Where I’ve Come in my Football Journey (eCrozier #231)

Gentlemen, this is an oblong spheroid made of pigskin. It’s called a football.
– allegedly the first words Coach Knute Rockne said to his players at Notre Dame

I’ve had a lifetime relationship with football. Mine was a football coach’s family. One of my earliest memories is sitting next to my father in our living room watching game film and helping him grade his player’s performance from last week’s game and then breaking down film trying to figure out how to defeat next week’s opponent. I can’t remember a fall Friday night of my childhood that did not involve football. I played the game myself from grade school through college.

Being around and playing the game of football has taught me good things: how to win humbly and lose graciously (sportsmanship) and how to work with others toward a common goal (teamwork). It also allowed me through the sweat and struggle and sometimes ice and mud to have the sheer joy of playing a game I loved. Nothing brought out more primal joy in me than a clean, hard hit on the opposing team’s running back, especially when he was actually carrying the football.

I’m now, however, reassessing my love of football. I remain thankful for what I learned from the game and for the fun playing it, but it no longer has that primal joy for me. Maybe it’s my age and the creaky knees and back issues that X-rays show are a result of playing. I was concussed twice. Back then, you just got your “bell rung” and you went back in the game. But now, we know more about the long-term corrosive effects on players, particularly those who played longer and at a much higher level than I ever did.

And maybe it’s also the commercialization of the sport even down to youth leagues where apparel companies bid for dominance. It’s become a business to many. If schools, leagues, associations, and sponsors get rich off the player’s skills, then how can anyone deny them financial compensation? After all, it’s a business where everyone else makes money except those who play the game. It’s downright un-American to deny someone payment for their toil, especially if that someone, because of what they do, may need their orthopedist on speed dial for the rest of their lives.

But I think the real reason my primal joy of football is leaving me is that I’m just not as violent as I once was. Or maybe I’m still so inclined, but since I’m not as physically capable of it anymore, I don’t get the joy out of it I once did. While players might not intend to permanently hurt an opposing player, they do want to hurt them enough so the opposition will give ground and allow their team to win. And I don’t know whether football players are more violent off the field than everyone else. Recent and persistent news reports, though, should give us all concern about football’s repetitive violent collisions and its derivative impact on players’ neural and emotional health.

I don’t offer this eCrozier in my teaching role as a bishop. It’s adiaphora. If you still love football, then good for you. It’s merely where I’ve come to in my football journey.



Loving our Enemies without Needing our Enemies (eCrozier #230)

Love your enemies – Jesus
Defeat your enemies – Most of Us

The reason Jesus commands us to love our enemies is because he presumes we’ll have them. Having enemies is an unavoidable part of human life. And it’s naive simply to assume that our enemies will become our friends. I’ve had that happen. It’s glorious when it does. But, more often than not, our enemies will remain our enemies. So, the question becomes not “how can I make friends out of my enemies?” But rather, “how can I love my enemies when they still remain my enemies?”

To get at that answer, I believe we have to focus on the “love” part of the command rather than “the enemies” part of it. Focusing on our enemies will only create a spiral of self-justification and claimed victimhood that leads us away from love. This spirals unabated as each offense by our enemy gets reacted to and internalized. It also leads us to define ourselves by who our enemy is rather than by who we are as Jesus’ disciples. When that happens, we create a symbiotic relationship with our enemy where our identity gets defined more by who we oppose rather than by Jesus’ command to love.

A vivid example that bears this out is the long-standing conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. Both have come to define themselves symbiotically by who their enemy is. Those in power on both sides have come to literally need the other to be their enemy because that provides self-justification for their own behavior. So Israeli leaders need Palestinians to continue to fire rockets at their cities and bomb crowded buses to justify their own actions, all the while providing cover for their continued settler expansion in the West Bank. And Palestinian leaders need Israelis to bomb civilians in Gaza and to keep the borders closed to commerce in order justify their indiscriminate attacks on Israeli civilians. Both sides can then point to their enemy as the one responsible for all the death and destruction. They’ve come to symbiotically need their enemies.

