’s already dead, but that branch is so determined to accomplish its purpose, that even death won’t stop it.

What’s your reason?

Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Dazzling

Down in Alabama, a judge just ruled that a man can sue his ex-girlfriend because she didn't ask for his permission to get an abortion two years ago. In Ethiopia, 157 people died when their plane crashed; while in Washington, D.C., our government is captive to a vulgarian who spews hatred and lies every time he opens his mouth or goes on Twitter.

Sometimes it feels like we really are living in Plato's cave,and the vague and misshapen shadows are all we have to look at for knowledge or entertainment, which increasingly are becoming hard to separate.

But there is comfort. What Plato's cave-dwellers could arrive at only by the application of cold philosophy, we can see for ourselves.

Look up at the sky, and see the golden fire of the sun. Listen to the hooves of the horses of Helios as they beat their way steadily across the heavens from East to West. Let the sun's rays warm your face and listen as the earth and all the flowers that slumber within it begin to stir as the light falls.

We can discover beauty reflected in a mud puddle, but why settle for that? Lift your face to the sky and be dazzled.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Prayer

About 12 years ago I was deep in prayer when I realized there was nobody listening.

Sometimes prayer is a transcendental experience so intense that you can reach out and touch the face of God like a child will touch his father's while he's being held. This time I became aware of a vast, black pit beneath me. I was leaning backward over it, and I was about to fall into the void. No one was going to catch me, because there was no one there.

It was at once terrifying and revelatory. I stopped the prayer then, and went on with my day, but just as I have never forgotten those moments of communion that I've felt, I've never forgotten that moment either.

Prayer is probably the quintessential act of faith. Are we communing with the Transcendent,or are we talking to an imaginary friend as part of an elaborate game of pretend?

C.S. Lewis once wrote "I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God. It changes me.”' Is this a profound statement about the purpose of prayer, or is he just describing what happens as an adult processes profound and unexpected grief?

Does it make a difference?

Perhaps God would prefer prayers offered in rock-solid certainty that he is there, that he hears, and that he answers according to his wisdom and his love. My faith is rooted, but it remains faith and not certainty.

That will have to be enough.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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The unremarkable man in the desert

It wasn't so bad in the desert, once you got used to it.

There was water to drink, food to eat and even places to stay, if you knew where to look; and after years of working  with his father and uncles to rebuild Sephoris since the death of the Edomite king, the unremarkable man had overheard enough from travelers and troublemakers that he had a few ideas. The oases served year-round, and there were other places where the spring rains fell into the deep ravines that time and God had carved into the land. If you checked the deeper canyons, you were sure to find pools and streams still there even in the driest times..

Food was scarcer, but that was fine. It was easier to fast when there was nothing to eat. After a few days, he didn't even feel hungry anymore, though his jaws still felt restless at mealtime  for want of something to chew.

When the unremarkable man wanted companionship or conversation there was an Essene settlement that he could visit, and when he wanted to be alone, there were caves around the desert where one eventually could sleep if not deeply then at least adequately. On those nights the unremarkable man would light a fire with whatever fuel he had, and then keep it alive both for warmth and for safety from the eyes that gathered and watched from the darkness.

The desert was what speakers of Greek called a chora, a vast expanse between two places, a fancy way of saying that it was the middle of nowhere and no one lived there. Now as anyone can tell you who has lived in the middle of nowhere, the problem with living near no one is that as long as you stay there no one will talk to you, and if you stay there long enough, eventually you start to listen.

The unremarkable man knew better than to get into those conversations, but as the days pressed on, it became harder and harder to ignore the whispers. It was disconcerting at times, but the unremarkable man knew that the prophet Elijah had gone into the desert once and had heard a whisper that he had recognized at once as the quiet voice of God. These voices sounded nothing like his.

“You'll have to do better than that,” he said to no one in particular one afternoon, and at the sound of his own voice the other voices faded away.

It was about four in the afternoon when he heard another, unfamiliar voice nearing his cave. It belonged to no one he recognized, and it was humming a song in a mix of Greek and Latin. Curiosity spurred the unremarkable man forward and as he stepped out from the cave he found himself looking at an older man in a thin robe as he was walking past.

“Hello father,” the unremarkable man called, “you are headed the wrong way!"

The older man started, and turned back to face him. “I am a traveler with nothing of value on me, no money or weapons,” he said. “All I have are some dried dates, and if you are planning to rob me, I will save you the trouble and give them to you now without a fight.”

The unremarkable man laughed.

“I'm no brigand, father,” he said. “I'm just a hermit living here for the time being, and as I'm fasting, I thank you for your offer of dates but must decline with respect. But I repeat: you are going the wrong way.”

“I see,” said the old man. “And how do you know I am going the wrong way, when you do not know which way I am going?”

“Because you are going that way,” the unremarkable man said, and pointed. “In another mile or two, that way ends abruptly, with a cliff on every side. But by the time you discover that and turn around, it will be growing dark and you will be unable to reach any destination until well past sunset.”

