With that said, there’s one word I grew up avoiding at all costs. Not just because I can still taste the bar of Ivory soap in my mouth. Somewhere along the way I was told that even saying “Oh my God” would get me a one-way ticket straight to hell. Even though I no longer believe that…some things still linger. We live in a culture where God’s name gets thrown around like salt on French fries. And the more casually it’s used, the less sacred it seems to become. Which is why today’s commandment, in our Big Ten series, is so important for us to understand better. It reads:
There’s a saying, you know your Irish if your parents begin yelling at you with “Jesus, Joseph and Mary…” And if that offends you, then you’re probably grew up Baptist. Or like I did, you were taught not to mix God’s name with anything…especially “damn.” But given this text, it’s hard for me to imagine God is standing around holding a cosmic swear jar. This commandment is bigger than cussing out the couch when you stub your toe. Something more dangerous. Like St. Augustine wrote, “Do not think you have kept the commandment if you merely avoid blasphemy with your lips. For you take God’s name in vain whenever you call yourself a Christian but do not live as one.” Sixteen-hundred years later that still cuts deep. Here’s what we know. To the ancient Hebrews, God’s name wasn’t just a label—it was presence, power, identity. The name YHWH was so holy it wasn’t even spoken aloud. Instead, Jews said Adonai (“Lord”) as a way of honoring God’s transcendence. To misuse the name meant more than careless speech; it meant mixing God with empty promises, false oaths, or violent agendas. Today, it’s the equivalent of putting God’s name on money. Or invoking God’s name for propaganda purposes. While it’s easy to point fingers, let’s not pretend the church is innocent. We have a long, dark history where God’s name was invoked to bless crusades and inquisitions. Armies marched into Jerusalem with the cry, “Deus vult!”—“God wills it!”—as if Christ himself were swinging the sword. And how many preachers twisted Scripture to defend slavery? Or thundered God’s judgment from pulpits to justify lynchings? How many Christians fell silent as trains carried millions to death camps during the Holocaust. Or as families are torn apart by the cruelty of executive orders? Again, this commandment is less about policing one's vocabulary and more about protecting God’s reputation in the world. The third commandment is a wakeup call for us all. Because right now there’s some politician slapping God’s name on a policy that crushes the poor. That’s breaking the third commandment. Somewhere, right now, there’s a church using God’s name to justify excluding someone from communion simply because of who they love. That’s the wrongful use of God’s name. When we baptize our personal prejudices and grudges in the name of God—this commandment says that’s a no-no. And this should worry us, because we may be doing it without even realizing it. You’ve probably heard the saying, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” It seems innocent enough, … but how many times has it been used as a license to despise the very people God loves? Now, you might be thinking, “How will I know if I’m misusing God's name in a way that will get me in trouble?” If you’re not sure, just ask: Is this love? Love is the barometer. If you invoke God’s name and the fruit of your actions isn’t love, then it isn’t God. And it certainly isn’t Christianity. Like St. Augustine warned, you can’t just claim Christ’s name and refuse what it stands for. Jesus says the way to measure faithfulness is simple: “You will know them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:20). And what is that fruit? That fruit is love. Jesus was clear, “They will know you belong to me by the way you love one another” (John 13:35). Paul drives the point home: “The only thing that counts is faith working through love” (Gal. 5:6). And at the end of the day, when everything else fades, “faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love” (1 Cor. 13:13). And John straight out states, “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars…they do not know God, for God is love” (1 John 4:20). If you wish to protect God’s name from being misused or dragged through the mud then live in a way that makes God’s name synonymous with kindness, mercy, forgiveness, and justice. As Richard Rohr says, “The best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better.” Like Jesus has already told us, all the laws and prophecies fall under this action: love God, love your neighbor as you love yourself. According to Paul, “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law” (Rom. 13:10). That’s what Christ is all about. And what must be the defining mark of Christianity. Not just speaking God’s name—but embodying it. Jesus shows us how to become the manifestation of God’s love: healing the broken. Dining with the outcast. Forgiving and loving those who mock him. If you want to bear God’s name faithfully then simply love God. Love others. And serve both. This isn’t just a slogan; it’s a way of life. The very way of Christ. So maybe the question for us isn’t, “Am I saying God’s name in vain?” But “When people hear me speak it what do they see?” Is it love? Or judgment? Generosity or fear? God’s welcoming embrace, or a closed door? In the intro of my book, I tell the story about a guy named Don who asked if I would take him to church. He was working the 12 Steps, and had no experience with religion of any kind. And needed a wing man. On the way there, I asked him why he asked me. His answer was surprising. He said, “You’re the only person I met who talked about God without saying damn after it.” Again, this commandment isn’t about censorship—it’s about showing up as God’s incarnate glory. It’s about living in such a way that when people hear the name of God, they think of hope, they find belonging, they experience compassion, and discover the truth. If your testimony of God’s great name shrinks love, if it divides families, or justifies violence against anyone, then you’re abusing God’s name. It’s the same to call yourself a Christian while refusing the way of Jesus. That too is taking God’s name in vain. As Paul reveals, Christ is “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). To bear his name is to bear God’s very likeness in the world. So, when we forgive as he forgave, welcome as he welcomed, heal as he healed, and serve as he served—then we don’t just avoid misusing God’s name. We make it holy again. That’s our call: to bear God’s holy name in such a way that the world sees God’s glory in and through us. So, let’s go out into Anamesa knowing that every kind word we offer, every generous act that feeds or forgives, every stranger welcomed, every debt forgiven, every sick person cared for, every captive freed becomes building blocks for a community of love—a holy and sacred space where we reclaim God’s reputation and live a life that radiates Christlike love.
