Sermon for Maundy Thursday: "Unsurrendering Love"

Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer was hanged for treason by the order of Adolf Hitler at Flossenburg Concentration Camp on 9 April 1945 - eighty years ago last week.  I have been continually challenged and comforted by Bonhoeffer’s writings and the stories of his life, most notably his choice in 1939 to return to Germany and continue his work in the Confessing Church, resisting both the Nazi Party and the majority of German Christians who had fallen in line with the government.  He had the option to remain in the United States, but Bonhoeffer insisted, “I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people.”  Within months Bonhoeffer was a co-consiprator against Hitler, working to smuggle Germany Jews out of the country, using his ecumenical contacts to try and alert the Allies to the presence of an active resistance within Nazi Germany, and providing counsel to the people who were involved in several plots against Hitler from within the military intelligence community.  Bonhoeffer was arrested in April 1943; after a lengthy period of imprisonment and interrogation,  Bonhoeffer and others were sent to Buchenwald Concentration Camp, then to Flossenburg, where they were executed.    

In a July 1944 letter from Tegel Prison in Berlin to his friend Eberhard Bethge, Bonhoeffer wrote something I want to tie to the gospel reading for this service:

“Christians... have no last line of escape available from earthly tasks and difficulties into the eternal, but, like Christ himself, they must drink the earthly cup to the dregs, and only in their doing so is the crucified and risen Lord with them, and they crucified and risen with Christ.  This world must not be prematurely written off...”

“Like Christ himself, [Christians] must drink the earthly cup to the dregs.”  In the Gospel of John it is written, “Having loved his own who were in the world, [Jesus] loved them to the end.”  This commitment to see things through “to the end” is, I believe, the essence of what gathers us here tonight.  

Tonight is Maundy Thursday.  “Maundy” comes from the Latin mandatum, “commandment.”  We call it “Maundy Thursday” because of what Jesus said to and did for his disciples on his last night together with them.  He kneeled and washed their feet, a chore generally regarded as beneath even the lowliest servants.  He broke bread with his friends, even though one of them would leave the meal to betray Jesus to the authorities who wished him dead.  He commanded them:  “love one another as I have loved you.”  Then Jesus continued to love his disciples to the very end of his life; abandoned, rejected, scorned, humiliated, flogged, crucified and executed.  These are the deeds of the One who loves his followers to the dregs, to the very end, to the bottom of the bitter cup.  

This is not an easy thing for us to gather and remember.  It is a far cry from Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem that we celebrated on Sunday.  Even the crucifixion is easier to handle if it’s interpreted in a certain way.  I remember a shirt I used to wear that had a picture of Jesus doing a push-up with the cross on his back with a “Lord’s Gym” logo underneath.  The idea, of course, was that Jesus took on the cross the way the Cornhuskers take on the Hawkeyes, or Reál Madrid takes on Barcelona:  the ultimate rivalry, the grudge match, the game in which the good guys must emerge triumphant. 

No one comes out triumphant on Maundy Thursday.  Judas left to betray Jesus to the authorities. Peter and the rest of the disciples fell asleep while Jesus prayed and ran when Jesus was arrested.  And Jesus?  He surrendered.  Utterly.  No resistance, no protest of innocence.  Jesus let himself be taken into the hands of authorities who would rather see him dead than hear any more about the relentless, unconditional love and mercy he had been preaching.  

There’s only one thing Jesus did not surrender on his last night with his disciples:  his love.  The gospel of John tells us, “Having loved his own who were in the world, Jesus loved them to the end.”  
He surrendered his privilege when he knelt and washed his disciples’ feet.  
He surrendered his trust when Judas betrayed him with a kiss. 
He surrendered his dignity when the priests and authorities questioned and tortured him.   
He surrendered his power and his authority when he was paraded through the streets and crucified, an execution meant for the deadliest enemies of the state.  
But Jesus would not surrender his love for his disciples, then or now. 

