#leon bloder

From time to time, I encounter people who identify as Christian, and as soon as they know what I do for a living, they will share in a conspiratorial way something like this: 

"Don't you think that the world has just gone to hell in a handbasket?  It feels like the end times. I just can't wait for Jesus to come back and take care of this sinful, old world once and for all." 

For the sake of brevity, I condensed the information those people will share into a couple of sentences, but you get the idea.  They've been taught that the world is a bad place, and full of darkness, and the best they can hope for is that at some point all of the "unrepentant sinners" will get their comeuppance.  

Honestly, I understand this. At one point in my life, I bought into that way of thinking.  But I've learned since then that system of belief isn't constructive, and not at all what Jesus intended for his followers.  

Some years ago, I read an amazing quote from author Rob Bell that has been in my thoughts lately.  

“Why blame the dark for being dark? It is far more helpful to ask why the light isn’t as bright as it could be.” 

There is an old adage that says, “It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.” Rob Bell’s quote is a powerful reimagining of that truth. We often find ourselves pointing fingers at the brokenness of the world—the sin, the corruption, the pain, the confusion. 

It’s easy to grow weary and cynical, to grumble about the state of things and lament the perceived decline of morals and faith in the culture we inhabit. But darkness is doing what darkness does--creating shadow, bringing fear, producing anxiety.  

The better question is: Are we doing what light is meant to do?

Jesus told His followers, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). He never called us to be the gatekeepers of who’s in or out, who’s worthy or unworthy. He called us to shine—to be a community so full of love, grace, and truth that others can’t help but be drawn toward it.

Far too often, Christians become obsessed with defining boundaries. We argue over doctrine, practice, and tradition, forgetting that the world isn’t transformed by arguments, but by love. While we debate who’s right, the world grows colder and dimmer, longing for warmth and light.

God’s creation—including the people around us—is still beautiful, still sacred, still pulsing with divine potential. When we only see the flaws, we miss the fingerprints of God in the faces of our neighbors, coworkers, and even our critics. What would it look like if, instead of lamenting the world’s darkness, we asked, “How can I shine more brightly today?”

Maybe it’s showing kindness to someone who feels invisible. Maybe it’s choosing forgiveness instead of resentment. Maybe it’s speaking up with truth and love when it would be easier to stay silent. Maybe it’s simply showing up in someone’s life with compassion and a listening ear.

Light doesn’t need to be loud. It just needs to be present.

So let us be the people who light candles—who carry the light of Christ into every space we inhabit. Let’s be known not for who we exclude, but for how well we love. Because when the light shines brighter, the darkness has no choice but to recede.

Prayer: 

Throughout Holy Week, we will journey alongside Jesus as He guides us toward the Cross, deepening our faith and understanding of His mission.

According to the Gospel of Mark, following His triumphant entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, Jesus returned to the Temple on Monday and instigated a significant disruption:  

“On reaching Jerusalem, Jesus entered the temple courts and began driving out those who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves, and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. And as he taught them, he said, Is it not written: 'My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations'? But you have made it a den of robbers.” (Mark 11:15-17).

So what exactly was Jesus doing in this moment? Theologians Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan assert that He was staging a powerful prophetic teaching moment, reminiscent of the prophet Jeremiah, who had confronted worshippers at the Temple. 

The Temple system had devolved into corruption. The overly religious individuals of Jesus' time had begun to idolize the institution rather than worship the God who established it. 

They had started to prioritize rituals, systems, and a rigid adherence to rules over the true essence of their faith, expressing love for God through acts of justice, mercy, and compassion toward the "least" in their society.

This dangerous trajectory had been warned against by Hebrew prophets centuries earlier, such as Amos and Hosea, who delivered God's message:

“I hate, I despise your solemn festivals and take no delight in your solemn assemblies….” (Amos 5:21-23).    “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” (Hosea 6:6).

C.S. Lewis noted that this issue continues to affect the Christian church in our age. He asserted that when Christians begin to blur the lines between God and the systems, rules, and regulations of their faith, they may come to view the Christian life as a series of transactions, believing:

“...as the only thing [God] wants so that their punctual performance will satisfy Him without obedience to His demands for mercy.”

As we reflect on Jesus' actions in the Temple today, let us be called to faithfulness in our own understanding of faith. 

It is all too common for Christians to perceive their involvement in the Church as a means to earn God's love. In this pursuit, we can easily lose sight of our true calling to be a light in the world.

May we strive to follow Jesus daily, focusing less on religious practices and more on our relationship with Him, who, in the words of the Apostle Paul, “loved the Church and gave himself for it.”

