We chitty chat about all the things, including religious trauma, God in a Dive Bar, Hard life lessons, and God in the Mosh Pit. Oh, and a few cats, and a squirrel drop by during our podcast for a few hugs and giggles.

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The Video gets a little glitchy in a few spaces, but I think for those of you have ever wondered about healing ministry, or were raised in Pentecostalism, you’ll enjoy Reverend Donald. He will be speaking at the Wildgoose Festival in September of 2026.

She offers …

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Trigger Warning: We talk very openly about her experiences as a sex worker in Tennessee, and her abuse.

If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, and need someone to talk to, text 988.

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Just 11 years ago, my grandmother went to be with God. And then five years ago, almost the same day, my grandfather exited this plane. I lost them in some ways, but gained them in others. I still feel their prayers working.

I ran my fingers through her hair
As the Angels greeted us there
And somewhere I could see the Son
Holding my hand as I came undone
My beautiful yellow rose
Withering now
Her smile as brilliant as ever before
She'll soon greet him on the celestial shore.

- Bec

I wrote this poem as she got close to the veil eleven years ago. 5 years ago, my grandfather crossed over. They were farmers their whole lives. I went over to a church in my hometown a month ago to speak about homelessness. I said something funny, something poignant, something scriptural. I stayed for the sermon, and then got up to leave. An elderly man grabbed my hand and said, "I knew your grandfather- he was a chicken farmer." Something like that, he was complicated. He had beagles, bunnies, horses, chickens, a pig a time or two, sometimes a rumored lady friend. She had roses, peaches, apples, muscadine, blackberries, and love.

I wish you could see those yellow curtains slowly moving before a summer storm, or see the way the chickens ran through the yard before the rain hit the ground. Or the huge pieces of chocolate cake she'd serve up, or maybe the biscuits, fat back, and black-eyed peas. Her cornbread remained the best cornbread I have ever tasted in my whole life.

I miss them. Every time I come to the intersection of Warren and Pope, I say hello to the old farm house, and to my grandparents. I miss them so. I am grateful to have spent many summers there. I wish you could have met them. I will probably talk to them later- despite what some preachers say, there isn’t anything wrong with talking to those crossed over.

I read in Revelation chapter 5:8 that the prayers of the saints go onward.

2 Peter 1:4 talks about followers of Jesus partaking in his divine nature.

I believe in the communion of the saints. Even the complicated ones. And sometimes, even in my grief. That gives me hope.

And yet, we are created for "greater works than these."
Our identities can hold complexity.

For instance, I belong to a United Methodist Church, I write for the United Church of Christ occasionally, I follow so many organizations, and I keep ceremony with many others. I advise witches, Episcopal Priests, Classical Pentecostals, Abolitionists, and self-labeled "fairy twinks" deconstructing their Southern Baptist tradition.

My mentors are many: A Cantankerous Classical Pentecostal Old Testament Bible Scholar, a jovial, wise gay Bishop from Conyers, a Queer Catholic Monk who held pagan-Christian get togethers, a Rabbi who loves the grateful dead, and a Mennonite who lives with severe depression. My circle of grandmothers or wise women also are vastly different, from former slightly Episcopal Big Soda executives, to former fundraising experts in Florida, to Redneck Texas Catholics fed up with Patriarchy.

All of these complex humans reflect back God to me.

Following Jesus can be about orthopraxy (right action)
and does not have to be about orthodoxy. Orthodoxy means right belief. To be in orthodoxy with another person, that means you have to be in a community with the same creeds, same beliefs, same doctrine. (Orthodoxy can only be maintained in a small closed community. Even John Wesley said, "Though we do not think alike, we can love alike.")

Some of you were meant to be in larger communities, and in many small communities, and “orthodoxy,” is not as important as right-practice.

It's important in perilous times to find community and bring your gifts to the table. Maybe that means you hang out with a book club, and maybe that means you find a gardening club, and maybe that means for some of you, you end up back in the church- or stay in the church.

For me, I love my church. It’s the place where I get hugs. AND also, this institution of church, these denominations, these systems, these hierarchies- they all have “boxes” and limits, and sometimes in order to belong in churches we have felt like we can’t show up with our whole selves. Especially if you were different. Especially if you were a little peculiar.

And yet, when I look at healthy communities,

they welcome those on the margins,

and their seniors,

and their neurodiverse,

What if you didn’t have to fit in a box to belong?

Some of your ancestors had to fit into boxes to survive.

They assimilated with the dominate culture
Your ancestors were indigenous to some land. Your ancestors knew the birds. Your ancestors read the "signs in the sky." Your ancestors knew God long before men with swords came to the land. There is elder wisdom with your ancestors. (Your great cloud of witnesses) You can connect to your ancestral traditions and follow wisdom teachings and not worry about fitting into boxes. And most everyone reading my blog lives in a somewhat freeish state, so if you want to follow Jesus, if you want to go to church, if you want to sit outside in a park and commune with nature, you can choose to do so.

Your identity can hold complexities.