This is what it means to “love to the end.”  This is what makes Jesus’ commandment a “new” commandment.  There was nothing new about the commandment to “love one another”— that had been one of the two great commandments since the time of the Exodus.  What makes Jesus’ commandment “new” is Jesus’ living example of the lengths to which that love will go.  God will give up everything else in God’s unsurrendering love for sinners.  This is not the sort of love you find in a Hallmark Christmas movie or a Harlequin romance novel - that’s the sort of love the Greeks called eros, and while there’s nothing at all wrong to have that kind of love, it’s not the word that’s used here. The Greek word used in this chapter of John is agape. Its Hebrew equivalent is chesed. It’s the sort of love that sacrifices for the sake of the beloved. In the Psalms we translate it as “lovingkindness” or “steadfast love,” and above all else, it does. not. surrender.  Ever.  This love drinks the earthly cup to the dregs.  This love goes all the way to the end.

This message of love hasn't been getting a lot of air time recently in this part of the world.  You and I both know that there are a lot of people right now who insist that there are limits and conditions to God's love, and that there are limits and conditions on how God's church should be living out that love in this part of the world.  Allow me to make this as clear as I possibly can:  those. people. are. wrong. The God we worship loves you without limit, without condition.  The God we worship will love you all the way to the end.  The gospel is clear:  in a world that has always been far too worried about what separates us and makes us different, the unsurrendering love of God is the thing that unites us in love and makes us siblings in this family God has called together from all across the world.  

The first letter of John says, “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”  Take this time tonight and consider what it means to be God’s beloved. You, tonight, as you are in this moment, are the intended recipient of God’s unsurrendering love.  The cross is the final proof of God’s relentless, unsurrendering love.  The gospel says “Having loved his own who were in the world, Jesus loved them to the end.”  You are his own, brought into the body of Christ through your baptism in his name.  You are his own in the world, tonight, remembering the night long ago when Jesus gave us this meal by which we remember his love for us, and in which we are made part of the story ourselves.  Now, friends, know this – to the very last end of all that was, is, or ever will be, you are the object of God’s unsurrendering love.  Believe in that love – live in that love – serve in that love, now and forever.  Amen.

Cultivating Love through Response

We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming. But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love…So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another…Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear…Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.

—Ephesians 4.14-16, 25, 29, 31-32—

A few years ago, when my wife Kristin and I were serving a congregation in Iowa, we became friends with John Sheahan, the local middle school principal. John was a member of the other ELCA congregation in our school district, and our churches cooperated on a number of different ministries, including a shared youth ministry program. When John retired from the middle school, he discerned a call into ministry and entered the TEEM program at Wartburg Seminary. I was blessed to serve as a clergy mentor to John during his time at Wartburg; I say “blessed” because I learned as much or more from John as he did from me.

On Prophetic Preaching: A Statement

“As a prophetic presence, this church has the obligation to name and denounce the idols before which people bow, to identify the power of sin present in social structures, and to advocate in hope with poor and powerless people. When religious or secular structures, ideologies, or authorities claim to be absolute, this church says, ‘We must obey God rather than any human authority’ (Acts 5:29). With Martin Luther, this church understands that to rebuke those in authority through God’s Word spoken publicly, boldly and honestly is not seditious but “a praiseworthy, noble, and particularly great service to God.’”

So says Church in Society: A Lutheran Perspective, the first ELCA Social Statement, passed in 1991. Our confessional witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ has always included a political dimension. The Reformation would have been very different if Luther had not been protected by a politician, Elector Frederick the Wise, following his refusal to recant at the Diet of Worms. Luther regularly exhorted the nobility of his day to provide for the people entrusted to their care, regularly providing private counsel and public statements on the issues of his day. The church and the state being accountable to each other and to God from their respective realms of authority has been a mainstay of Lutheran theology and practice for over 500 years. 

Many people have said a lot of things about Bishop Mariann Budde’s sermon yesterday at the National Cathedral. While Bishop Budde is not sworn to the same confessional teachings as I am, being a minister of the Anglican communion, I found her words to be exactly the thing to which the ELCA committed itself over 30 years ago: a bold, honest, public rebuke of those in authority, an act of advocacy on behalf of those who have neither the power nor the means to offer that word themselves. I applaud her courage and I gladly join her in exhorting those in authority, regardless of their party, faith, or any other affiliation, to realize that their words, principles, and policies will affect more than their supporters, and that they have a duty and responsibility to all of the children of God that have been entrusted to their care.  

