Culbert Report

It feels like the opening to a Marvel movie: a furious cry steadily rising as the camera pans to a single, crude and bloodied spear waving invitingly over a sizable hill of lifeless bodies - "Josheb-basshebeth a Tahchemonite... wielded his spear against eight hundred whom he killed at one time " (2 Sam. 23:8). Flanking one side, Shammah, who (as this is a classic en medias res Marvel intro,) enters a flashback, standing alone on a deserted plot of the family farm watching his family and countrymen flee for their lives, his feet, in contrast, cemented to the ground, his ground, against the onslaught of approaching Philistines, his family's oldest enemy. His  sword raises and quivers, betraying the mixture of anxiety and rage within him : "Not today--not ever" quietly reverberates from his lips as the scene returns to its beginning, those same words echoing within Josheb-basshebeth's infuriated scream. On the other side, Eleazar, accustomed to standing alone, ...

  Sometimes I like to remind myself that the next step is simply to invite God in. As I gaze upon the mess I've made of things: the words hastily spoken, the thoughts that have ruled my mind, my quick resolve to act and fix it all (without a single nod in a heavenly direction,) often the most effective practice I can muster is to stop, survey the damage, then invite God into it. I'm capable of much without God. And most of the time, after I've displayed my awesome capabilities, my invitation begins with that time tested prayer, "help!" Today, in Mark, we see a different kind of invitation unfold. With consequences that continue to shove themselves into our lives today. Here comes the King, riding his donkey into a city literally cheering him on. This turbid mixture of Mark's, churning with prophecy, tradition, and celebration, creates a bit of a confusing setting. One could preach on this passage every day for the next few years and never cease finding a new c...

If I sit long enough, I can still hear the soft tumble of water on the sandy beaches of the Costa Del Sol - it didn't seem like January and certainly didn't feel like the beginning of the year we've just had. As we trudge into 2021, shlepping the grief, heartache, and disappointment in the wake of what has been 2020, it's eerie to look back. Sometimes painful, sometimes laugh-out-loud funny in its irony, but mostly just strange. And sad. As dictated by tradition, we write our annual "best of" letter in January to our faithful, loving, and incredible partners. We pull out the highlights of the year that has passed, package them up with a tight bow of thanksgiving and appreciation, and send this collection of precious moments to our dearest family and friends. One of those categories is "best books." And while often it's been simple to choose one of many brilliant options, this year, the books I've read have marked this strange season of 2020 w...