There are seasons in life when the world feels unsteady—when headlines unsettle us, when uncertainty lingers in our personal lives, and when anxiety hums quietly beneath the surface of our days. In those moments, it can be tempting to withdraw, to turn inward, to convince ourselves that we can carry it all alone. And yet, it is precisely in these moments that the presence of a faith community becomes not just helpful, but essential.

From the very beginning, God has called people not only into relationship with Him, but into relationship with one another. The early church understood this deeply: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42). Their shared life was not an accessory to faith—it was the very environment in which faith took root and flourished.

When the world feels dark, faithfully showing up to be with others—singing, praying, serving, and simply being present—is a quiet but powerful act of resistance. It is a way of declaring that fear does not have the final word. Every time you walk through the doors, every time you take your place among others who are also seeking hope, you are pushing back against isolation, despair, and disconnection.

Nadia Bolz-Weber captures something profound about this in her reflection: “I don't know if I want to call it stubbornness or faithfulness because both of those tend get twisted up in my mind a little bit. Like I think that faithfulness is a form of stubbornness... that I can get behind.”

There is something beautifully honest in that tension. Faithfulness doesn’t always feel heroic. Sometimes it looks like stubbornly showing up when you don’t feel like it. It looks like sitting in the pew when your heart is heavy, singing when your voice feels weak, or reaching out when it would be easier to retreat. This kind of “stubborn faithfulness” becomes a lifeline—not only for ourselves, but for others who are drawing strength from our presence even when we don’t realize it.

Hebrews reminds us of this shared calling: “Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together… but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (Hebrews 10:24–25). In uncertain times, gathering is not optional—it is formative. It shapes us into people who can endure, hope, and love.

So if you have drifted, if the habit of showing up has waned, consider this your gentle invitation back. Not because you must, but because you need not walk alone. Your presence matters. Your voice matters. Your story matters.

And together, in small and steady ways, we become a light that no darkness can overcome.

Prayer Faithful God, when the world feels uncertain and our hearts grow anxious, draw us back into community. Give us the courage to show up, even when it is hard. Strengthen us through one another, and make us bearers of Your light in a weary world. Amen.

Reflection Questions

When life feels uncertain, what tends to pull you away from community—and what might help you return?

How have you experienced encouragement or strength from others in your faith community?

Last night I was more tired than I have been in a very long time.  My entire house was (mostly) moved to my new house, and with the rain and some unforeseen complications, it took nearly 10 hours. 

Then, after all was said and done, I had to go back to my old house to get all my bedding and a bunch of other things, so I fully loaded my Ford Bronco once more, and then trudged another thousand steps or more to get it unloaded. 

By the time my bed was made and I  was ready to climb in it, I was so exhausted that the thought of getting up and writing a Devo seemed like an impossible task.  I told my fiancée about this, and she said, "Why don't you write about that?"

So I did.  Only this morning I'm rested, clear-headed, and about to drink my second cup of coffee because at the last minute I remembered to bring my coffee maker over last night.  And I've been thinking about the power of rest, and how infrequently most of us allow ourselves to embrace it. 

When we are weary—truly weary in both body and soul—it can feel as though rest is a luxury we cannot afford. There is always more to do, more to fix, more to carry. Yet the deeper truth is this: rest is not a reward for finishing everything; it is a gift that makes life itself sustainable.

The writer Anne Lamott once said, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” Her words carry a gentle wisdom. We are not designed to run endlessly. Like any good creation, we require pause, renewal, and stillness in order to function as we were meant to.

Scripture echoes this truth again and again. In Psalm 46:10, we hear the invitation: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Stillness is not inactivity—it is sacred awareness. It is the quiet space where we remember who we are and whose we are. Jesus himself extends a tender call in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Notice that he does not say, “Come to me once you have finished everything,” but simply, “Come.”

Rest is an act of trust. It requires us to loosen our grip on the illusion that everything depends on us. It asks us to step away from the tyranny of the urgent—the endless noise of what demands our attention—and to return to what truly matters. When we rest, we declare that our worth is not measured by productivity, but by being beloved children of God.

In a restless world, choosing rest is a quiet form of resistance. It is a way of saying that your soul matters, your body matters, and your life is more than a checklist of accomplishments.

So carve out space. Breathe deeply. Sit in silence. Take a walk without rushing. Turn off the noise for a while. In that sacred pause, you may discover that God has been waiting—not in the urgency, but in the stillness.

Prayer Gracious God, when I am weary and burdened, help me to come to you. Teach me to rest without guilt and to be still without fear. Restore my body, renew my spirit, and remind me that I am held in your care. Amen.

Reflection Questions

Where in your life are you feeling the greatest weariness right now?

What practices might help you create intentional space for rest this week?

I'm moving today.  More specifically, movers are coming today to move all my furniture to a different house.  The moving process has been underway for some time, and I've got the aches and pains to prove it.  