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The feast day was founded in 1925 by Pope Pius, in a response to rapid rising of totalitarian regimes such as communism in Russia, and Fascism in Italy. We know later that many in church missed the right side of history later. The date was originally the last Sunday in October, which in protestant tradition is now Reformation Sunday. Luther sang his “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” a rendition of Psalm 46. And we see in Psalm 46 Elohim Lanu, our “God for Us” is a mighty refuge. In Psalm 46, we do not trust in a nation. We do not trust in other kings. War will be broken away, these evil systems all melted. The Nations will “be stilled” and know. The causative hifil here is applied to raphah. It is not the quaint art your mom bought at Hobby Lobby that says “Be Still and Know,” but rather the causative “ be stilled, stop, come to an abrupt quiet.” All the chaos of politicians and bankers is stilled by God. We trust not in the chaos of the seas, but instead, we know there is a river who makes glad the place we dwell in- the “city of God.”- This is not a nation, not even the United States nor Israel nor is it a place, but rather a membership- no exclusive for the pious sacrosanct hypocrites but inclusive where the margins are welcomed first.

Pictured below, art from the Roman Catholic Church of Saint Joseph, Burslem, UK- painted by female artist Moira Forsyth.

I see this moment as an opportunity, not for Ceasar or the Empire, but that for the fledgling radical embryonic movement that exploded in a time of Roman oppression. They were those who considered and held everything in common. They met together, they shared food from their pantries, they cried together, they prayed together, and most importantly, they served everyone- anyone who was hungry- at their love feasts. They opened their doors, to the hi-ways and bi-ways, and said, “Come and Eat.”

In Acts chapter 6, we see two factions stirring within the newly forming group. The Hellenistic Jews complained against the Hebraic Jews that the widows were being overlooked- Acts 6. They took their disagreement to the Twelve gathered- according to this book, and the 12 chose 7 deacons to serve the tables, literally providing food to those in need. The church here had two causes: 1) The Kerygma- Proclamation of teaching and the 2) DiaKonos “service”- the ministry of the tables.

Later, they added the 3) DIDACHE- or the teaching.

From Diakonos, we get our word for deacon which means services. I think of Deacons as those doing the service work, the justice work, the work of the church in the world- outside of the polity and ordination- and all those things I see that anyone who follows the rabbi can serve in this way- but I get so mad with the church. It’s weird because I love the church when she is doing right.

That fledging community is now - mostly- an institutionalized monstrosity, who seems to be stuck in the red tape of committees, and many times- unable to love the other. But I see glimpses. In my travels around the south, I bump into good expressions of the Jesus movement- doing the things that Acts 6 talked about. They provide meals to others, and I love that. And sometimes, there are churches who are really pushy about their particular beliefs on those who come for the bread. That irritates me. For all the times I have wanted to say “screw the church,” especially when I am around that kind of white-guy-dominated places with their patriarchy and all sorts of evil, I am also reminded that the church can look like a group paying for an ex-con to get the nazi tattoos removed from his body. Read more here: Deep Time

The thing is, every time I am so frustrated about Christianity in America going off and doing something completely UNChristlike, like electing officials who are willing to cut off food stamps over a budget disagreement, I remember there are good people- doing good, and some of them are event followers of Christ.

I still am kind of angry today. In my feelings. Thank goodness, God doesn’t mind a little anger and grief and lament.

I might scream and then wipe my eyes, ‘cause we have work to do.

It is us that must tend to the tables.

Maybe that for you is donating or serving at your local pantry.

Maybe that is making sure your senior, your family, your cousin has food.

Atlantans with mental health issues, substance use, and quality of life issues- like extreme poverty are very at risk for food insecurity. When the politicians start messing with the poor, I take it personally. Those of you who know me, know that I have dedicated the past twenty years of my life to “ministry on the margins” and mostly with the unhoused. I can’t stay mad at injustice for long. I get mad, but I also know and believe in good people, including some who are loosely affiliated with that radical Rabbi Jesus Christ.

If you’d like to donate to help provide some food to some of our participants at PAD, I would love for you to do. Donate to PAD I work with Policing Alternatives and Diversion in Atlanta, which is a model that has worked to deescalate situations, connect people to service, and divert people from arrest. It is an solutions, not hand cuffs.

Thanks for reading.

What do you think?

We got work to do.

Back to the tables.

I wish loving grandmothers ruled the world instead of power-hungry men. We'd have bread aplenty and big gardens. There'd be fresh tomatoes, zucchini, and cantaloupe.

I wish loving grandmothers ruled the world instead of power-hungry men. We'd be busy learning ancient wisdom and plant medicine, we'd sing songs, and drum more. We'd study pottery and weaving, maybe tatting and crochet, and the art of canning.

I wish loving grandmothers ruled the world instead of power-hungry men. We'd forget the ways of killing, and stop heaping up money. We would end war, and take care of animals, and clean the rivers.

I wish loving grandmothers ruled the world instead of power-hungry men, They'd let the kids wear dresses or pants and play with whatever suited them. They'd love the odd children, and the neuro-spicey ones.

I wish loving grandmothers ruled the world instead of power-hungry men. They wouldn't make fun of people, or try to dominate, or hurt, instead their rebukes would always be a teachable moment, bringing us the teaching of Kindness and Covenant Loyalty.

If Loving Grandmothers ruled instead of power-hungry men, the children would be every shade of brown and pink and olive, and everyone would have access to grandmother's lap.

I see a time when loving grandmothers rule the world, instead of power-hungry men, and it isn't too far off.

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Spiritual direction is journeying with someone and asking deep questions. A good spiritual director sets aside her need to be heard, be correct, to judge, to mother, to teach, etc. A good spiritual director listens and then asks questions so that the directee can draw out the answers from their life, their soul, their understanding, and their understanding of spirit. Spiritual direction should be a safe place to explore your true and authentic self.