A Sermon for Fall Leadership Gathering - "Flipping the Script"

This is what the Lord says—your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel:
    “For your sake I will send to Babylon and bring down as fugitives 
    all the Babylonians, in the ships in which they took pride. 
    I am the Lord, your Holy One, Israel’s Creator, your King.”

A Response to the 2024 Election

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. 

Before the mountains were brought forth or ever you had formed the earth and the world, 

from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
--Psalm 90.1-2--

Beloved in Christ,

For most of my lived experience, our elections have always involved the fulfillment of some hopes, the dashing of others, and a belief that, win or lose, every citizen and every perspective has a place in the exchange of ideas and dreams that we call American democracy. 

In the aftermath of this election season, however, things are different. Millions of American citizens, for whom dissent, free speech, and due process are constitutional rights, have been labeled "the enemy within" and threatened with prosecution, incarceration, and violence. Immigrants who are here legally under international asylum laws have been victims of hate speech and death threats, as have non-profit agencies and churches who accompany them. These are not partisan complaints from a disappointed voter: these are assaults on the fundamental human rights that undergird every society which seeks to be just, and ignoring these assaults under the guise of patriotism or Christian faith is a denial of the reality in which we currently live. As Lutherans, we believe the theology of the cross requires us to "call a thing what it is." There will be consequences from this election for all of us, and lessons we will all need to learn if there is to be a future for the expansive, robust vision of American democracy many of us hope to embody.

All of us have differing capacities to take in the circumstances and results of this election and what they have revealed about our identity, our priorities, and our moral standing as a nation. I can't say how you should react in this moment, how you should define your existence and inhabit this space that is your life. Whatever marks your dwelling place in this moment, it is between you and God, your dwelling place. Grief, fear, anger, frustration, determination, hope - all of these and more are legitimate responses that deserve their time and space to be experienced and processed. What I can say is this: you are, right now, a child of God who has a dwelling place in God, a place which was never conditional on any victory and cannot be denied to you by any loss. 

That dwelling place in God, however, is not a place of isolation. God is our dwelling place, and that means neighbors, some of whom might not be the neighbors we would choose if it were up to us. None of what lies before us will be easy. Rebuilding relationships shattered by conflict is hard work that requires courage, honesty, and kindness. This is, however, the work to which God our dwelling place has called us: to bind up the broken-hearted, to feed the hungry, to care for those who have lost their dwelling place with God and among God's people. That mission remains the same no matter who occupies the seats of power, and the God who was our dwelling place before the mountains were brought forth will be our dwelling place long after the grass that grows from the seeds sown in this or any election has withered and faded away. 

For now, beloveds, my prayer is that we abide in this dwelling place that is the steadfast love of God. Rest and recover, dear friends. When we're ready, the work will be there for us. 

Yours in Christ,

Bishop Scott Alan Johnson

ELCA Church Council Report

The bishops from each of the 9 regions of the ELCA select one of their number to serve as a liaison to the ELCA Church Council for terms of 4 years. I serve as the Region 4 liaison bishop, and I attended my first ELCA Church Council meeting in Chicago April 11-15. What follows is my own reflections on the meetings; here is the link to the official news release from the Churchwide office.

What struck me most deeply in our time together was the wide scope of our church that is represented in that relatively small body. What we see in our local experience is only one part of who we are as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; sitting with council members from across the country it is much easier to see just what an amazing array of people we are (and the people themselves are pretty amazing in their own right). The denomination is well-served by this group of leaders. 

I’m one of two bishops working with the Faith, Society, and Innovation Committee, and we spent a lot of time wordsmithing two documents: a Social Message on Gun-Related Violence and Trauma, and the draft of the Social Statement on Civic Life and Faith. Both are crucial statements in our current environment, particularly the statement on Civic Life and Faith, which will be in its public feedback period until Sept. 30, 2024. I encourage you to make time to read and provide feedback. 