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Sean is the last of our three to go, which means—for the first time—we’ve crossed into that strange new territory called the “empty nesters club.” I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to step into our house still carrying echoes of the family we made. Their bedrooms that once rattled with music, laughter, and the occasional slammed door will sit unnervingly quiet. The bath towels and toothbrushes will stand in their place. Even though lower food bills will be a pleasing, we know that eating meals will be different. Seats will be empty. Our hearts will ache. Our eyes will sting. If I’m being honest, they already do. Parenthood is this holy paradox: you hold on with everything you’ve got, even as you’re preparing to let go. But we’ve been preparing them for this moment all along: teaching, guiding, praying, and watching them grow into people who can walk into the world without us. I like to believe all three are not only ready to do this, but are able to do it on their own. There's an ancient Hebrew proverb that states, “Train up a child in the way they should go; even when they are old they will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6). As my lovely wife will attest, we have done what we can. Now, all we can do is to trust that God carries them the rest of the way.
The poet Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself…You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”
We’ve drawn the bow as best we could. Now comes the holy ache of release. And if there is a silver lining, it’s this: we don’t walk into this season alone. We walk with you, this community of love, who carry our stories, cry our tears, share our laughter, and remind us that every ending carries the seed of a beginning. As the door to his dorm room closes, it opens up a whole new world—for him, and for us. And in both, God is already there, welcoming us all home.
Last Sunday we began this series with the first word: “I am Yahweh. Your God. You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:1-3). We learned how this is a call for fidelity, to trust in God alone. We named how easy it is to set up false gods—and how quickly they capture our devotion. Then, after that service, someone asked why I didn’t mention what happened that week. He wasn’t talking about my book release. He was talking about the shootings. The finger pointing. The outrage. I am sorry I didn’t say anything because I think it would have proven my point on how easy it is to place lesser things between us and God. I know we don't bow to CNN or Fox News. But in order to appease the ratings gods, the networks will do whatever it takes to keep us glued to the chaos. They feed our phones and devices algorithms that feed our outrage and fear. I tell myself, just one more scroll, one more click—but it never satisfies. That’s the dangerous and subtle power of idolatry. It sneaks in, demanding our attention and claiming our allegiance. And most of the time, we don’t even know it. Which takes us to our reading of the second Commandment. “You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above or that is on the earth beneath or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments. When you think of an idol, what comes to mind? Golden calves? Carved statues? Shrines to long-dead gods? At first glance, those things seem like ancient history. But as you know, they still exist today. Just this week, a 12-foot golden statue of the president holding a giant Bitcoin was placed outside the Capitol. It was pitched as a simple symbol of innovation. But I am sure to many folks, it looks a lot like a tempting invitation to worship wealth and power. Like Psalms 135 states, “Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see. Those who make them are like them.” Back then, idols were thought to contained a deity’s power. By holding onto that power, it was believed a person could control it with rituals, and manipulate it with offerings. But the psalm goes on to tell us to put our “trust in Yahweh” who is way too big to be contained, muchless controlled. We might not have shrines to Ba’al in our homes. But idols are still a big part of our culture. I mean, there’s a show literally called American Idol. Our society is drawn to the cult of personality, where fame is revered as sacred. We pour our devotion into celebrities, athletes, influencers, politicians in cult like fashion—offering our fidelity and blind allegiance to people no different than us; excusing behavior we’d never tolerate in ourselves. While admiring someone’s talents and achievements isn’t bad. Venerating them can cause great harm to families, schools and workplaces, to society as a whole. Sports can inspire us, politics can guide us, celebrities can entertain us. But when they distort our love and fracture our communities, they can become idols. When their actions or reactions become your own, they can become idols. Worse, when they inspire you to take someone’s life or livelihood, that’s not fidelity, that’s