Evening Prayer: Clobbering the Clobber Texts

Merciful God, who sets the lonely in families and calls the outcast beloved,

This evening I come to You carrying the weight of words — words that have been wielded like stones when You meant them to be bread. Matthew 25:35 haunts me in the best possible way: "I was a stranger and you invited me in." Not "I was a stranger and you checked my credentials." Not "I was a stranger and you debated whether I deserved a place at the table." You invited me in. Full stop.

The Anglican tradition teaches us to read Scripture with the mind, the heart, and the community gathered around the altar. We do not read alone. We read alongside the widow lighting a candle at Evensong and the teenager slipping into the back pew, unsure if church is safe enough to hold their questions. Every difficult text becomes an invitation — not to build walls, but to ask, "Lord, where are You hiding in this passage, and who have I failed to see?"

Tonight I confess: I have sometimes loved my interpretation of Your Word more than I have loved the people standing in front of me. Forgive me. Teach me the holy art of holding Scripture in one hand and my neighbor's dignity in the other, refusing to let go of either.