I have plenty of credentials to lead a church through crisis, plan and execute huge events, exegete scripture and exposit a sermon, teach seminary students basic self-care rituals, run a nonprofit, create and maintain extensive records, craft strategic plans, budgets, deescalate an emotionally unregulated individual, or perform basic street medicine and first aid. Yet, when one thinks of “directing,” I doubt any of us, including me, should be directing anyone, anywhere. (Though I give very detailed directions with landmarks if you are navigating downtown Atlanta) Honestly, we are all like the blind men and the elephant, and I am not here to direct anyone. That is the job of Spirit.

For those of you unfamiliar with the parable of the blind men and the elephant, it can be found in Buddhist, Jain, Hindu, Suffi, and Baha’i writings. While it differs slightly, it goes something like this:

A group of blind elders heard that a strange new animal, called an elephant, had been led to the town square out of the depths of the jungle, Yet no one from this group knew anything about the animal’s size, shape, form, width, etc. Curiosity egged them onwards to investigate. One man said, "We must inspect it with our hands and know it with our sense of touch. So, they sought it out, and when they found it, they groped around the beast. The first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said, "This being is like a fat snake".

one whose hand grabbed the elephant’s ear noted that it seemed like a kind of fan. As for another blind elder, whose hand touched its leg commented, “the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk.” The blind man who placed his hand upon its side said the elephant, "is a wall". Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.

The parable itself reminds us that we are all limited to our subjective experience, our finiteness, and we cannot fully know everything. But that doesn’t stop some people from assuming they are the guardians of truth- especially in closed religious systems. Spiritual Direction is a place for exploring the inner self, and in many ways is similar to having a therapist, but you aren’t focusing on acute life issues, but rather your inner workings, your shadow self, the things that trigger you, the ways in which you want to express your spirituality in the world, and your sense of vocation. Often clergy will receive spiritual direction or someone trying to unravel their religious upbringing, even if it was toxic. Sometimes those who are discerning a job shift or a major life decision. Still others may go to a spiritual director to have a safe space to process their deconstruction of their inherited religion.

Again, spiritual direction is not “dogma or doctrine or creeds,” nor is it one person attempting to coerce or convert. I have been the recipient of many of those coercive converting types of conversations. Have you ever been invited to coffee by a white evangelical male who was sure you were straying from the truth? Did you notice they all generally pretend to be the arbiters of truth? I am not saying they are all white, or even all male, but most times I was invited to coffee by someone wanting to correct my beliefs they were generally white and male, and very confident of their own biblical knowledge. I recall once being called to coffee by one white guy from this Pentecostal denomination I was involved in when I was publicly deconstructing some of my beliefs around salvation, hell, and gay marriage, and this guy with a degree from some southern Baptist seminary decided he wanted to whip out his big fat theological man-hood on me. It was quite icky. It really was not framed in the fruit of the spirit. And honestly, a wee bit authoritarian, and coercive. Very convert by the sword type of vibe. You know what I mean? Nasty stuff. There’s a joke that if you don’t have money to go to seminary, you should get into an argument with a Calvinist, because they think they know it all.

Thank goodness, that spiritual direction is supposed to be a safe space for you to share your beliefs and not be lectured by anyone. It’s not your in-laws on Thanksgiving table conversation, but it’s a soul level dialogue where you and spirit and the spiritual director dive deep into your heart. It’s finding a person who will journey along with you. There are many amazing spiritual directors available across the nation. If you are interested in starting spiritual direction, let me know. I can connect you with some great ones. If you are interested in exploring spiritual direction with me, let me know, and I can send you information on my rates, style, booking, etc. And last, if you are interested in becoming a certified spiritual director, and would like an affordable program- let me know. I will be helping facilitate a first year cohort of new spiritual directors through Zeitgeist Atlanta, which is an interfaith program. And last, if you would like to share any thoughts on spiritual direction, please do!

Around a month ago, I received a jury summons in the mail. At first, I thought it was a trial for a wrongful accident. Every other billboard in Metro Atlanta is a predatory lawyer. Every other radio commercial is for a predatory lawyer. And every other television commercial is a predatory lawyer. Predatory Lawyers and Erectile Dysfunction Pills make up most of the advertising landscape in Atlanta. I have a lot of opinions about lawyers who prey upon the poor. I also hate that so many in the poor community think that a lawsuit could elevate them to the middle class. Also, I drive defensively and assertively, and safely to avoid any would-be suers and any ambulance chasing lawyer. For the population to be so keenly homophobic and “downlow” in Atlanta, while quickly proof texting 1 Corinthians 6, they apparently have never read the part about taking another Christian to court. Atlanta has some of the highest insurance rates in the nation due to litigation.

I was not eager to fulfill my civic duty. I had already made up my mind. This case was going to be a wrongful accident trial in which some low-class lawyer promised a poor person they were going to get a $300,000 check, when in reality, the lawyer would give the person 3 grand after court costs and pocket the rest. I felt frustrated about the thing, but reluctantly branded my Revlon Fire and Ice Lipstick, and threw on some mascara, a pink button down, and a blazer over my thrift store jeans and Chacos.