“I see.” The older man looked where he had been going, as if he could see so far down the road and was evaluating the truth of what he had been told. “Well, it seems you have saved me a wretched evening of wasted travel and an even more wretched night of sleeping in the open. What would you recommend I do, young hermit?”

The unremarkable man laughed again, enjoying the company, and waved the older man to his cave.

“Come rest your feet a while, father. I won't break my fast with you, but come break yours with me, and I will gladly share a cup of cold water with a guest for a conversation, if you consent.”

And so he did. Soon the two were seated in the mouth of the cave. The old man had unwrapped a cloth that contained a half-dozen dates. After he had offered to share them and his host had declined, the old man had given thanks and eaten them one after another, drinking from the cup that the unremarkable man offered.

“I confess you surprised me, my young friend,” he said once he had finished his meal. “You appeared so suddenly and caught me by surprise when you spoke, I thought at first you must be one of the spirits that inhabits this place.”

“No, father,” the younger man said. “I'm no spirit,” and as if to prove it he took a mouthful of water himself.

“I can see that,” the old man said. “But the loneliness of these places draws them. You can feel them sometimes in the air. Azazel takes the scapegoat offerings we send from our towns, and there are others out here that are far worse than he. It's not a safe place, and not just because of the robbers. What brings you to be a hermit in the desert?”

“I'm looking for answers,” said the unremarkable man, “and I'm determined to get them. What brings you out here?”

The old man smiled and stretched out his arms expansively. “I go wandering about the earth, here and there,” he said. “I've been to Egypt and I've been to Rome, and today I had hoped my feet would carry me to Jericho, but it seems they have led me here instead.” He fell silent and gazed at his host. Already the desert fast was showing its toll on him His hair was wind-blown and crusted with dirt, and the days of want had begun to show on the burnt and tightening skin of his cheeks and arms.

“It must be something important that draws a man as young as you out into a place like this, where unclean spirits dwell,” the old man said at last. “A man doesn't do that just to decide whether to follow his father's footsteps or even whom to marry, but only for the deepest reasons of all. He does that when he's questioning everything.”

There was a long silence. “Do you believe in the messiah?” the unremarkable man asked at last.

“I know what the rabbis teach about the messiah,” the old man said cautiously. “That he'll come from the eternal line of David, and that he will lead Israel into war like a new Maccabee. When he finishes we will be free, and all nations will know the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”

The old man's eyes flicked from the sandals on the feet of the unremarkble man to the dust and dirt on his forehead, and then flicked to his large working man's hands.

“And you think you might be he,” he said. “You hardly look like the warrior type.”

So the unremarkable man began, falteringly at first but with growing confidence as he spoke, telling the old man the peculiar stories he had overheard his parents whispering to each other when they thought he was still asleep. He spoke of the stirrings of eternity that he felt in his heart to mend the world, while the old man sat like a stone, unanswering and serious. At last the unremarkable man described the words he thought he had heard in the thunder the day of his baptism, when the dove had flown from the tree by the Jordan and landed, its wings still flapping, on his shoulder.

“I thought at first you might be a spirit here to drive me mad,” the old man said at last. “Now I see that you are but a man yourself, and one I have arrived too late to help. The spirits of this place have driven you mad.”

The unremarkable man nodded, and closed his eyes as if he had expected such a response. “That's why I'm here,” he said quietly. “All my life I've wondered who I am, and what my purpose is. What did that voice mean, 'my son?' If I am God's son, what does he expect of me?”

“We're all the sons of God,” the old man said, and he recited the old scrolls. “'The sons of God were called before him, and Satan also was with them.' 'Go and tell Pharaoh, Israel is my one and only son.'”

“But what --”

“I can't tell you that, young hermit. I don't know.” The old man stood, and folded his cloth, and returned it to the bag that he kept beneath his robe. “I'll be back this way in a couple weeks. I'll make sure I drop in to see how you are doing.”

With that he stood and stepped out of the cave into the gathering darkness. The unremarkable man stood and followed, and found the pathway barren. No one else was visible as far as the eye could see.

All around the air began to buzz with a thousand whispers.



Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Test

As I write this, my daughter is taking the SAT. As tests go, this is the big one. It affects which schools sh can get into, which in turn affects the type of jobs she can get, which affects her earning potential, which affects where she can live and how much she can earn, and so on down the road. There’s no pressure, but she's been preparing like nobody’s business for the past several weeks.

The tests that matter don't measure what you know as much as they reveal what's inside, what sort of character you have. Do you give up at the first challenge, or do you persevere to the end? Do you admit to limits and ask for advice, or do you double down on ignorance? Do you advance by working with others to build consensus, or do you bully your way forward run roughshod over anyone who disagrees with you?

And when the point of decision comes, do you make a deal with the devil and sacrifice your principles for a temporary gain, or do you take a hit and continue to stand tall?

Not all tests feel as big as the SAT, but I've seen over the years that the way we handle the small tests reveals a lot about how we'll handle the big ones.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Given

There's a car I see around town when I’m out and about, with a bumper sticker that declares “You will meet God.” I don't like it.