I've taken 14 loads of donations to Goodwill in the past week and a half, and at least 12 loads to my new house over the past couple of weeks.  I got rid of a bunch of furniture through Facebook Marketplace, all of which has happened over the last few days. 

Last night, I looked around the house, and was struck by the empty spaces and the piled-up boxes.  I felt a twinge of dread.  It hit me that it was the last night I would spend in the place where my kids grew up, my mother passed away, and where I have spent the last three years remaking my life.   

I had a hard time falling asleep with all the memories swirling around in my mind. It turns out, even the change we have longed for can be difficult when it becomes a reality.  

Change has a way of unsettling us. Even when it brings possibility, it often arrives wrapped in uncertainty. We cling to what is familiar because it feels safe, predictable, and controllable. Yet life itself tells a different story—one where change is not the exception, but the rule.

Author Heraclitus once wrote, “The only constant in life is change.” While simple, this truth carries deep wisdom. To live is to move, to grow, to evolve. Resisting change, then, is not just resisting circumstance—it is resisting the very nature of life that God has woven into creation.

Scripture reminds us that change is not something to fear, but something God can use for good. Through the prophet Jeremiah, God speaks words that have comforted generations: “For surely I know the plans I have for you… plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope” (Jeremiah 29:11). Even when we cannot see the full picture, we are invited to trust that God is at work within the transitions we face.

Consider also Isaiah’s promise: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19). God is always creating, always renewing, always inviting us into something new. And in Romans 8:28, we are reminded that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” Change, then, becomes not a threat, but an opportunity—an opening through which God’s purposes can unfold.

Embracing change is, at its core, an act of hope. It is a declaration that we trust God more than we trust our fear. It is a willingness to step forward, even when the path is unclear, believing that God walks with us into every unknown.

So when change comes—and it will—do not shrink back. Release your grip on fear. Trust the One who holds your future. Step forward with courage, knowing that the same God who has carried you this far will not abandon you now.

Prayer Gracious God, when change unsettles me, anchor me in your promises. Help me to trust your plans and to walk forward with courage and hope. Remind me that you are with me in every new beginning. Amen.

Reflection Questions

What change in your life are you currently resisting, and why?

How might trusting God’s promises reshape your perspective on this change?

Finding and pursuing your purpose in life is one of the greatest and most intrinsic longings that we humans have.  Each of us longs to live a life that matters, no matter what we might believe about God and God's direction for us.  

Those of us who believe in Divine plans might call this "doing God's will," or something to that effect, but the desire to fulfill that longing to find purpose and meaning in the life we've been given is shared by all of us. 

The problem we all face, however, is that we have so many conflicting suggestions about how to pursue purpose and meaning, and it is often difficult to discover why we've been put on this earth in the first place.  

We spend so much of our lives looking ahead—toward the next goal, the next achievement, the next stage where we believe life will finally feel meaningful. Purpose, we assume, is waiting for us somewhere “up there,” just beyond our current reach. But what if purpose isn’t found at the summit? What if it is discovered in the very place we are standing?

Author Shannon Adler writes:

“I am convinced that the jealous, the angry, the bitter and the egotistical are the first to race to the top of mountains. A confident person enjoys the journey, the people they meet along the way and sees life not as a competition. They reach the summit last because they know God isn’t at the top waiting for them. He is down below helping his followers to understand that the view is glorious where ever you stand.”

There is a quiet truth in these words that echoes throughout Scripture. Again and again, we see that God is not confined to some distant destination. 

In Psalm 139, the psalmist proclaims that there is nowhere we can go where God is not already present. In Matthew 6, Jesus reminds us not to worry about tomorrow, for today holds enough of God’s presence and provision. And in Philippians 4, Paul speaks of learning the secret of contentment in every circumstance—not because life is perfect, but because God is near.

Purpose is not something we earn by climbing higher or achieving more. It is something we awaken to when we become fully present to where we are. It is found in the conversations we might otherwise rush through, in the ordinary moments we are tempted to overlook, in the sacred “now” that we so often trade for an imagined “later.”

When we slow down enough to notice, we begin to see that God is already here—meeting us in the middle of our lives, inviting us to live deeply rather than hurriedly. The view is, indeed, glorious wherever we stand, not because everything is ideal, but because God is present.

So wherever you find yourself today—whether on the climb, in the valley, or somewhere in between—pause. Breathe. Look around. You may discover that purpose has been quietly waiting for you all along, right where you are.

Prayer Gracious God, help me to be fully present in this moment. Quiet my restless striving and open my eyes to your presence here and now. Teach me to find purpose not in reaching the summit, but in walking faithfully with you each step of the way. Amen.

Reflection Questions

Where in your life are you rushing ahead instead of being present to where you are?

What might change if you believed that God is fully present with you in this moment?