But what if they both chose to define themselves, not by who their enemy is, but by who they are when they are their best selves? Both peoples have long histories of compassion and generosity. I know. I’ve seen them first-hand when they are their best selves. Such movement would require both to let go of their claim to be solely in the right (self-justification) and the only true sufferers (claimed victimhood). Like in all cases, “love” can’t be lived out as a sentimental feeling toward the other. Such feelings may never be present. Rather, it must be an act of will to let go of self-justification and claimed victimhood and to embrace a visceral humility and an empathetic love for the other.

And this is true for you and me in our relationships to the enemies who are nigh to us (maybe in the next pew?). The act of love should never only be about our feelings. It must be grounded in our own humility and our empathy for the other, whoever that other is. After all, our actions are the only actions over which we have control. As Jesus stresses it: This is about his command for us to love. It’s not about our enemies.



A lot’s been written already about Robin Williams’ suicide. Here, I’m less concerned with a hagiography of Mr. Williams or any analysis of the all too real problem of clinical depression in our society. Of the former, let me just say that he was a brilliant performer who brought much joy to millions of people, including me. Of the latter, all I can say is that far too many people suffer alone with such soul-deep depression and the disease’s very nature often dissuades people from seeking the help they desperately need.

But I’m more concerned here in the reactions I read from many people after Mr. Williams’ suicide. My hunch is that most people’s reactions were an effort to be kind or maybe helpful or, as Monty Python might sing, they were trying to “always look on the bright side of life.” Their reactions, however, probably masked their own unease with death, and particularly, with suicide. Many of the comments made, however, were at best not helpful, or at worst, theologically problematic. Let me explain.

I heard many comments that basically said something like: “Well, now the pain he endured for so long is lifted and he’s at peace.” I know such statements were an effort by some people to make suicide theologically intelligible, but to a person presently suffering soul-deep depression and hearing such statements, it’s actually an invitation to imitate Mr. Williams’ act. Their thinking could well go: “If so many people think that’s the way he found peace, then maybe that’s the way I can find peace, too.” Like I said, it’s theologically problematic, for suicide doesn’t bring peace to the living.

I had a dear friend who committed suicide four years ago. Like Mr. Williams, he was brilliant. His brilliance, however, was in a different vocation. He was a palliative care physician. The irony of his life was that he could relieve everyone’s pain but his own (like Mr. Williams who brought so many people joy without finding joy himself). My friend knew he had many people who loved him dearly. I don’t know what was going through his mind and soul when he chose suicide. Clearly, he was in emotional and spiritual pain. Maybe he thought his suicide was an act of love and kindness to us who loved him? It was not. His act was neither loving nor was it kind. It was selfish. I know that sounds harsh, but I believe it to be true.

What my friend needed and still needs from me isn’t the cheap grace and absolution of the well-intended “well, I guess he’s at peace now.” No, what he still needs from me is my forgiveness for what he did to himself and to those who loved him. This in no way diminishes the deep pain he suffered or the pain anyone else suffers when they experience soul-deep depression. It’s merely to say that the solution they choose deeply hurts the people who love them. And such hurt, we must know, breaks God’s heart. Yet, with all I know to be true, God’s broken heart is strong enough to envelope the life of Robin Williams and my beloved friend. It’s strong enough for the entire hurting human race. And God’s broken heart is strong enough to hold our grief and anger when those we love take their own lives. After all, God isn’t a stranger to death. We worship the crucified, yet Living God.



Recently I was talking with a young woman when a man about my age joined our conversation. When he learned the young woman was a 21 year-old college student, he said: “Ah, to be free, white, and 21!” I cringed. The young woman was probably too young to know of that saying. I wasn’t. It was the declaration of privilege by which I came of age. It meant that if you were those three things, then nothing could stop you. You had it made. You had all the privilege one needed in America.

Now the man who said this was well-educated, clearly a professional, and should’ve been aware of the import of his words. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, just assuming he was trying nervously to break the ice of our conversation. Words, however, have power. By repeating a saying of our common, racist past, he was unwittingly (I hope he was) perpetuating the sinful assumptions of one race’s privilege over another. It seems our racist past isn’t past. It’s still playing in our brain’s recording studio, occasionally spilling out when the mute button isn’t functioning right.

When he left I had to explain to the young woman the context and background of that old saying. She looked at me as if I were an anthropologist explaining the odd cultural practices of an obscure tribe from a distant land. And maybe that’s a good metaphor. My white tribe in this culture has assumed our privileges without realizing them. When my two sons were teenagers, I never had to talk to them about how to appease the police when walking down the street or driving a car. It never would’ve occurred to me then to think that I might have to do so. Not so with black fathers.