When I arrived at the jury assembly room, I briefly scanned the room to see if I recognized anyone. 1 person out of 180 people there. I said hello, and made my way to the back of the room. The process for juror selection took all day. It was a sort of hurry up and wait day. I arrived without coffee, and no breakfast, but I intended to catch up on emails during our downtime. I also really wanted to start reading Flannery O’Conner’s Wise Blood. Honestly, I sort of wanted to just dissociate and weigh my options for future employment- but I thought the book would be a good distraction.

Over the past few months, really years, I have been questioning if I should return to “parish” ministry. Though everyone I know reminds me constantly that I am a minister.

“You teach theology students.”

“You preach often.”

“You know so much about the bible.”

“You’re like a vicar of the streets.”

“You’re a pastor without walls.”

“You counsel clergy.”

And the wise women in my life warn me against working inside the church as a paid employee. Yet, part of me secretly desires to shift careers away from the tiny liquor bottles, crack pipes, sex workers, and chronically homeless to be with and present to the deacons who are alcoholics, the cracks in the ceiling and the organ that needs replacement, the questionable sex lives of little old church ladies, and the chronically housed. My heart for people could be used for much more than my current side hustle of spiritual direction and associate professor of contextual education, and my work on the sidewalks. It can be so disheartening to work in the same place with the same limited resources. We haven’t had a new shelter open in quite some time in Atlanta. And to be completely honest, many people do not want to be housed- and they have the right to be on the streets. They have the right to choose what works for them- including using heroin or crack cocaine. They do not have to get help. They do not have to get the help that educated people think they need. They do not have to get the help that I want for them. In fact, if they desire to, they can continue breaking the law to survive, selling ass outside of Cheshire Bride, or stealing amazon packages from the fancy neighborhoods near Lindbergh station. And I am NOT here to help anyone but myself heal. I am the only one I can save. And I practice self-care, and yes, I have a therapist, but I so often wonder what the walls inside the church and the chapel and the cathedral have to share with me. I am, after all, mid-life. Some people want a corvette. I think I want a few more stoles and access to a killer research library.

“Number 9, Number 9,” The bailiff shouted. I realized I was staring at the wall and through the bailiff while considering what a move to be a pastor might look like for me and my family. I knew I was number 9. It had been about three hours, and we had only culled us down to 50 people. I was still there. A five-minute break, they said, and coffee around the corner.

We lined up to move into the court room. The large rotunda said in huge all-caps-letters JUSTICE and FREEDOM and other concepts that made your chest puff up when you naively believed that we, Americans were the good guys. The bailiff reminded me that I could not take drinks into the courtroom in an authoritarian manner. His osteoporosis made me wonder if any inmates had ever made a run for it in his presence or tried him. I smiled and threw my newly made coffee into the nearest receptacle. The doors of the courtroom opened, and the cold air hit my face. We were marched into the courtroom, and up in the juror’s box. The defendant and the lawyers looked at us. I immediately knew what he had done. I knew it, instantly. It’s an energy that once you have experienced, you’ll never forget. You can tell it a mile away. We did not know what type of trial this was, the judge had not told us. Still, I knew. I wondered if I could be impartial. Some say that I have the gift of discernment. Some have said “Bec’s a prophet.” If by prophet they mean a nature loving neurodivergent who likes to call truth to power and stand up for the margins, then maybe, but people who claim the title prophet are seemingly always looking to profit. I know that trauma teaches you to be keen on any sudden changes in someone’s body language, breath, movements, and energy. I knew that my own trauma could be informing my intuition. What some call empaths, some of us know are the ones who were broken and are always healing. I am deeply sensitive. I have worked through so much of my own stuff. I can read other people. I often know what others are thinking. It may sound illogical, but I am able to perceive deeply. It has served me well in my work on the streets.

I looked away from the man. I knew what he did. I wasn’t triggered. I have done a lot of work. When the judge announced what sort of case it was, I heard the gasps and sighs of many of my co-jurors. The one-on-one questions were invasive and difficult. I do not mind telling my story. Yet, I felt horrible for my peers who had to tell their stories to strangers. I was trying to find compassion for everyone in the room, including the man accused of child molestation. I think Jesus desires for everyone to be healed and everyone to be reconciled, but part of me would rather see the wicked die. It’s the same part that caused the Hebrew prophet Jeremiah to ask God to kill the children of their enemies, their oppressors, the Babylonians. And I am trying to have compassion for that part of me, too. When the jurors were asked how many were sexually abused, nearly half of the room raised their number. The questions kept coming.

Each juror recounted tales of horror, physical, emotional, mental, sexual, or spiritual abuse. Half of the adults in the room. Vulnerable and Visceral truths being spoken. The questions became more invasive.

Then, one came that I was not expecting. Had I ever been accused of abuse of a minor.

And I had.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I had gone to visit a sick woman in the hospital after Sunday service when I got the call that DFACS was at my home. Someone anonymously called and said my own child was being abused by me and my husband. It was a lie formed in the pit of hell. Yet, we had to undergo scrutiny from every angle. I was dumbfounded. I often befriended people who were severely mentally ill. Many related to my own stories of spiritual abuse and suffering. I also had a small internet following. I had no idea who would make such a claim. I freaked out and called my pastor. I called my closest circle. Who would accuse me of this? I had been the recipient of terroristic threats before. I had had stalkers when I was pastor of “Church of the Misfits.” I had been lied on and falsely accused before- but nothing like this. I felt like a knife cut through my heart. I prayed in tongues every moment. Until eventually, we were vindicated. The sheriff investigating said, “all we see is love in this house.” Still, the sort of paranoia, and fear that this brought on was devastating.

