Even Fools Like Me

By Ken Woodley

Christmas is still two weeks away, but oh, what a blessed gift it is to be a fool and yet still loved and saved by God.

What a blessed, blessed gift for us to unwrap.

I read the 35th chapter of the book of Isaiah (New International Version) nearly every morning before sunrise because, in typical Isaiah fashion, everything will be made right: 

“The Wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,

the desert shall rejoice and blossom;

… Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,

and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

then the lame shall leap like a deer,

and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy … 

the burning sand shall become a pool,

and the thirsty ground springs of water….”

How wondrously miraculous for us because there are individual, highly personal “wildernesses” through which we all must travel, times when we feel blind, unable to speak or hear, and our hearts weary and broken to the point of lameness.

Sometimes the difficulty is just making it to the starting line through another cold, gray, dark morning that seems to dawn without any promise of a true sunrise.

But that is not all we are left with. That is never all there is, where God is concerned. There is a light that always shines, through any weather and every season—even shining in the seasons deep within other seasons.

How do we journey through our times of great trouble—or minor rough patches—into that spiritual “promised land” where even the driest deserts are turned inside out?

There is a highway, Isaiah assures us, the Holy Way, the way for God’s people, and on that Holy Way none of life’s “ravenous beasts” can stop us unless we let them.

That assurance is wonderful in its own right but the truly glorious thing is this:

“No traveler, not even fools, shall go astray,” we are told by God through the prophet Isaiah in the New Revised Standard Version.

Of that fact I rejoice and cheer until I go hoarse. Even in my most foolish moments—and God knows I’ve had several thousand—God has not let me go truly astray. God’s love and grace have kept me on that Holy Way. Or led back on that path after I’d wandered off.

God knows humanity and understands that all of us will act foolishly at times. Sometimes it’s simply the foolishness of putting our own words into God’s mouth, framing our own expectations as if they were the word of God, and then becoming disheartened when those expectations aren’t met.

I’ve had to remind myself that, with the best of intentions, I put those words in God’s mouth. There is a huge difference between a genuine communication from the Holy Spirit and my own wishful thinking.

If, when that happens, I don’t realize that what I’ve done is perform a ventriloquist act—putting my voice in God’s mouth—then I am the real dummy in the performance.

Ironically, another opportunity for human foolishness is ignoring the voice of God when it does speak to our soul—when it is not us putting words in God’s mouth but actually the Holy Spirit of God communicating with us directly. 

Especially when God is recommending a course correction in our lives to keep us on the Holy Way.

But God is ever-forgiving and ever-encouraging, even in the midst of our most foolish moments. God is always with us, speaking ceaselessly through the Holy Spirit until we listen, God promising that our deserts shall rejoice and blossom if we would only follow God’s signposts on the Holy Way.

There will be desert moments in our lives—we cannot avoid them—but, if we persevere, God promises that our troubled hearts shall some day leap like a deer.

Leap like the heart of a little child on Christmas Day.

Leap like a heart that understands the greatest gift of all is far too large to wrap.

Because that gift itself is wrapped around the whole, wide world:

God’s love. 

If we’d only all open it together.


By Ken Woodley
Christmas is still two weeks away, but oh, what a blessed gift it is to be a fool and yet still loved and saved by God.
What a blessed, blessed gift for us to unwrap.
I read the 35th chapter of the book of Isaiah (New International Version) nearly every morning before sunrise because, in typical Isaiah fashion, everything will be made right:
“The Wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
… Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy …
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water….”
How wondrously miraculous for us because there are individual, highly personal “wildernesses” through which we all must travel, times when we feel blind, unable to speak or hear, and our hearts weary and broken to the point of lameness.
Sometimes the difficulty is just making it to the starting line through another cold, gray, dark morning that seems to dawn without any promise of a true sunrise.
But that is not all we are left with. That is never all there is, where God is concerned. There is a light that always shines, through any weather and every season—even shining in the seasons deep within other seasons.
How do we journey through our times of great trouble—or minor rough patches—into that spiritual “promised land” where even the driest deserts are turned inside out?
There is a highway, Isaiah assures us, the Holy Way, the way for God’s people, and on that Holy Way none of life’s “ravenous beasts” can stop us unless we let them.
That assurance is wonderful in its own right but the truly glorious thing is this:
“No traveler, not even fools, shall go astray,” we are told by God through the prophet Isaiah in the New Revised Standard Version.
Of that fact I rejoice and cheer until I go hoarse. Even in my most foolish moments—and God knows I’ve had several thousand—God has not let me go truly astray. God’s love and grace have kept me on that Holy Way. Or led back on that path after I’d wandered off.
God knows humanity and understands that all of us will act foolishly at times. Sometimes it’s simply the foolishness of putting our own words into God’s mouth, framing our own expectations as if they were the word of God, and then becoming disheartened when those expectations aren’t met.
I’ve had to remind myself that, with the best of intentions, I put those words in God’s mouth. There is a huge difference between a genuine communication from the Holy Spirit and my own wishful thinking.
If, when that happens, I don’t realize that what I’ve done is perform a ventriloquist act—putting my voice in God’s mouth—then I am the real dummy in the performance.
Ironically, another opportunity for human foolishness is ignoring the voice of God when it does speak to our soul—when it is not us putting words in God’s mouth but actually the Holy Spirit of God communicating with us directly.
Especially when God is recommending a course correction in our lives to keep us on the Holy Way.
But God is ever-forgiving and ever-encouraging, even in the midst of our most foolish moments. God is always with us, speaking ceaselessly through the Holy Spirit until we listen, God promising that our deserts shall rejoice and blossom if we would only follow God’s signposts on the Holy Way.
There will be desert moments in our lives—we cannot avoid them—but, if we persevere, God promises that our troubled hearts shall some day leap like a deer.
Leap like the heart of a little child on Christmas Day.
Leap like a heart that understands the greatest gift of all is far too large to wrap.
Because that gift itself is wrapped around the whole, wide world:
God’s love.
If we’d only all open it together.