Maybe I'm projecting my own tone onto it, but that bumper sticker sounds ominous and threatening. It's like God is in charge of standards and he's cracking his knuckles with delight at the job to come. He's been keeping tally of everything I do during the day, and he's just itching to open a can of whoop-ass on me, put me in my place and get me to toe the line, or zing! He's going to throw me into the sun.

Every minute that I don't get thrown into the sun is a gift of mercy given to me in place of what I really deserve.

Here's the thing. If that's your view of God, you're missing the big picture. God is not the headmaster of the school who fires a teacher for coming to school pregnant before she gets married. He's not the one to tell a trans teen “There are only two genders.” And he sure as heck isn't about talking tough and insulting everyone he disagrees with.

God is the guy in charge of standards, but the standards he enforces are the ones that provide sanctuary from those who want to push people out and drive hem away. When you meet God, you're the broken one who's been chased out of home, hounded by the authorities and left at the end of your rope while powerful men chase you, hurling insults and calling for your blood.

When you meet God, he's the one who stands in all his terrible fury, wraps you in his arms, and in that disturbingly calm voice, asks the authorities, the politicians and the good clean moral people who have been hounding you, “Is there a problem?”

Every minute that we live, just like every dollar that we have, is given to us to provide and to be that sanctuary to those who need it.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Lent: Temptation

I am fortunate to have a few people in my life who know me inside-out, from head to toe, and from front to back, yet who still call me a friend.

Such people are the proof that God loves us. These are people who know my brightest impulses and my darkest ones as well. They’ve seen me at my best and at my worst, and who have been through harrowing ordeals at my side, or with me at theirs. When there's a problem, we know whom to call for advice given with our best interests at heart.

There's someone else who knows me that well but his advice is treacherous. His name is Temptation.

The problem is that Temptation is a confidence artist. He knows how to promise everything you want for nothing down, and when you agree you quickly realize that you've paid too much for something you don't need as badly as you thought you wanted it.

Follow his advice, and you can have what you want right now: popularity, sex, money, peace and quiet to read a good book, power, influence, the praise of others, security, and things you've wanted for years. It's like a shortcut in the race. You'll get to the finish line quicker, but without your integrity.

But there's a trick we can learn when it comes to Temptation. The pauper is tempted to steal silverware; the rich woman never is. Once you figure out why he makes you the offers that he does, you begin to realize what really matters to you and you begin to understand who you really are.


Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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The Unremarkable Man at the River

The sun was high above the ground, and the air was filled with the buzz of the crowd when the unremarkable man walked into the river.

He'd walked a long way to get here, over rocks and hills, past sheep and goats, and among both countrymen and foreigners. He was tired from the walking, but even since he'd heard there was a prophet down by the river, the unremarkable man had felt his soul stir within him, compelling him to go see this strange man who wore clothing made from camel's hair.

Everyone in the crowd had a reason to see the prophet. The world was ending, and some of them just wanted to know how to survive. Others were desperate and wanted nothing more than shelter from a life that left them battered and ashamed of what they did to survive, and some were just curious.

For Jesus, visiting the Jordan River was the first leg on a journey of self-discovery.

Ever since he was little, he'd felt out of place in his hometown. It wasn't just the time he'd spent in Egypt with his parents, and it wasn't just the scandal around his birth that people had whispered about behind his back when they thought he and his parents weren't listening. This was something else.

All his childhood and even into his adulthood he'd been just like the other children in Nazareth ad yet not like them.

Sometimes he'd felt it keenly, like the year they had gone on the annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem to visit Herod’s temple, and Jesus had decided to stay behind when everyone else had gone home. (His parents rarely mentioned it in the years afterward, but too many times he'd felt his mother's eyes on him and he knew she was thinking of that trip.)

Other times the difference was harder to identify but still felt as keenly as if he had swallowed a coal. His heart would ache with a distress he couldn't understand, or he would see things with such clarity he couldn't understand why everyone else was confused. And through it all was woven a longing he couldn't express and a loneliness even his younger siblings couldn't always lift.

But then the prophet had arrived in the desert, and Jesus knew without anyone telling him that his time had arrived. He'd handed the carpentry shop over to his brothers, and set out for the prophet and the river.

The water was cool when he stepped in, and it cleaned the dirt and dust from his feet as it swirled past. Another step, and it was up past his ankles, and then it was up to his calves and his clothes were getting soaked.

What happened next, people disagree about. Some said that when the prophet baptized the unremarkable man, a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. They pulled their children from the water and looked for a safe place to be when the storm hit. Others looked around, decided nothing was amiss, and shrugged their shoulders.

Others looked at the unremarkable man with curiosity in their eyes and wonder on their faces, as he climbed up the river bank, water streaming from his clothes and hair, and then strode off into the desert. In the thunder, he had heard a voice and he had to know what it had meant.

For the next forty days, he would fast and he would empty himself. The experience would harrow him like no other, but the odyssey he was undertaking would reveal himself to himself like nothing else ever had.

And when he returned, the people who heard him would know he was speaking with the very voice of God.



Copyright © 20189 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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