I was thinking this morning about Jesus' command to love our enemies, and I realized I didn't like the notion of having any.  The fact that there might be people out there who considered me an enemy, or an opponent was disconcerting. 

I like to imagine that I'm not the kind of person who someone would despise, but I know there are probably a few folks who do, for whatever reason.  

The truth of the matter is, most of us do have people in our lives who don't care for us.  And maybe these same people have said or done things to hurt us. We might be able to get our heads around the idea of forgiving these people, because we don't want to walk around filled with bitterness about it.  

But loving them?  That seems like a bridge too far, doesn't it?  

Loving our enemies may be one of the most difficult teachings Jesus ever gave us. In the Sermon on the Mount, he says plainly, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). It sounds beautiful in theory, but in practice, it can feel almost impossible—especially when the wounds are deep.

Few stories capture this struggle more powerfully than that of Corrie ten Boom. Years after surviving the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, Corrie found herself face-to-face with one of the guards who had once tormented prisoners. The man, now a Christian, approached her and asked for forgiveness.

Corrie froze. The memories came rushing back—the suffering, the loss, the injustice. She knew what Jesus commanded, but her heart resisted. In that moment, she prayed a simple but honest prayer: “Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give your forgiveness.”

What happened next surprised even her. As she reached out her hand, she felt a surge of love—real, tangible love—for the man she once considered an enemy. It was not something she manufactured; it was something she received.

Reflecting on that moment, Corrie later wrote: “And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world's healing hinges, but on [Jesus's]. When he tells us to love our enemies, he gives along with the command, the love itself.”

This is the heart of the Gospel. God never asks us to do something and then leaves us to figure it out on our own. When Jesus calls us to love beyond our capacity, he also supplies what we lack. As Paul reminds us, “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit” (Romans 5:5).

Loving our enemies is not about excusing harm or pretending pain doesn’t exist. It is about opening ourselves to a love that is greater than our wounds—a love that heals, restores, and transforms.

Today, whatever burden you may be carrying, consider praying Corrie’s prayer. You don’t have to force forgiveness. You only have to be willing to receive it.

Prayer Gracious God, when forgiveness feels beyond me, give me your love. Fill my heart with what I cannot create on my own, and teach me to love as you love. Amen.

Reflection Questions

Who in your life feels most difficult to forgive right now?

What would it look like to pray honestly for God’s help in loving them?

I once had a friend tell me that if everyone in my congregation agreed with me, I probably had created a cult and not a church.  I find a small amount of comfort in that when I have seasons when the critics come out of the woodwork. 

Churches that aren't willing to pursue some holy imagination tend to lose their ability to dream, and when that happens, death follows.  We change or die, according to the poet Wendell Berry, and it's not always warm and fuzzy as we do it.  

But not everyone embraces change easily, and when people become anxious, they often channel that anxiety into criticism, some of which can be pointed and hurtful.  

Winston Churchill once wrote:  

“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body; it calls attention to the development of an unhealthy state of things. If it is heeded in time, danger may be averted; if it is suppressed, a fatal distemper may develop."

There is a hard wisdom in those words. Criticism, like pain, is rarely welcome—but it can be deeply instructive. It has a way of exposing blind spots, challenging our assumptions, and inviting us to grow. 

Scripture echoes this truth: “Let the righteous strike me—it is a kindness; let them rebuke me—it is oil on my head” (Psalm 141:5). When we receive criticism with humility, it becomes a tool that refines us rather than diminishes us. It keeps our egos in check and reminds us that we are always becoming, always learning.

But not all criticism is created equal. Some voices are not seeking to heal, but to wound. Some critics speak of fear, misunderstanding, or even resentment. Jesus himself encountered this kind of opposition. In Matthew 11, he is criticized both for fasting and for feasting—proof that some people are less interested in truth than in tearing down what they cannot control or comprehend.

This is where spiritual maturity calls us to be self-differentiated—to know who we are in God, regardless of the noise around us. The apostle Paul writes, “It is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court… It is the Lord who judges me” (1 Corinthians 4:3–4). Paul is not dismissing accountability; rather, he is rooted in a deeper center. He listens, he learns, but he does not lose himself.

So we are invited to do the same. Listen for the truth in criticism—there may be something there that can help you grow. But do not surrender your calling to every loud or careless voice. Stay grounded. Stay faithful. If you believe you are doing the good work God has placed before you, then continue with courage.

Let criticism refine you, not define you.

Prayer Gracious God, give me the wisdom to hear what is true, the humility to grow where I need it, and the courage to remain steady in the work you have called me to do. Guard my heart from bitterness and my spirit from fear. Help me walk faithfully in your truth. Amen.

Reflection Questions

When have you received criticism that ultimately helped you grow?

How can you discern the difference between helpful critique and harmful negativity?