The Journey and Adventure of a Lifetime

By Ken Woodley

Why? Rather than go to the blind man, Jesus made the beggar Bartimaeus find him in a large crowd leaving Jericho. Why?

Wouldn’t it have been far kinder for Jesus to go to the blind man?

Let’s set the scene: In the time of Jesus, Jericho was a “gateway city.” Anyone traveling to Jerusalem from the north or the east passed through Jericho. That’s in addition to the city’s bustling population. Herod the Great, in fact, built his winter palace there. So today’s gospel lesson from Mark is overflowing with people.

But here’s the fascinating thing: Bartimaeus had zero difficulty finding Jesus among the throng going in and out of Jericho.

“So throwing off his cloak,”the Gospel tells us, “he sprang up and came to Jesus.” Bartimaeus had no problem at all.  And that is the crucial point.

Despite the crowded confusion, a man who cannot see was able find one person in particular and stand face to face with Jesus.

He did not have to search by trial and error, bumping into people, falling down, getting back up and trying again and again. 

Surrounded by the darkness of being blind, Bartimaeus was able to see the light of Christ.

It was as if his soul had a homing signal that led him unerringly to one man among everyone else in that crowded place.

 Bartimaeus, though blind, could see Jesus, and the truth of Jesus, far more clearly than just about anyone else in this very crowded scene. 

Especially those who sternly warned him to be quiet and stop bothering Jesus. If they thought that Jesus couldn’t be bothered to heal someone, they just couldn’t really see Jesus at all.

And perhaps that explains why Jesus instructs them to tell Bartimaeus to come to him. Jesus wanted them to witness and ponder a blind man finding him in a large crowd.

Maybe he wanted them to wonder what a blind beggar could see in Jesus that they themselves were blind to. Might Jesus have been addressing the widespread spiritual blindness he sensed all around him?

Jesus, of course, heals Bartimaeus, telling him, in his very meaningful way, that Bartimaeus’s own faith has made him well.  I believe Jesus intuitively knew that Bartimaeus would easily find him. The blind man’s insistent call was a cry of deep faith. But the events leading up to that healing almost seem more important than the healing, itself.

We all suffer times of momentary inner or spiritual blindness. 

The world outside our own Jerichos is crowded with things that can blind us to the light of Christ and the love of God and make our souls feel surrounded by darkness, unable to feel the presence of God or Christ, stumbling, struggling to regain our spiritual footing and then falling again..

When that happens, it’s a good idea to follow the example of Bartimaeus and shout with our lips and with our soul for Jesus to come and heal our inner blindness. 

And keep on shouting with stubborn persistence, no matter how much the crowded world tries to keep us silent, as those around Bartimaeus had attempted to silence him. 

When we persist in crying out for Jesus, we will find Christ. Our soul will be opened to his light. And in that light we will understand that Jesus never went anywhere. 

He never left us behind, outside the walls of our own Jerichos. In our inner blindness, we couldn’t see that he was right there with us all the time, and in a very special way that we might have lost sight of.

Like Bartimaeus, we mustn’t forget to throw off our “cloaks.” His  beggar’s cloak had become a cocoon of imprisonment, the “skin” of Bartimaeus’s previously blind existence. 

Throwing it off, as he sprang up and came to Jesus, he became like a new butterfly pulling free of its chrysalis. Spreading the wings of his new life of full sight and employment and a new cloak.

We can also pull free from the cocoon of our inner blindness. Throwing off the mental cloak that the world has crowded into our mind. Throwing it off so that our soul can see what so much of the crowded world is blind to—the presence of the Holy Spirit within us. 

Jesus repeatedly describes it with such simple, beautiful power in the Gospel of John. God, Jesus tells us in the 14th chapter, will send us the Holy Spirit. The world cannot accept the Holy Spirit, Jesus explains, because the world neither sees it nor knows it. But we will know it, Jesus assures us, because it lives with us and will actually be inside us.

“I in them and you in me,” Jesus prays to God in the 17th chapter. “May they be perfectly one.” That is a Holy Trinity of love that deserves our full attention and we are right in the very middle of it. God loves us, Jesus tells us, just as much as God loves him.