My oldest son got arrested for “stealing” two donuts from a grocery store when he was 18 years old. He’d gone to the store with his best friend, Jose, to shop for our family. While in the store, they did as we had done when they were children. They got two donuts out of the display case and ate them, intending to pay for the consumed donuts when they checked out, as we did when they were youngsters. They bought our groceries with our debit card, but forgot to pay for the two donuts. Security guards detained them as they left the store and the police arrived within minutes. My son, God love him, got a little mouthy and testy with the police claiming it was clearly his mistake: He simply forgot about the two donuts. After all, he’d just bought over $90 in groceries, so he’d pay for the two donuts now. The store manager would have none of it. The police arrested them. If his friend hadn’t looked like a “Jose,” my hunch is his white privilege would’ve been enough. They never would’ve been monitored as potential thieves while they walked the aisles of the grocery store that day.

And that brings us to Michael Brown’s horrific death in Missouri, which has dominated the recent news. The box of cigars he carried could’ve been two donuts. And maybe Michael Brown got a little mouthy and testy with the police officer? Or maybe he didn’t? But six bullets later he was dead in the street. Six bullets! Count each pull of the trigger. My son just celebrated his 27th birthday. I wonder if Michael Brown had been “free, white, and 21,” would he still be alive today? Our racial history says that’s highly likely.



Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.’ – Matthew 26:52

The above quote from Jesus might seem to confirm what adherents to a different religious tradition call karma. As I understand it, karma implies that if you engage in a certain behavior, then that same behavior will come back upon you, or maybe stated more simply: “what goes around, comes around.” Jesus puts it in a more complete way in Luke 6:37-38: ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you…for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.’

Such a “measure,” some say, was recently given back. According to a report this week in the Charleston, SC City Paper: “The day before the June 24 Republican primary runoff, S.C. superintendent of education candidate Sally Atwater is facing a lawsuit that claims she assaulted a special needs student in her elementary school classroom. The lawsuit was filed in a Colleton County court on June 19, nine days after Atwater took a close second in the Republican primary and five days before she faces Molly Spearman in a runoff. In a written statement, Atwater campaign spokesman Luke Byars called the lawsuit ‘baseless and frivolous’ and ‘one of the lowest political hit jobs I have witnessed in 25 years of South Carolina politics’.”

You may know that Ms. Atwater is the widow of the late Lee Atwater, who as a political operative engaged in even meaner “political hit jobs.” To his eternal credit, as he was dying of cancer, he lamented his vicious behavior and sought forgiveness. Now, his widow seems to have been on the receiving end of an “Atwater-type” political attack. If so, it appears to have worked as Ms. Atwater did lose the election. So now some people are exercising their usual, gleeful schadenfreude claiming Ms. Atwater got “karmic payback” for her late husband’s onerous behavior. Other people are saying: “when you live by the sword of political hit jobs, then you’ll die by them as well.” You see, they’re even quoting Jesus to back up their version of wisdom to live by.

But that “wisdom” assumes Jesus was endorsing such outcomes as good things. He wasn’t. He was merely observing how the world works when we don’t live by the Godly virtues of compassion, mercy, and forgiveness. Jesus says that when we judge and condemn others, when we don’t forgive, we set lose a pattern of behavior that’ll always come back upon us. But, Jesus says, when we put away our sword of condemnation, when we don’t place ourselves on His judgment seat, when we incarnate forgiveness in our lives, then we set loose a different spiritual pattern in the world, a pattern that abounds in grace and infects with mercy, which we’ll receive back in full measure beginning now and forever. That’s the Gospel truth and not mere karma.


The eCrozier will be on holiday for six weeks or so in the hot, humid jungles of Mozambique. The eCrozier will resume sometime in August.