Other items of note:

• Presiding Bishop Eaton has returned from her time of personal leave and is very much back at work. In particular, she is working toward concrete action steps related to the Future Church and God’s Love Made Real projects, utilizing an implementation team that will be conducting online Town Hall meetings with Bishop Eaton in each region of the church in coming months. She was thankful for the time away to rest and recharge, and for the care given to her in that time, but is excited to move beyond research and studies into concrete action. 
• The co-chairs of the Commission for a Renewed Lutheran Church commented on a few findings within their work:
• The Commission has been amazed to realize how deeply the influence of the predecessor denominations still affects the ELCA, 35 years post-merger.
• The variety of practices in synods and regions is sometimes a contextual benefit and sometimes not. Some leaders genuinely lead and some are obviously carrying out agendas for others within the church. 
• It is clear that “Who are we?” is a question being asked throughout the ELCA. We have significant difficulty knowing where the ELCA fits as one slice within the worldwide church as a whole. 
• The institutions, organizations, and ministries which relate to the ELCA as separately-incorporated non-profits (think camps, campus ministries, service agencies, etc. which we often know as “serving arms”) are passionate supporters and innovators within the church. There was once some desire to begin referring to this group of folks as a “fourth expression” of the ELCA - it has since morphed into a preference for “related institutions, organizations, and ministries” instead, which has, of course, morphed into an acronym: RIOMs. 

Finally, I’ll end with a reflection from the Rev. Dr. Betsy Miller of the Northern Province of the Moravian Church, who brought greetings as a representative of our full communion partners. In describing the reality she sees as a leader of a church with fewer than 50,000 adherents, she said, “We’re a mission movement. We never should have become a denomination.” As much as the people gathered in Chicago were there to conduct the business of the denomination, I did have a definite sense that the mission, GOD’s mission for the ELCA, was in the midst of all our conversations. I think this will be the challenge of our time as the ELCA: in an age of institutional transformation, will we be captive to supporting the denomination at the expense of mission, or can we pivot to being a mission movement with a denominational structure that supports that mission? I'll be pondering this for a while yet; it's unsettling in the most spiritually enlightening sort of fashion.

Yours in God’s restless peace,

Bishop Scott Johnson  

A Sermon for Christmas Eve 2023 - "In the Mess"

I’ve been a pastor for 20 years, and over all of those years, Christmas Eve services have been and remain some of my favorite worship experiences. Sanctuaries tend to be full, people tend to dress their best (in my case, that only brings so much improvement, but you all look great tonight), and of course, there’s the Christmas hymns that mean the most on this night. 

Sometime during my first few years as a pastor, I came across the option to include a proclamation of the nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I started inserting it at the end of “Silent Night” for those services. I thought about asking Amy if we could do that here at First this year (because when you’re the bishop you can ask for those kind of favors), but when I read through the text this year, I got stuck in one place. See if you get stuck, too. 

The Proclamation of the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ 

The Twenty-fifth Day of December, 

when ages beyond number had run their course from the creation of the world, 

when God in the beginning created heaven and earth, and formed humanity in God’s own likeness; 

when century upon century had passed since the Almighty set a bow in the clouds after the Great Flood as a sign of covenant and peace; 

in the twenty-first century since Abraham and Sara, our parents in faith, came out of Ur of the Chaldees; 

in the thirteenth century since the People of Israel were led by Moses in the Exodus from Egypt;
around the thousandth year since David was anointed King;

in the sixty-fifth week of the prophecy of Daniel; 

in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad; 

in the seven hundred and fifty-second year since the foundation of the City of Rome; 

in the forty-second year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus, the whole world being at peace, 

JESUS CHRIST, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father, 

desiring to consecrate the world by his most loving presence, was conceived by the Holy Spirit, 

and when nine months had passed since his conception, 

was born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem of Judah, and was made human. 