idolatry. This is also true in religion. If you clutch a tradition so tightly it chokes out love, that’s not God, that’s idolatry. If you defend doctrine so fiercely that there’s no room for mercy, hospitality, and grace that’s not Jesus. It’s idolatry. And, sadly, it’s so engrained in our culture, that it can be hard to see in our own lives. The most dangerous idols aren’t the ones out in the open. They’re the one’s we hold in our heart. The loyalties and attachments we cling to more tightly than God. For some, it’s the idol of fear, the voice that says there will never be enough. I have to hold on to what is mine. Fear pushes others out, …it makes inclusion, compassion and generosity almost impossible. For others, it’s the idol of approval, where likes, applause, and public opinion decide your worth. You find yourself doing whatever it takes to get noticed, instead of resting in God’s delight. There’s the idol of doubt, the quiet suspicion that God isn’t really with us. Or the idol of anxiety that drowns out the still, small voice of God’s peace. The thing is, idols always promise more than they can deliver. They keep us addicted, always grasping, never at peace. But God comes to us with love and says, “I am enough. Let those things go so your hands can be free to accept all that I have to offer.” It’s like when a rich young ruler approached Jesus and asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:71-31). Mark tells us that Jesus looked at this guy with love, then named the idol holding him back. “You lack one thing. Go, sell what you own, give to the poor, and follow me.” The young man walked away sad because of his wealth. But later in the gospel, I believe we meet him again. Mark points out someone in the garden when they arrest Jesus (Mark 14:51-52). A young man wearing nothing but a linen cloth. When they tried to arrest him, he slipped away—naked—leaving behind his last possession. He gave up everything to follow the way of Jesus, and was free. Julian of Norwich wrote, “God is our clothing, who wraps us and enfolds us for love.” When we are clothed in God’s love, we don’t need the armor of idols. So, the real question isn’t whether we have idols—it’s which ones. Which allegiances have quietly taken God’s place? Which attachments do we need to let go of to be present with God again? Which fears or false securities are stopping you from actually loving God, loving others, and serving both? At its heart of the second commandment is God saying: “Don’t waste your time on things that want to control you. Remember, I have delivered you. I have set you free.” Idols take from you. But God gives. Idols shrink life. But God’s love and grace enlarges life. Idols divide, exclude, and turn neighbors into enemies. But when we trust the living God first and foremost, we have all that we need to build communities of love—spaces where people are cherished not for what they own, or achieve, or promise but belong because they’re made in God’s image. So, what things are keeping you from resting in God’s abundance? What do you need to let go of to be filled to the brim with love, peace, joy, purpose? Let’s not forget, this commandment comes with a promise: God’s steadfast love flows “to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.” Jesus invites us to empty our pockets, open our hearts, and unclench our fists; to let go of the idols that promise safety but never deliver. And in their place, let us open our hearts to be filled with all that God has to offer. As Thomas Merton put it, “The greatest need of our time is to clean out the enormous mass of mental and emotional rubbish that clutters our minds, and make room for God alone.” So, this week, I invite you to pay attention to what you lean on to feel important or safe. Notice what you cling to when you’re scared. Or when the world is falling apart around you. Name it. And if you can, release it. Because God has something better for you. The very heart of God. In God’s heart is the kind of love that can’t be boxed in, bought out, or bargained with. A love that is given to anyone who wants it, without terms or conditions. A love that is trustworthy, constant, and always, always on your side. Together, we get to be a community that bows only to God. A community that walks the way of Jesus, embodying God’s love with every fiber of our being. As you leave here today, take God’s love with you. Hold onto God’s promise tightly. And remember: every idol we release makes a little more room for love to take root. When love takes root, we become the people Jesus dreamed we could be. The world doesn’t need more fear, more blaming, or more division. What it needs—what we need—are people who trust God’s steadfast love more than idols. Work Cited Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, trans. Elizabeth Spearing (London: Penguin Books, 1998), 135. Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1956), 34. In God’s weakest state, the world—and everything in it—is forever changed. Love saves us. That is the gospel Jesus proclaimed.