The attorney asked for an answer. I made it short. I tried to find compassion for the one who was accused. Yet, I already knew what he did.

Eventually, I was dismissed from jury duty. It could be because I am a mandated reporter of child abuse with my job as a community responder in Atlanta, or as a professor at Candler. It could be because I work with the police. It could be because I am an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse. But whatever the case, I won’t be judging a man. And while many people, including myself, have been falsely accused, I think he did something wrong. Energy doesn’t lie.

Still, I hope he gets a fair trial, and compassion. And I hope the supposed victims get compassion, too. And tonight, I am going to give myself a little bit of compassion before I return tomorrow to be a “vicar of the streets,” who is still contemplating being a pastor in a little white wooden church with a red door, somewhere in the rolling hills of the rural south, where many people’s stories involve emotional abuse, physical abuse, financial abuse, spiritual abuse, and even sexual abuse. And while I can’t help anyone, I can listen, and pray, even with every Betty who thinks we should not move the American Flag, or Carol who got mad because the communion cloths were not placed back under the altar, or Jerry who is still angry that they brought a guitar into worship fifteen years ago.

One: God of Justice, Where are you now? Our hearts are weary of the constant fear and violence. Where are you, when we see families separated, lives upended, and prisons full of the innocent? Where are you God when war profiteers make plans, and the production-culture gets rich off the backs of laborers? Where are you when the Wicked Prevail and Evil Emperors claim they are god-like?

All: We are crushed, but not without hope. We lament, but we also remember: Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low. The rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. Kings and Kingdoms of the World-Systems will all pass away, but the Kin-ship of God Will Endure Forever

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Let those with ears to hear, hear.

Death comes on us without realizing it and if we don’t fight for our lives we will be just that- animated corpses. Looking to the bible, we see Jesus talking through John the elder, and warning one of the seven churches in Asia about this. Revelation 3:1-6.

Scripture:

Rev 3:1-6 “And to the angel of the church in Sardis write,
‘these things says He who has the seven Spirits of God and the seven stars: “I know your works, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead. 2 Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die, for I have not found your works perfect before God.^[a] 3 Remember therefore how you have received and heard; hold fast and repent. Therefore if you will not watch, I will come upon you as a thief, and you will not know what hour I will come upon you. 4 You^[b] have a few names even in Sardis who have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with Me in white, for they are worthy. 5 He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life; but I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels.
6 “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.”’

Ok, so during this time- scholars suggest that John wrote the book of Revelation probably in 95 AD- all kinds of crazy stuff was happening. Imagine with me for a sec. So Jesus came and died and rose again somewhere around 33 or 36 Ad. Basically, you then have these disciples chilling out in Jerusalem waiting on the Holy Spirit. Bam, that happens, and they begin to go out and witness and evangelize. Paul pops on the scene and does his business telling peeps about Jesus all around Greece and Asia Minor. There were some awesome miracles happening. Peeps were digging the message of Jesus and receiving it with joy! Whole towns were nearly converted. Now, like 30-40 years after Paul and the other apostles had laid the foundations for these churches with miracles and wonders, a completely new and separate generation had come up not really maintaining the level of fervor- well, in Sardis anyways. There were other churches at the time when John wrote Revelation who were severely being persecuted.

But NOW Sardis was just a dead church. Sardis had a rich history and had previously been known for its wealth and prestige. It had a reputation among other cities of living voluptuously.

Living large. Big balling, spending G’s.

I am not sure if you guys remember the old story about King Midas- ya know the Midas touch- when the dude touched anything it turned gold. Well, supposedly this dude ran out of hand sanitizer. So, one day he washed in the river that ran along side of Sardis. And legend has it, this is where the gold in Sardis originated from. Sardis was a “money” kind of place. The first coins in all of antiquity were minted here.

(Pictured Below- a statue of Midas)

One of the big export items from Sardis was this dark illustrious cloth, dark black, beautiful and costly. Today if someone desires to purchase a hot little black dress, they scour the internet or perhaps visit Forever 21 or Dillard’s, but back then the traders would have bought the fabric for your little black dress in Sardis. This contrasts the bright white clothing reserved for victors in Roman parades, or Saints who overcome the worldly-systems. But this dark fabric was desired all over antiquity.

The city was once the home for a temple devoted to Artemis, and the Caesar cult was pretty big back in the day- so it’s thought that even Diocletian or Vespasian had a temple there. Both emperors were known for their persecution of the church. Not to mention there was the LARGEST synagogue found in all of Asia Minor there. This synagogue has inscriptions of all the donors who made wealthy contributions to it all around.

So, this town had a reputation from the past, but now it was pretty much in ruins. A giant earthquake had hit and damaged most of Sardis. Yet people still looked back on their hay-day. There was even a joke that went around about Sardis. You see one King, Croesus, was super prideful and thought Sardis was basically impregnable. He thought that no one could or would dare scale her walls or defeat her. But, he misjudged Cyrus. This dude came and conquered the city, because they were “asleep” and not on guard for an attack.

Funny, because we see that later the church at Sardis fell asleep again. They had been part of this major spiritual influx, when the apostles came through. This awesome thing happened, and they were on fire, telling peeps about Jesus and serving, but basically over the time span of thirty or forty years, their zeal for Jesus had deteriorated just like the broken down temples and tumbled pillars that fell down the hills during the earthquake. Oh, and Now in 2025, the once great city of Sardis is all but ruins, just some farmers with some thatched huts and memories alone survive.