This is the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

It’s beautiful, right? Poetic? Sounds a lot like scripture itself? So - where do you think I got stuck? Some of you probably got stuck here, too:  “The whole world being at peace.” Tonight, war continues to rage in Ukraine, Sudan, Israel/Palestine, and other places. Closer to home, our political leaders squabble and accomplish next to nothing of substance while an endless cycle of violence, blame, and arguments repeats, over and over. I’m 49 years old and I don’t think I’ve ever been more anxious about the state of things in our church, our communities, and our world. We are definitely not a world at peace. 

Line all of that up against this proclamation of the birth of Christ, and what appear to be the cultural expectations of the Christmas holiday, and things get anxious. We strive to give the perfect gift, to enjoy the perfect Christmas meal. Christmas carols started on the radio the day after Halloween in some places, and if I’m honest they sort of sound like a nightmare after two months of solid airplay over and over again, particularly in a year like this year when the weather has been unseasonably warm and not the least bit frightful. It would be incredibly easy to lose hope with so much cognitive dissonance and so many failed expectations. Yet, even in this present anxiety, tonight we gather to celebrate a light that continues to shine. 

Your theme here at First this Advent has been “The Light of Grace,” celebrating the 250th anniversary of the hymn “Amazing Grace.” This is one of our most beloved hymns, for many reasons, but one thing you’ve not discussed much is the origin of the hymn itself. Here’s the story: John Newton was a captain of a slaving ship who got caught in a storm at sea, and after some of his crew were washed over the side, he prayed to God for salvation. After steering the ship through the storm all night, morning found Newton and the rest of his crew safe and saved (to say nothing of the "cargo" of course). It wasn' the last time Newton captained a slaving ship, but it did mark a moment of spiritual conversion for Newton, and in time he became an ardent abolitionist. The story doesn’t excuse who he was or what he did for a living, however. John Newton was a person who had made a living from the capture, transportation, and sale of God‘s children. This is not the story of a simple prayer recited out loud in a revival meeting by a person, feeling guilty about cheating on a test or getting caught speeding. Newton was exactly what the first verse says he was: a wretch. ’Twas grace that redeemed Newton because that’s how grace works. Grace doesn’t apply to the deserving or the perfect. Grace is for those who truly need it. Grace shines best when it shines into the what we most want to hide from the world. 

Just this past Wednesday night, many of us gathered in the mission center for a celebration that included a living nativity, and a prayer service here in the sanctuary. It was lovely. There was something of a petting zoo here as well - a camel as well as some sheep, goats, and other animals - and I couldn’t help noticing that they stayed outside. If we really wanted a living nativity that would re-create what it was like when God came to us in the flesh, we would’ve brought the camel and the sheep and the goats and the llamas and the pigs right into the mission center with us. Now, I’m not actually suggesting we do that, mostly because I’m pretty sure your deacon for faith formation (My wife Kristin) would require me to be the one who shovels out the mess afterwards. But I mention it because there are parts of that story of Jesus’ birth that we don’t acknowledge, because they’re messy. They’re inconvenient. To put it bluntly, they smell. We often tell a sanitized version of the story of Jesus’ birth, and the picture it presents is one of perfection: beatific Holy Child Jesus in the manger (which is filled with sweet, clean hay), beaming Mary resting in peace in beautiful, simple clothing which shows no sign of having just delivered her first child, Joesph silently…being there, stars in the sky, humble shepherds coming to worship (and not losing a one of the sheep entrusted to their care in doing so). There is an entire industry centered around this ideal, this perfection of Christmas peace. The unhealthy danger of this is the anxiety it amplifies in us when things are not perfect in our own Christmas celebrations. What do we do when the gifts are a mess, or when there aren’t any gifts at all because it’s been a hard year? What do we do when family is as much a burden as a blessing, or when we’d give anything for that burden of family because we’re alone? When it comes to Christmas, all too often we are most definitely not a world at peace. 