For years, I read this verse as a meditation on wisdom, not weakness. But lately, I’ve begun to see the deeper paradox: that God’s weakness is, in fact, stronger than my strongest effort. And that weakness is love.
In our cultural moment, something unwise (and disturbing) is happening. Love is being framed as weakness. Compassion is dismissed as “soft.” Empathy is treated as indulgent. We are told that those who practice such foolishness must be weak. Fragile, like snowflakes. And those who promote such ideas equate stupidity with being smart. If this rhetoric was just from the fringes, we could shrug it off as foolishness. But sadly, we’re seeing a resurgence of this kind of toxic thinking—that strength is domination, certainty, or control—is creeping back into our institutions. Into the workplace. Into our politics. Even into the church. Dorothee Soelle once wrote, “God’s power is not the power to dominate, but the power to suffer with and for others.” To the world—especially to those who clutch their weapons—such power looks like defeat. But to Paul, it is the very heart of God. How, then, did the church come to embrace such folly? The great mystic Julian of Norwich reminds us of who we are and who God is: “The love of God creates in us such a unity that when we see and love our neighbor, we see and love God.” This is not weakness. It is a strength that remakes the world. Just as hate ignites more hatred, love begets more love. In God’s weakest state, the world—and everything in it—is forever changed. Love saves us. That is the gospel Jesus proclaimed. By contrast, human perceptions of strength lean on exclusion and control. I have personally seen it in boardrooms where “leadership” is defined by posturing rather than listening. I’ve seen it in political rallies that call compassion naïve while baptizing violence in religious language. And I’ve seen it in churches that reward certainty more than hospitality. I’ve seen all three, up close. And I walked away—from a career, from a political tribe, even from religion itself—to pursue God’s “weakness.” Paul’s letter begins with this reminder: the cross itself—the very symbol of weakness and shame in the Roman world—is the site of God’s greatest power. What empire mocked, God exalted. What the world dismissed as foolish, God called wisdom. So if we’re serious about following the way of Jesus—if we actually want his words to shape us and transform us—then we’ve got to resist the lie that empathy is weakness. We must refuse the temptation to equate love with foolishness. For it is precisely love—long-suffering, tender, and resilient—that dismantles the false powers of domination. “The great paradox of God’s love,” wrote Henri Nouwen, “is that it is most fully revealed in weakness.” So let us live in that paradox. Let us embody the strength of God’s so-called weakness, building a community not on fear or force but on the radical and risky power of love—the very love of God that has brought empires and emperors to their knees. Work Cited Dorothee Soelle — Dorothee Soelle, Suffering (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975), 37. Julian of Norwich — Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, trans. Elizabeth Spearing (London: Penguin Classics, 1998), 184. Henri Nouwen — Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Wounded Healer: Ministry in Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1979), 37.
Like a couple at the altar, acting out of love their respected for one another, the Big Ten commandments begin not with rules, or a checklist of I do’s and I don’ts. It begins with God making a vow to us saying, “Forsaking all others, I choose you.” Many of us, myself included, have often seen the commandments as a kind of blueprint for living rightly with God. But it’s a little more than just that. Notice how it begins. Not with a prohibition, but with a proclamation: “I brought you out of Egypt. I set you free.” God isn’t warning us saying, “Behave, or else.” God is handing us an invitation that declares:“You don’t belong to Pharaoh anymore. You belong to me. You’re free. Now live free.” The First Commandment is all about freedom…and fidelity. This is the foundation of faith, but it’s also an invitation to a loving relationship with God and each other. Where we choose to place our trust, our allegiance, our hope. It’s like God standing at the altar, looking us in the eye and saying, “I do.” Which throws the question to us: How will we respond? Before you answer, think about this. In Jewish tradition, the First Commandment isn’t even called a commandment. It’s called the First Word. Because it starts with God’s self-disclosure: “I am the LORD your God.” Notice the intimacy—not “the God,” but your God. This is covenantal language. It’s intimate, it’s personal, it’s relational. That’s the invitation. And then there’s the Hebrew phrase, ʿal-pānāy — which literally means “before my face.” As in, “Don’t put other things before my face.” It’s like God is saying, “Don’t block the view. Don’t let anything come between us. I just want to see you. All of you.” You see, God wants to be our first priority, our truest, deepest love because that’s who we are to God. Which means we each have to ask ourselves an even harder question: What have I let slip into that sacred space between me and Yahweh ? As you probably know, there’s no shortage of gods out there