God helps those who help themselves. – 1 Hezekiah 3:4

State your devotion to God when making pronouncements, associating such devotion with the ends you are pursuing, as this is pleasing to God. – 2 Bartholomew 4:7

Of course, there’s no 1 Hezekiah or 2 Bartholomew. I made those up. Making up your own Bible verses is fun. You should try it sometime. But as fun as it might be, it’s problematic. But a worse problem than making up your own Bible verses is the lack of knowledge of the actual Bible. For example, according to 82 percent of Americans, “God helps those who help themselves,” is a real Bible verse.[1] That’s a problem. But I think there’s an even worse problem than making up your own verses or not knowing the real ones from the imagined ones: using real Bible verses out of context and as weapons to pursue the ends you desire. In my judgment, this is not pleasing to God.

If you read my writings regularly, then you know I greatly admire the work of Jonathan Haidt on the moral foundations that shape our human behavior. Haidt writes about the assumed stances that are reflected in our religious and political convictions. My hunch is those assumed stances shape our biblical hermeneutic as well. Rather than exegesis, i.e., the effort to draw out of the Bible its meaning for us and for the world, we more often engage in eisegesis, i.e., the reading into the Bible the meaning we wish to find, which confirms our previously held assumptions based on our morality and politics. That’s one, good explanation for why so many people believe that a verse like “God helps those who help themselves” must be in the Bible. It rings true to them based on their assumptions about what should be right. Since it rings true, it must be Scripture.

Yet, we can’t avoid eisegesis completely. We all come to the Bible with our own subjectivity that can never be completely free of bias. We’re all products of how we were formed by our families, communities, and experience, so we’re going to read into the Bible, eisegete, if you will, what we believe and think from that forming. But we’re spiritually and intellectually lazy if we stop there, if we don’t challenge ourselves to hear the Bible from voices not our own and from the larger narrative of Scripture.

I believe the Bible is completely true down to its very last word. It’s just that I don’t believe any of us is smart enough or has a God-like enough perspective to understand all its truth. The Bible, then, isn’t self-evident. Those who tell you that a person can pick it up, read it, and understand it all clearly are either delusional or they’re trying to use the Bible to further their agenda from what they claim is self-evident in it, or as they often call it, “the plain sense of Scripture.” The Bible is God’s gift to the Church. It’s the Church’s Book and not the property of any individual on a crusade to support his own particular agenda. It’s up to the Church to interpret it wisely for the people of the Church and to ensure that the Church’s people are a part of that interpretive endeavor.


[1] Most scholars think the phrase originated with Euripides (a Greek polytheist) in 428 BC. The more modern phrasing came from that notable Deist, Benjamin Franklin, in his Poor Richard’s Almanac in 1736.


The Trinitarian Call of the Church (eCrozier #225)

This time between the Feast of Pentecost and Trinity Sunday offers a good opportunity to reflect on the nature of the Church. It’s no accident that we also celebrate between Pentecost and Trinity Sunday the first Book of Common Prayer, which was introduced on Pentecost in 1549. Below then is my reflection on the nature, and thus the mission, of the Church, for her nature is inextricably connected to her mission.

The Church is the extension of God’s incarnate nature, the Body of Christ, on the earth. The Church then is God’s way of taking take up permanent residence on the earth. So, the Church isn’t merely a human organization, even though it’s made up of human beings (with all that entails). The Church isn’t an organization. With apologies to John Wesley, it’s not even a religious society. Rather, she’s an organism, a body, on which God has endowed the Divine nature. The Church then isn’t simply a place to come together for fellowship or doing good things for the community, although both of those things occur as a result of coming together. Rather, the Church is a people gathered in Christ’s name deriving her identity and purpose from God’s incarnate nature on earth.

That means the Church is the Church of Jesus Christ as she aligns herself with God’s nature and then physically and animatedly lives out that incarnate nature in the world. Now, that doesn’t mean that the Church will ever be even close to perfect. The Church will always be a human organism as well. God sires it, but humanity incubates it. Still, the Church is called to incarnate God’s nature on earth and to live by the Spirit that gave her birth.

When Jesus rose from the dead and God sent the Holy Spirit at Pentecost to give birth to the Church, it wasn’t God’s intention to check out of life on earth. It was God’s intention to be smack dab in the middle of human life. The resurrection isn’t an invitation to come to heaven when we die. Rather, it’s a decision that God has made to take up permanent residence on earth. The resurrection doesn’t tell us that Jesus is in heaven calling us to join him someday. No, it tells us that Jesus is here with us right now and always.