Rev 3:1-6 “And to the angel of the church in Sardis write,
‘these things says He who has the seven Spirits of God and the seven stars: “I know your works, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead. 2 Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die, for I have not found your works perfect before God.^[a] 3 Remember therefore how you have received and heard; hold fast and repent. Therefore if you will not watch, I will come upon you as a thief, and you will not know what hour I will come upon you. 4 You^[b] have a few names even in Sardis who have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with Me in white, for they are worthy. 5 He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life; but I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels.
6 “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.”’

There are so many lessons to be learned from Sardis:

SELFISHNESS LEADS TO DEATH. The people of Sardis were selfish. They were all about running around like zombies spending their money on little black dresses and the latest gadgetry. They never considered giving to the poor or helping the homeless. They were basically full of themselves and thought they were holy on top of it, because they went to church and had a great music.

This consumerism mind set- of being entertained and made happy- ran through their pews. Sounds a lot like us right? Let’s all go to the mall and buy some new threads and kicks and download some great music. We are all so cool and holy because we have fish bumper stickers on our cars and we go to church with the awesome light and fog show, or perhaps the fanciest of organs, during worship. Materialism poisons our hearts. We get so caught up in the gaining of new things that we lose focus on justice, mercy, and walking humbly with God.

And we become apathetic. We don’t even care about the bigger picture. We get so into our own worlds that we don’t give a crap about everybody else.

Illustration: Kurt Cobain said “My generation’s apathy. I’m disgusted with it. I’m disgusted with my own apathy too, for being spineless and not always standing up against racism, sexism and all those other -isms the counterculture has been whining about for years.”

Why don’t we stand up for the underdog?

Why can’t we be like Jesus?

Well, we have too many episodes of “Grey’s Anatomy” and “NCIS” to watch and eat “Cheetos.”

We sit for too long and we become “Comfortably Numb” just like the Pink Floyd song. We aren’t receiving any pain, the pain of the world, because we have blocked it out with all our toys and entertainment that literally drug us up from the real hurt. We come to church and we go home. We aren’t changed really. I mean we might give $1 to the missionary and listen to the local Christian radio but we aren’t acting like Jesus while we stuff our faces with prime rib from Outback and ignore people who are going hungry in the world. We are comfortable,

sitting in the pew-

Because it’s really cushy and the surround sound is awesome in the sanctuary- I can really praise Jesus in this air-conditioned 4 million dollar entertainment complex- but don’t ask me to help out with the food pantry or the rape crisis center, it might interfere with my morning “latte” me-time or I might have to reschedule my weekly manicure. Somebody might even accuse me of being a social justice person or a liberal. Plus some of those people who come might be dirty or stinky or worse, “gay.” (And while I am being sarcastic here, this is really, sadly, where many in the church are at today- just dead.)

As Christ followers, we are called to be transformed and not conformed to world patterns of isms,

that create schisms,

leading to oppression

and division.

We should therefore, serve and not think that everything is “all about me.”

Sometimes, we Jesus people, think service isn’t for us.

We think that’s just reserved for Missionaries, Preachers, or Peace Corps workers. Nope it says in the BIBLE that we all are called. And called to GO…and make disciples. NOT Sit and be entertained. “HERE WE ARE NOW- ENTERTAIN US.”

We all have to help fight the walking dead. We have been bystanders too long. We turn on CNN or Fox and just blank out to the world. We only want celebrity gossip, anyways. We don’t even flinch at the hundreds in Africa who starve every day. We’d like to argue about theology and politics on Facebook instead of serving the needy. Or maybe watch Taylor Swift instead of visiting the sick or the prisoner.

Still there are others of us who sit comfortably in yesterday. Like Grandpa who remembers buying a coke for a nickel on the first date he and grandma shared. Or, like how he walked from and to school every day three miles in the rain or snow. Remembering what God did back in 1978 with such and such revival or how so and so got saved and were on fire, is fine and dandy. BUT, don’t put God in the 1970’s box. WE HAVE LET THE FIRE ALL BUT DIE! We should blow fresh oxygen on these fires! We must not worry about yesterday’s revival. We might be missing out on the one at hand today! Revival doesn’t have to look like it did in the 1960’s or late 1980’s. God is not held back by certain styles of music- Like the Holy Spirit only ministers to people when they have made a Jericho march around the church and sang choruses until their nose turned blue, nor is god limited to our hymns and minor keys. NO. God isn’t limited to our traditions or cultures. Maybe there’s a revival happening where people are singing scream-o or even wearing baggy pants, maybe its with banjos or steel drums. God could start a revival in a bar! It might not look like God to us, but how dare we judge it. What if it’s in coffee houses, bars, and street corners.

WE MUST WAKE UP, DEAD! We must restore what we have left. We can repent from our actions and our insensitive hearts! We can pray that God change us to real Christ followers instead of Nominal Christians. We must pray that Christ gives us his eyes to see the oppressed and his hands to help them! We must strengthen what remains in our churches by reviewing our call to be Church instead of just doing Church. We should look at the dreams and visions he gave us! We must pray, more and more. We must become people of action! We must fully digest Scripture! Some of us have been hurt by scripture by ignorant people hurling verses into our lives without relationship. Some of us have a disdain for the Bible because of fundamentalists or literalists interpretations. We can learn to interpret scripture in its historical context and be free from legalistic religion to see a fresh and liberating narrative.

