We all live uneventful ordinary lives; and this perfectly okay. We navigate our days through familiar rhythms—commutes to work, does daily responsibilities, and are happy with the comforting predictability of routine. Jesus spent decades in Nazareth as a carpenter's son. Peter, Andrew, James, and John rose each morning to mend their nets and cast them into the Sea of Galilee, as fishermen had done for generations. There is profound beauty in the ordinary, in lives woven from the threads of daily work and quiet faithfulness. Yet here lies the essential paradox of Christian existence: as one must be simultaneously rooted in the ordinary be also must be perpetually prepared to abandon it. The day those Galilean fishermen encountered Jesus marked not merely a career change but a fundamental reorientation of their lives (Matthew 4: 12-23). They returned home that evening not as fishermen but as fishers of people—to the bewilderment, perhaps even embarrassment, of their families and co...
There's something deeply unsettling about the persistence of religious middlemen in a faith founded on their very abolition. When Jesus repeatedly declared, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice," he wasn't offering a mild suggestion for liturgical reform. He was dismantling an entire economy of spiritual brokerage that had inserted itself between the divine and the human. Consider the strangeness of it all. God, who counts the hairs on our heads and notes the fall of every sparrow, apparently needs someone to explain our needs to him. God, who knows our thoughts before we think them and our needs before we voice them, requires elaborate rituals and institutional procedures to be moved to compassion. Jesus addressed this directly when he said that the Father knows what we need before we ask. This wasn't poetic flourish. It was a radical statement about the nature of divine awareness and the needlessness of human mediation. If God already knows, then what precisely is th...