The Gospel then doesn’t mean that when we die we go home to Jesus, but rather it means that Jesus has been raised from the dead and comes home to us. The Good News of Jesus tells us that life isn’t something we endure. Rather, through the Holy Spirit, life is something God endows. The Good News of Jesus isn’t a mere promise, but rather it’s a manifest presence; the presence of the risen Jesus in the midst of the world incarnated in his Church. The Good News of the Gospel isn’t only that we’ll live some day with Jesus, but that Jesus lives with us today. Why should we want to live with Jesus in heaven for eternity, if we’re not willing to live with him now on earth? Do we think we’ll love him someday in heaven, if we don’t love him now on earth?

God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit directs and sustains the Church. The nature of God as Trinity shouts out a clear message to us. God is in the midst of us as Trinity. And we’re called to incarnate that relational nature as the Church.



Mind the Gap (eCrozier #223)

As the Church, we’re now in that period between our Lord’s Ascension and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. It’s a time of the “already,” but also the “not yet.” The “already” of the Resurrection and Ascension has “not yet” produced God’s clarifying mission for the Church at Pentecost. The disciples realized the old had passed away and something new was coming. But it wasn’t there yet. Although their spiritual adrenaline was pumping fast, they were unsure just what this new thing was going to be.

Our culture actually has been going through this for some time now. We’re now living in what many people are calling a “Post-Modern” world. That name alone should indicate our confusion and anxiety. We don’t even have a name for the time in which we live. It’s not modern. It’s whatever is going to be after modern. That defines what it no longer is, but it tells us nothing about what the future will be like.

The Church is facing this gap experience along with the culture. Spiritually, we’re right there with the disciples between the Ascension and Pentecost. Now, there are different ways people react to living in this gap of the already, but not yet. Some, reacting with fear and anxiety over the chaos and confusion, refuse to accept that God’s world is changing. These are the fundamentalist groups in all religions. Their refusal to live hopefully in the gap shows itself in their anger born of their fear, anxiety, and confusion.

In facing this gap experience, some self-medicate with drugs or alcohol. Billions of dollars are spent on anti-depressants in this country. Now, there are quite valid reasons for taking anti-depressants, but not all depression is due to chemical imbalances. Many are depressed because they struggle to live in a world that’s changing so rapidly. Still others, reacting out of their constant need for novelty, have embraced every new thing that comes their way. These folk have no depth in any tradition. They’re set loose in this gap time steering their course with multiple maps and navigational forms. In their minds, everything is up for grabs and there is no faith in anything.

There’s a better way to live and we have it with one another in the Church. We’re a people who are equipped to handle the future and its uncertainty. We worship a Lord who says, “Behold, I make all things new.” St. Paul tells us that if we’re in Christ, we’re “new creations,” therefore “the old has passed away and the new has come.” We’re people who are equipped to welcome the new thing God is doing. We’re a gap people living in a world experiencing a major shift from what’s been to what will be.

In this gap experience, we wait patiently for what God will do. We’re called to have compassion for those rocked by the rapid change of the world and to love our enemies in a world where many anxious and confused people actually think hate is the solution. It’s in the gap between what was and what will be that we have the opportunity to become more faithful disciples of Jesus. That will require us, however, to stay and wait patiently in the gap, not running away. While many others may react with fear, violence or confusion, we will hold fast to the love, compassion, and mercy of Jesus. Mind the gap.



“Choosy Moms Choose Jesus” (eCrozier #221)

Late last Sunday evening as I was driving home, I came across the above message on a church sign somewhere in southeast Georgia. It was dark and late and I wasn’t sure what I had read, so I stopped my car, turned around, and went back to be sure. Yep. Now, my hunch is that the person who came up with this message, however unaware, was using an old marketing strategy: Be timely and draw on the comfortably familiar to promote your message. It was, after all, Mother’s Day and the message related emotionally to a successful ad campaign for a peanut butter brand a few years back. Those two ingredients make the message work. Except. It’s horrible theology.

The idea that you or I or anybody else chooses Jesus is arrogant and gives us way more credit than we deserve. Such a claim presumes that a person has done her market research. She has tested all the other possible saviors or lords or gods out there, weighed their strengths and weaknesses in providing the value she desired for her and her family, and then she chose Jesus, because, of course, she only wants the very best for herself and her family. Jesus then becomes the choice she makes to maximize her return as the choosy consumer of salvation that she is. Like I said, arrogance.