vying for our attention. Take the shiny god of technology that promises connection, but often leaves us more isolated than ever. Or the god of economic security that whispers if we just stack up enough money, we’ll be safe. But it usually leaves us feeling more anxious, clutching what we have, fearing others will take it from us. As we see unfold every day in the news, the gods of politics, nationalism, and even denominational pride. They demand loyalty by drawing lines between who’s in, who’s out, who’s right, who’s wrong. These gods thrive on exclusion and ego; they say you’re only worthy if you’re right. None of these things are evil in themselves—they can all be good gifts. But when they start asking for our total devotion—our time, relationships, compassion, integrity—they stop being gifts and start being gods. We’ll discuss this more next week with the second commandment on idol worship. But for now, let’s look at Jesus who was tempted in the wilderness. He faced the very same question before us: Who gets your allegiance, your fidelity? The tempter offered him bread to satisfy hunger, power to rule the nations, and spectacle to win followers. Each is an idol in disguise: economic security, political control, religious performance. And to each one, Jesus responded faithfully: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only. Where Israel stumbled in the wilderness, Jesus remains faithful. Where we bow to other gods, Jesus shows us another way. His “no” to the worldly gods is a resounding “yes” to the God of love, the God of freedom, the God who alone deserves our trust. In a world where loyalty to tribe, nation, ideology, or class pits us against each other—Jesus points us back to the One whose love unites. A love so abundant, so all-encompassing, that it spills over to everyone God loves. Including you. Me. And every jerk you can think of. That’s why Jesus said this is the greatest commandment: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength” (Mark 12:29–30). Fidelity to God is an invitation into the most profound relationship possible—one that takes in our whole being. But he doesn’t stop there. Jesus also adds: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Mark 12:31). The two loves are inseparable. You can’t have one without the other. The way I see it, when those smaller gods creep in, our love for Yahweh and our neighbors shrinks. It makes us stingy, selective, tribal, divisive. This is true no matter what political, economic, or religious side you are on. But when our love for Yahweh comes first, everything else expands—freeing us to build a space where everyone belongs, even the neighbors we’d rather avoid. To quote the Catholic activist Dorothy Day, “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” Let that quote settles in your heart. I hope it makes you uncomfortable. And forces you to take an honest look at what fills that space between you and God. Because at Anamesa, you’ll find Democrats who are passionate about social justice. And you’ll find Republicans who are passionate about fiscal responsibility. In our community, we’ve got folks drowning in student debt. And retirees worried about their investments keeping up with inflation. Here you will find openly gay people who sit next to folks wrestling with traditional teachings. And somehow we all still get along, still love, still hold each other in faith and fidelity. When we put God first – and not our version of God, not our political spin god, not our cultural conditioning god, but the living God who declared “you are mine,” something remarkable happens. We find that we can disagree deeply about secondary things and still stay united in our primary devotion to the One in whose image we are all made. Right out of the gate, God declares: you are my beloved. And when we honor that, we can love God, love others and serve both—together, as one. Henri Nouwen reminds us that “Community is not a place where people have it all together. It’s a place where each one of us is welcome as we are.” When we put God first, trusting God’s fidelity, we can build communities where love is practiced without restrictions. We can become that sacred space where everyone belongs—even the one who drives you crazy. This doesn’t mean we’ll all think alike or vote alike. We won’t. And we shouldn’t. But what we should do is love alike—with the kind of radical, justice-seeking, mercy-extending love that Jesus embodied. So here’s the call: let’s put down the false gods of tribe, ideology, and fear. And turn again toward the God whose love frees us to see each other as beloved. The gates of Egypt are behind us. The wilderness is before us. And God is in the space between - always faithful, always loving, always uniting. So let’s have no other gods get in the way of this Divine presence and faithfulness. Let’s not allow any false allegiances block our view of the God who wants to see our whole being. This week, I invite you to examine your heart. What are the things that tug at your ultimate devotion, and come between you and God? Name them. And let them go. So that you can face the One whose fidelity never wavers, and say “I do.” To us as a church: let’s keep building a community where God’s love has the first and final word. And may our vow to God become freedom for all, until God’s kingdom is visible and unobstructed among us in the space between.