If we do not wake up we will be like those zombies.

Walking around dead.

Having a form of life but not really.

You can’t help anyone when you’re a zombie. You can’t really worship the Lord when you’re a zombie. YOU walk around in a daze seeking your own will. AND THIS BOOK IS SCREAMING TO US TODAY- TO WAKE UP DEAD!

What areas do you feel you need to wake up?

Prayer: Hey Jesus, Thank you for your words. Help us to live fully alive. Help us kill our own inner zombie, by strengthening what remains. Wake us up to the pain of the world, and restore us to good deeds. Help us to love you fully and to love our neighbors. In the name of the Resurrected Christ, Amen.

Who even likes the cold? I get it, some of us are into the “Polar Bear Challenge,” or we started doing cold plunges for the reset on our system, but generally, We don’t like being cold.

We don’t like being hot either. I recall being 14 years of age on a large passenger bus in Monterrey, Mexico in a traffic jam at high noon. The heat was like a hot fan blowing on your face. There were strange stenches floating up to the opened windows accompanied by the whimpering of various hairless dogs. The effluvium of some ghastly rotting thing seemed to cause nausea. The heat was so hot, everything seemed to be magnified. My thirst. The noises. THE Smells. I mean it was so hot…and stinky -I think my deodorant melted. Nobody likes to be hot.

WE ALL LIKE TO BE COMFORTABLE

Speaking of comfortable, I wanted to jump over to a little commentary on Revelation chapter 3 for the #apocalypseforlent series that I am doing on Substack.

Let’s look at Rev 3:14-22. If you’d like a little set up on Revelation- You can check out one of my earlier posts here on the book:Revelation Commentary

So, Laodicea. These peeps over here at Laodicea- man, they were comfortable. I mean they had it all going on. They were rich- you know, they had these sweet black sheep from whom some fricking cool fabric came from. You could order your cool little skinny black dress from the peeps in Laodicea or maybe get you a killer new peacoat to go with your latte. I mean these peeps had a good deal of money. As a matter of fact, they prided themselves on being rich.

There was the horrible earthquake that came through long about 60 AD; like a mad bowling ball-knocked everything down in the whole town. So, Rome’s FEMA stepped up to offer some aid. But these peeps were like, “pshhhhh….we got this.” I mean they were prideful, and they had some money. This section of Asia was the first to make coins…where Laodicea and Sardis and Colosse was…. first to mint coins.

Pictured above are some hot Springs near Hierapolis.

The land was truly green and beautiful. There were hot springs bubbling over just six miles away from the city. There were refreshing cold springs in Colossae not far, in the other direction. Laodicea was kind of in the middle of the hills- the crossroads of the trade route. This was a great place to be a merchant.

Pictured above: The Caduceus symbol and the Rod of Asclepius.

The city was also the place to go if you had a medical issue. I guess it was like the “Mayo Clinic” of ancient near Asia. This dude named Herophilus started a little school of medicine there that had previously been a snake-healing cult. The emblem many doctors wear in the service or that is on the side of the EMS vehicles, with the intertwined dual snakes comes from this cult. Caduceus is actually the sign for Hermes, which is dual snakes, and it became a symbol for healing. A single snake wrapped around a healing rod represents Asclepius. Asclepius was the Greek God of Medicine and Healing, and he was said to have studied under Chiron “The Wounded Healer” Centaur, himself. There were many Asclepions all over antiquity, including the healing pool in John’s gospel in Bethesda, where the angel “troubled the water.” Can you say, Interfaith Much? Supposedly back in Laodicea, they would let snakes wonder under patient’s beds at night and record their dreams the next day. Nonvenomous snakes of course. I can imagine getting thirsty in the night and stepping on one of those. I know half of you tuned out when I wrote “snake-healing cult,” with visions of white Appalachians dancing with copperheads, but recall Moses also fashioned a bronze snake on a pole when they were experiencing venomous bites after a time of complaining. (See Numbers 21)

(Pictured above is Asklepios, Demigod of Medicine and Healing.)

Anyways, the city was this place of great medical advancement. Due to all the fertile lands, volcanic activity, and the hot and cold springs of water- there were minerals abounding everywhere. The city is reported to have exported a powdered substance that could be digested or turned into a salve for the eyes. The minerals probably came from some of the springs in the province. The doctors from this town were so famous that some of their names appeared on coins from that day.

The people were very comfortable in Laodicea. In fact, they had gotten so comfortable with everything; they weren’t really on fire for God anymore. Kind of like the ups and downs of Israel or church history. Biblical Israel is faithful then they grow prosperous, then it’s all about the temple (tradition and culture and hierarchy) and not about devotion to God and they forget to take care of the poor, the widow, the orphan, the immigrant - so God tells them they are going to go to exile by having Jeremiah or some other prophet scream at them. And do they listen? Nope.

But they go into exile. And then the suffering comes…and they repent. It’s our cycle isn’t it?

Prosperity sometimes makes us forget about caring for others. No all of us. There are many rich women who fund good organizations doing justice and service work. There were many rich women who funded Jesus’ ministry. But sometimes, the rich can become extremely greedy and neglect caring for their community.

