A Sacred Reading

After a year of fasting from the news, I picked up a newspaper again last week while visiting my parents. I unfolded the pages and quickly remembered why I fasted. War at home and abroad. Political shouting. Stories of loss. A few glimpses of hope from the two pages of comics.

As I read, I caught myself wondering: How would Jesus read these pages? Would he scan the headlines with outrage? Would he scroll past the pain, numb to it all, wondering why bother reading at all? Or would he pause—really pause—long enough to see faces instead of factions? To feel compassion instead of cringing?

“Lectio Divina” is the ancient practice of holy reading—listening for God’s voice through Scripture. But I had a mentor who taught me a way of reading the newspaper as sacred text. A place to look for Christ at work in the mess and pain of it all.

As I thumbed through the Washington Post, I imagine Jesus not only weeping at our violence, but also feeling for our wounds. I picture him sitting with the protestors, forgiving the crooked, feeding the hungry whose benefits were cut.

​This practice reminds us that the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t far away—it’s here in the stories we’d rather skip.

I did the same with all your messages I received after sharing the news of Rev. Dawn’s unexpected passing. In the stories you shared of her laughter, kindness, and quiet courage I imagined Jesus reading those tributes and saying, “Now this is good news.”

So this week, as you read or scroll or listen, try it: ask, “Where is God already moving? Where is love needed here?” Because God is with us and the Gospel is still being written—on our streets, in our newsfeeds, and in every act of compassion that refuses to look away.

“You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ.”    (2 Corinthians 3:2-3)