So I did. I sat down at my desk, and through fear, self-doubt, and a whole lot of coffee, I started writing. And I told myself: Even if no one reads it, I’ll still have done what I set out to do. Now, less than a year later, my first book $h!t Jesus Says: Reclaiming Love in the Kingdom of Heaven is published. It’s a written invitation to remember the dangerous, beautiful simplicity of Jesus’ message: love.
I’m not just sharing this to promote my book, which is available here. No, I’m telling you this because Jesus calls us out of our comfort zones. To risk loving the way he loves—boldly, foolishly, without guarantee of “success.” Not even rejection stopped him from stepping out in love. Just as Jason showed me, the Kingdom of Heaven doesn’t come through playing it safe. It comes when we dare. When we risk. When we love. So whatever your “book” is—write it. Whatever your “campaign” is—run it. Whatever love looks like in your world—live it. Because even if the world doesn’t applaud, you’ll have done what Jesus asked: you’ll have loved.  Never in my wildest dreams or nightmares did I ever imagine I would write a book. But I did. And you can read it. I always had trouble reading due to some uninvited learning disabilities. But I've read this book. And I like it. I think you will too. So, do yourself a favor and buy a copy. In fact, buy a dozen and hand them out to people (christians) who make you made. Published by Apocryphile Press. Check out their other great books at: apocryphilepress.com
Needless to say, the irony wasn’t lost on those in attendance that they had gathered there on Sunday, breaking a commandment they were trying to enshrine. There’s a reason our country was founded on the separation of church and state. But that hasn’t stopped many from trying to use God’s law as a political prop. Yet, out of the 600+ commandment, there isn’t one where God is asking for monuments or mandates. What God desires is faithfulness. Living life shaped by love. As we begin a series on these “Big Ten” commandments, we start with Moses, who stands before his people and tells it like it is: “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. But if your heart turns away and you do not hear but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall certainly perish; you shall not live long in the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and possess. I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him, for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.” Deuteronomy 30:15–20 Love By the time we meet Moses here, he’s an old man. Tired and worn down by forty years of shepherding God’s people through a difficult wilderness journey. He has led Israel out of Egypt. And now stands just outside the Promised Land delivering his final message: Choose life. This isn’t a slogan. Or propaganda to get a vote. But it is a choice everyone must make. Life, he says, will be blessed when it’s lived by God’s words. That includes the Big Ten. But they’re not the end-all, be-all. These commandments are building blocks for us to construct communities of love in the space between. Communities where devotion isn’t proven by hanging plaques on a wall. But how we love God, love others, and serve both. Over the next few weeks we’ll look at each commandment individually but today let’s start with a quick overview to see where we’re heading. The first one states Have No Other Gods Before Me. Every ancient culture had its gods—war gods, fertility gods, weather gods. Israel’s God, Yahweh, was different. Yahweh was the god of all things. A god who doesn’t take or demand, but gives and makes sure everyone is cared for. The first commandment isn’t about blind obedience to some set of rules—it’s about trusting God who says, “You are mine, I’ve got you.” Trust is how love takes root in us. The second command is: Make No Idols. Ancient idols, simply put, were just carved images people made to contain or hold a god. But this commandment reminds Israel, Yahweh can’t be pinned down, controlled, or contained. Yahweh is too big for that. Too big even for any religion to own. Today, our idols aren’t golden calves. They’re politics that presumes God’s rubber stamp. Churches that act as if they own the copyright on truth. It’s anything or anyone who pretends to have all the answers. The invitation here is humility. Let God be God—and let love be the only thing that shapes and contains us. The next commandment is Don’t Take God’s Name In Vain. Is it safe to assume you were told this is about cussing when you stub your toe? But as most scholars agree… it’s about slapping God’s name on things that aren’t love. History is filled with people using God’s name to bless slavery, defend segregation, and start wars. To misuse God’s name is to weaponize love. To honor God’s name is to live so love becomes the bridge between hurt and healing. And what’s the fourth commandment? Remember the Sabbath. This command mattered deeply to God’s people because in Pharaoh’s Egypt there were no weekends, no time off—just endless bricks, endless quotas, endless grind. But out in the wilderness, God flips that script. No longer is our worth measured by what we produce, but how we love. Sabbath is the space where love breathes and delights. And finds rest in God’s heart. The fifth commandment seems pretty straight forward: Honor Your Father and Mother. This is more than just doing what your