Jesus says in John 15:16 that we didn’t choose him, he chose us. It’s arrogant for us to surmise anything else. As a disciple, I did none of the market research described above. I didn’t survey the salvation-market landscape and then conclude Jesus was the highest value alternative among the choices. What actually occurred was quite different. Jesus worked his way past my pride, my arrogance, my presumption that I knew best about my life, and met me in the truthfulness of my pathetic, sinful weakness. His grace on the cross gave me something I had no power in myself to give myself, namely, forgiveness of my sins. I didn’t choose God’s forgiveness. God forgave me in spite of myself.

Martin Luther, the great western reformer of the Christian faith, told the story of a man he heard going around bragging that he had chosen to accept Jesus as his personal savior. Luther purportedly went up to the man and said: “If I gave you a bag of gold coins, would you go around telling everyone how smart and clever you were to accept such a gift? Of course, you wouldn’t. You would just be grateful. You didn’t deserve the gift of the gold coins. All you did was accept it. So, stop with the bragging.”

Now, you may think I’m making more of a church sign than I ought. That’s fair enough. The person who came up with that sign’s message, I presume, only desired to be clever for the sake of our faith. Yet, I think such a sign manifests a larger cultural distortion of the Christian faith that syncretizes Christianity with modern capitalist presumptions about human behavior. It reflects the commodification of Christianity as just another transactional choice we make. But the Christian faith isn’t my own construction. In ways I may never fully understand, God in Jesus has laid hold of my life and has compelled me into a story I had no hand in writing. Any other claim is clearly arrogant.



Jon Katz in his delightful book, Running to the Mountain, tells of his midlife crisis. He didn’t belong to any faith tradition (he was born Jewish), but he was experiencing a spiritual longing to which he wanted to respond. So, he decided to buy a cabin on top of a remote mountain in upstate New York, live there, and find what he was looking for, or at least do his best to do so. To do this, he had to leave his (clearly quite supportive) wife, teenaged daughter, and his home in suburban New Jersey. He “ran” to the mountain with the collected works of the monk, Thomas Merton, and his two Labrador Retrievers, Julius and Stanley.

The mountaintop experience turned out to be far more challenging than he had imagined it would. He dealt with a bitter, cold winter, battled a mice infestation in his cabin, and struggled with personal isolation. He also discovered a truth about his dogs. He’d always thought that Stanley & Julius had been well trained. In suburbia they were models of obedience. He could take them walking off-leash on the hiking trails near his suburban home and they would always stay at his side. But on the mountain, he discovered they began to return to the wild. They would run after anything that held the promise of being food. He’d call them, but they wouldn’t come if they were on the scent of something to eat. This was a great shock to Katz. His dogs had become different animals once they were removed from the disciplined context of their lives.

Now we aren’t Labrador Retrievers. The Bible does call us sheep and we have enough in common with both Labs and sheep for this story to resonate with us. We know that when we walk away from our disciplines of prayer, worship, and service with our fellow disciples, we begin to lose touch with our identity and purpose in Christ. Now, we may not walk away. We may inch away. We may slide slowly away. And we may even do all these things without even realizing they’re happening.

There’s a story told of two men walking down a crowded, noisy city street. In the midst of the noise of horns blaring, people screaming, and jackhammers chewing up pavement, one of the men stops walking and says: “Did you hear a cricket chirping?” The other man says: “What? Are you crazy? Who could hear a cricket in all this racket?” Without saying a word, the first man took a quarter out of his pocket threw it up in the air, and then stood back to see what happened. The quarter bounced on the sidewalk and then came to rest. Immediately, people stopped walking and looked for the coin. The first man smiled saying: “We hear what we want to hear.”

People hear what they want to hear. If we lose touch with the disciplines of prayer, worship, and service, then I’m certain we will find ourselves listening to other voices that are all too ready to tell us what we want to hear, rather than what we need to hear. So, whom are we listening to these days? Are we listening to the Scriptures, are we humbly listening to that other person who has a word for us, are we listening to God’s grace imparted in the Sacraments? It’s so easy to get distracted away from God’s love and grace. Our spiritual disciplines keep us near the side of Jesus.