God did not wait until the world was properly, perfectly prepared to become incarnate. God entered the world as it was, into all the mess, in a scene that in its actual happening would not be the sort of thing that fits ever so beautifully onto a Christmas card. If the world was at peace on that night, 2000 years ago in Bethlehem, just a short walk from Jerusalem, it was a peace that had been imposed on the population by Rome, an occupying power from a foreign land. Jesus was born in Bethlehem because the political power of his time told his parents they needed to go to a different city so they could be taxed. Joseph and Mary were refugees in their own homeland; roaming in search of shelter while the world around them was gripped by anxiety and violence. 

This was the world into which Jesus was born on that long ago night in Bethlehem.  

In a stable that smelled of sheep and goats, of hay and dung. 

In the mess. 

Among the wretches. 

In a world that was definitely not at peace. 

Years from now, when I think about Christmas 2023, the image that will live seared into my brain will be this, the nativity at the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Bethlehem.

  

Yes, this is a statement about the current state of things in Israel/Palestine. 

Yes, that is meant to be rubble of buildings destroyed by rockets and bombs fired by both sides of this horrible conflict. 

Yes, that is the baby Jesus there in the midst of the rubble. 

In the mess. 

Among the wrenches. 

Born into a world that is most definitely not at peace. 

In a minute we’re going to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It’s one of my most beloved Christmas hymns because of one line: “…the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Christmas has never been about a perfect Christmas peace. 

Jesus means to meet us in the rubble. 

In the mess. 

In our wretched anxiety. 

 

Jesus knows we live in a world that is not at peace, and to be honest, rarely has been. Jesus meets us there because that’s how you make this wretched world holy: you start in the rubble. In the mess. You shine the light of grace where it is most needed, and the redemption of the world begins. 

Christmas is wherever Jesus meets us, and in meeting Jesus, we meet peace, wherever he finds us. Merry Christmas, friends. May all your hopes and fears be met in Jesus, tonight and always. Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent: "Hard to Get"

The gospel according to Matthew.    Glory to you, O Lord.

    When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

    As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."

The gospel of the Lord.    Praise to you, O Christ.

    "He emerged from the metro at the L’Enfant Plaza Station and positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play. 

    It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant….

…No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made.” “Pearls Before Breakfast”  Gene Weingarten, Washington Post, 8 April 2007.

2022 Books: A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I was...not in a great place when I read A Psalm for the Wild-Built. It is now my best read of 2022 for one reason: by the time I finished it, my heart and soul and mind were more at peace than I'd been in months.

I've been recommending this little novella and its successor, A Prayer for the Crown-Shy, for months now. They pack a surprising wallop of laughter, joy, humility, simplicity, and peace for such little volumes. I've very much enjoyed Becky Chambers' other novels, but A Psalm for the Wild-Built is a volume I know I'll revisit on multiple occasions in the years to come.

Good books have an impact, so I'll give A Psalm for the Wild-Built my Book of the Year award for this reason: it had, by far, the greatest impact of any book I've read this year.

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2021 Books: Walk the Wire by David Baldacci

Walk the Wire by David Baldacci
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I've enjoyed the previous novels in this series much more than I did Walk the Wire. The main character, Amos Decker, remains as sharply written as ever, continuing to struggle with the mental and emotional issues that have marked his story thus far. The pacing of Walk the Wire is ramped up, however, to a frenetic pitch, and the addition of a second plot just leads to jumps in logic and action that feel unjustified and far too rushed.

The second plot is a crossover of characters from another Baldacci series. While other authors have pulled this off well (I'm thinking particularly of Without Remorse, Tom Clancy's masterpiece that details John Clark's origin story), Walk the Wire doesn't hit home with the same impact. Some pieces are in place to make this an excellent story, but it's just too rushed, too busy, too slipshod to work as well as previous entries in this series have done.

All that said, I did devour this one pretty quickly on a brief summer getaway to Minnesota, which can be a lot of fun in its own right. It's not a terrible novel - I've read plenty of those along the way. This one just could have been better, and it's a shame it wasn't. I'll look forward to the next Amos Decker book in the hopes that it'll be more like its excellent predecessors than Walk the Wire turned out to be.

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