parents say. It’s about protecting the most vulnerable in our tribe, our society—the aging, the fragile, the forgotten. It’s a reminder that we all belong to a chain of life larger than ourselves. As Henri Nouwen put it: “we are beloved children, sent to remind others of the same.” When we offer others the same love and grace, we offer ourselves, we begin to live as children of an all-loving God. For many of us, the next commandment is a no brainer. Do Not Murder. This sounds easy enough for most people. And yet we still have mass shootings every day. In a world addicted to violence, this is God clearly saying, “Stop it. Put down your weapons. Choose life, not death.” Yahweh is a God of life. Jesus takes it further: it’s not just about taking someone’s life, he says stop rejecting, stop hating, stop dehumanizing others because they’re not like you. Love honors life, because every life bears God’s image. Which makes the seventh commandment one we shouldn’t turn a blind eye to: Do Not Commit Adultery More than just keeping your marriage vows sacred this commandment is about fidelity—to God, to each other, to love itself. If you love you will always show up with integrity and grace. You will always choose to do the right thing, for the good of all people. This is a command to embody the kind of love that holds every life together. The eighth commandment tells us: Do Not Steal. This one isn’t just about shoplifting. It’s about survival. Back then, stealing someone’s goat or tools could mean they starved. Or be forced into debt that would lead to indentured servanthood. Love puts others first. It cares for and protects the poor from exploitation and death. But what about stealing someone’s joy, hope, or dreams? As Jesus always shows us, love doesn’t take—it embraces, builds up, and asks us to give abundantly so no one is without. While the Texas Legislature blatantly broke the Fourth Commandment, I don’t know of any politician who hasn’t disregarded this next one: Do Not Bear False Witness. Like stealing, lying about someone could cost a person their land—or even their life. But for some reason, our political and religious leaders have no problem spreading false stories about immigrants, the poor, and the LGBTQ community. These lies don’t just fracture our country—they put God’s beloved children in harm's way. God’s commandment is very clear: tell the truth. And spread it with love. Because love speaks in ways that heal, not harm. Love refuses to weaponize words. Lastly, Do Not Covet. This last command sneaks in quietly. It shifts the focus from outward actions to inward desire. It’s less about lusting after your neighbor’s life. And more about living in constant comparison with others…in a zero-sum, winner-takes-all game. Coveting is that it turns everyone into competitors. But love turns envy into gratitude. And neighbors into family. So choose love and you will win every time. Moses tells God’s children, if you live like this, your life will be blessed. But when we treat the commandments like wall art, I fear they lose their life, their meaning. And we lose sight of our life, our purpose, our call. I think Jesus knew that. When he was asked, “What’s the greatest commandment?” he doesn’t pick one of the Big Ten. Instead, he reaches back to an earlier passage in Deuteronomy 6:5: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind.’ And then he adds a reminder from Leviticus 19:18: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Jesus shows us that love is the heart of the law, the thread that ties it all together. It’s like the Big Ten are snapshots. But love is the whole movie. The way I see it, the commandments show us what a blessed life looks like when love is practiced, faithfully and fully. Moses said: Choose life. Jesus said: Choose love. Different sides of the same coin. Life without love isn’t life at all. And love that doesn’t give life isn’t really love. It’s that simple. We can’t just hang commandments on a wall and call it a day. Our job is to build communities of love that live each one out. If our leaders really want to put the commandments on display, then perhaps they should first put them on their hearts and display them in their lives. If they want to hang up ‘Do not bear false witness,’ they should stop spreading lies—about elections, about immigrants, about neighbors. If they want to post ‘Do not kill,’ they should pass laws that reduce gun violence. And offer health care to everyone. If they want ‘No other gods before me,’ they should stop bowing at the altars of corporate money and party loyalty. At the end of the day, the commandments aren’t some moral scorecard. Each one is a mirror showing us how well we love. And love—not plaques, not platitudes—is the truest sign of devotion. So let’s choose life. Let’s choose love. And may these words be our blessing—from our God who calls us beloved children and said, "I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts" (Jeremiah 31:33). |
Ian MacdonaldAn ex-copywriter turned punk rock pastor and peacemaker who dedicates his life to making the world a better place for all humanity. "that they all might be one" ~John 17:21Get the Book
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“Prius vita quam doctrina.”
~ St. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) * “Life is more important than doctrine.”
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