Kind of like us today In the Great American Church. Whew-hew. Man, we fricking got it all together don’t we? We go to this way cool church, we got the big screen or the huge organ. We got the latest Instagram-able slave-made fast-fashion being rocked out by the worship team and we even have a tattooed person who attends our church. And oh my Gosh, this latte is so good. Wow everyone at my church, drives a tesla or a jaguar, or a prius or energy efficient high dollar car. We are so environmentally conscious at my hip church, but we really don’t like the homeless or when immigrants come, or my gosh those scammers who say they need food but are trying to get gift cards from the pastor. Church is great. The who’s who of this town attends here. They are movers and shakers. They pray really long prayers and sound so holy. Music is good. La la la we don’t need anything we are so rich. Sometimes, we take care of the poor, but only for our photo ops. But while we are bobbing are head to the music in our selfish worlds, there’s a man outside on Boulevard with a cardboard sign saying “HUNGRY.” But eh, who cares right- in fact we are hungry too- but we don’t know we are ignorant- but I don’t give the man a second thought. I got to get me Air Force Ones and oversized jeans. We are so me first, so self-indulgent.

BECAUSE WE LIKE TO BE COMFORTABLE

God never intended for us to be comfortable or stagnant or lukewarm.

In Laodicea they had to cool their water in jars. It came out of the pipe sort of warm. I’m sure it left nasty hard water stains, too. You see, there wasn’t a water source; the aqua came from across the valley in aqueducts. Hot water from Hierapolis. But unfortunately, in all their ingenuity, The Romans really had a hard time figuring out insulation. So, the water lost its hot hot heat from Hierapolis and became warm. The same from the waters of Colossae. Perhaps that cold flow couldn’t make it across the valley several miles without being heated by the midday sun and it too became lukewarm.

Lukewarm water is gross. Stagnant water is gross.

When I was a little girl in Georgia my grandfather had a farm and he raised beagles. It was such a delight to be there. But some summer days my grandfather would have to empty out the water barrels because mosquitoes had hatched out. Their little larva all squiggling all over the place. Nasty stuff. I wonder if sometimes we have mosquitoes in our barrels…this stagnant lukewarm water hasn’t been stirred and it’s starting to stink. The truth is in Laodicea, there were mosquitoes growing in the barrels of their spiritual lives. They weren’t healthy, but disease ridden. They thought they were so great, what with their medicine schools- but they were wretched. They thought they were so rich- but they were poor. They were pitiful- and didn’t even know it. Despite dressing so good in their shiny black wool dresses and pea coats they were naked. AND THE SAD THING IS THEY WERE UNAWARE. There spiritual lives of lukewarmness grew bacteria. They were complacent. They didn’t care. They had become comfortably numb-

“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,

Out of the corner of my eye.

I turned to look but it was gone.

I cannot put my finger on it now.

The child is grown, the dream is gone.

I have become comfortably numb.”- Pink Floyd, “Comfortably Numb.”

Often times, we have become comfortably numb. Our American Church is no longer a great hope but a lukewarm retention pond for inculcating culture and tradition. We no longer seek to defend the oppressed, and we don’t even really desire to connect to God. We just go through these motions. We are so compromising. We have lost our flavor. I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT the sinner I am talking to us church going people. We have lost our zeal and we have become lukewarm. I think it would be better for us to be Atheists than to proclaim we love Jesus but not follow his commandments of caring for the stranger.

You are either Hot or you’re not. God addresses the Laodiceans in Revelation 3 through the exiled John. He counsels them. He tells them what they must do to change their spiritual temperature. He tells us what we must do to change our own spiritual temperature. Verse 18 states that we need to head to God’s store. We will buy Gold refined by the fire. We need to commit ourselves fully to the Lord. No longer halfhearted and lukewarm. We must be willing to risk it all. We trade in our garments- our fancy black wool peacoats or our fast-fashion- who needs them. We will be dressed in white- clothing once reserved for high statesmen in the Roman party, but clothes assigned in heaven to the saints- clothes of purity and righteousness. We got to get God’s “Lasik”- God’s eye salve. God can open our eyes and heal them. God will let us wake up from the r.e.m. of a halfhearted lukewarm existence into a new dawn and real reality.

QUOTE FROM THE MATRIX Morpheus: The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save... You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.

We must become zealous and wake up from our complacency and lukewarmness

We must change from our comfortable states to be loving towards other humans.

Now that you have some historical context to this pericope in Revelation,

Let’s read it together:

To the Church in Laodicea

¹⁴ “To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. ¹⁵ I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! ¹⁶ So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. ¹⁷ You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. ¹⁸ I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.

¹⁹ Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. ²⁰ Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.

²¹ To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne. ²² Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.”

Prayer: Help me, Oh God, to care for others. Move me away from my comfortability and stagnancy in my life. Help me to see the world through your eyes.

Amen.

What did you think?

What was “apocalypsed” or revealed to you in this reading?

But Apocalypse, really comes from the Greek word that simply means revealing.

Over lent, I am going to dive into some of the Biblical Literature that carries Apocalypse, or Proto Apocalyptic messaging. We will look at symbols from the literature, and I hope in doing so, you join me on your own journey of “revealing.”

Remember, you were built for this time.

Prayer for Today:

Creator,

Help reveal in me the things I need to know.

Show me not only the items that make me come alive but also bring out things from the hidden areas of my heart.

Amen.

See you soon, Until then- Stay Salty, my friends.

A picture above of Gehenna. (Hell) Where they are currently building high rise condos.