That transcendent, transformational truth is what the cloak of the crowded world can make us forget, leaving our souls feeling blind and alone, stumbling in the dark, unable to find—not one person in a crowded place—but unable to find what God has actually put within us.

The deepest truth in today’s gospel lesson about Bartimaeus’ encounter with Jesus is that the most profound “sight” we possess has nothing at all to do with our eyes.

And exploring that truth is the journey, and adventure, of a lifetime.

By Ken Woodley

Why? Rather than go to the blind man, Jesus made the beggar Bartimaeus find him in a large crowd leaving Jericho. Why?

Wouldn’t it have been far kinder for Jesus to go to the blind man?

Let’s set the scene: In the time of Jesus, Jericho was a “gateway city.” Anyone traveling to Jerusalem from the north or the east passed through Jericho. That’s in addition to the city’s bustling population. Herod the Great, in fact, built his winter palace there. So today’s gospel lesson from Mark is overflowing with people.

But here’s the fascinating thing: Bartimaeus had zero difficulty finding Jesus among the throng going in and out of Jericho.

“So throwing off his cloak,”the Gospel tells us, “he sprang up and came to Jesus.” Bartimaeus had no problem at all. And that is the crucial point.

Despite the crowded confusion, a man who cannot see was able find one person in particular and stand face to face with Jesus.

He did not have to search by trial and error, bumping into people, falling down, getting back up and trying again and again.

Surrounded by the darkness of being blind, Bartimaeus was able to see the light of Christ.

It was as if his soul had a homing signal that led him unerringly to one man among everyone else in that crowded place.

Bartimaeus, though blind, could see Jesus, and the truth of Jesus, far more clearly than just about anyone else in this very crowded scene.

Especially those who sternly warned him to be quiet and stop bothering Jesus. If they thought that Jesus couldn’t be bothered to heal someone, they just couldn’t really see Jesus at all.

And perhaps that explains why Jesus instructs them to tell Bartimaeus to come to him. Jesus wanted them to witness and ponder a blind man finding him in a large crowd.

Maybe he wanted them to wonder what a blind beggar could see in Jesus that they themselves were blind to. Might Jesus have been addressing the widespread spiritual blindness he sensed all around him?

Jesus, of course, heals Bartimaeus, telling him, in his very meaningful way, that Bartimaeus’s own faith has made him well. I believe Jesus intuitively knew that Bartimaeus would easily find him. The blind man’s insistent call was a cry of deep faith. But the events leading up to that healing almost seem more important than the healing, itself.

We all suffer times of momentary inner or spiritual blindness.

The world outside our own Jerichos is crowded with things that can blind us to the light of Christ and the love of God and make our souls feel surrounded by darkness, unable to feel the presence of God or Christ, stumbling, struggling to regain our spiritual footing and then falling again..

When that happens, it’s a good idea to follow the example of Bartimaeus and shout with our lips and with our soul for Jesus to come and heal our inner blindness.

And keep on shouting with stubborn persistence, no matter how much the crowded world tries to keep us silent, as those around Bartimaeus had attempted to silence him.

When we persist in crying out for Jesus, we will find Christ. Our soul will be opened to his light. And in that light we will understand that Jesus never went anywhere.

He never left us behind, outside the walls of our own Jerichos. In our inner blindness, we couldn’t see that he was right there with us all the time, and in a very special way that we might have lost sight of.

Like Bartimaeus, we mustn’t forget to throw off our “cloaks.” His beggar’s cloak had become a cocoon of imprisonment, the “skin” of Bartimaeus’s previously blind existence.

Throwing it off, as he sprang up and came to Jesus, he became like a new butterfly pulling free of its chrysalis. Spreading the wings of his new life of full sight and employment and a new cloak.

We can also pull free from the cocoon of our inner blindness. Throwing off the mental cloak that the world has crowded into our mind. Throwing it off so that our soul can see what so much of the crowded world is blind to—the presence of the Holy Spirit within us.

Jesus repeatedly describes it with such simple, beautiful power in the Gospel of John. God, Jesus tells us in the 14th chapter, will send us the Holy Spirit. The world cannot accept the Holy Spirit, Jesus explains, because the world neither sees it nor knows it. But we will know it, Jesus assures us, because it lives with us and will actually be inside us.

“I in them and you in me,” Jesus prays to God in the 17th chapter. “May they be perfectly one.” That is a Holy Trinity of love that deserves our full attention and we are right in the very middle of it. God loves us, Jesus tells us, just as much as God loves him.

That transcendent, transformational truth is what the cloak of the crowded world can make us forget, leaving our souls feeling blind and alone, stumbling in the dark, unable to find—not one person in a crowded place—but unable to find what God has actually put within us.

The deepest truth in today’s gospel lesson about Bartimaeus’ encounter with Jesus is that the most profound “sight” we possess has nothing at all to do with our eyes.

And exploring that truth is the journey, and adventure, of a lifetime.