From the Desk of Luke T. Bitzkie

On this July 4th, I am disillusioned, like so many others in this country. I am disillusioned by the abductions that are happening all around us and right before our eyes. I am disillusioned by the unwillingness of those in power to fight back against such evil, and moreover, I am disillusioned by those who advocate for this evil. I've tried to think of something to write amidst this, perhaps related to this holiday or the faith that I hold so dear. But, nothing I can write today would compare to the Schoenberg's cantata, "A Survivor from Warsaw." So, in this post, I give you the lyrics of his powerful piece. I encourage you to read them along as you listen to it, and I pray that you and I may fully hear him. - I cannot remember everything. I must have been unconscious most of the time. I remember only the grandiose moment when they all started to sing, as if prearranged, the old prayer they had neglected for so many years - the forgotten creed! But I have no recollec...

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be " home ." Is home the places that we've once lived, or is it the people who've lived there with us? Is it both? Perhaps home something else entirely, something we're always creating as life goes on.  I've no answer to this question, but I've listened to many songs that speak of home. These songs all speak of their artists' own homes. Their musings aren't exact, and they aren't necessarily all full truths. But, they are all singing of some conception of their homes, even if they exist only in their own minds. Here are some of these artists' musings of their own homes, found, as is usual, in the words of country songs: "Deep within' my heart lies a melody, a song of old San Antone; where in dreams I live with a memory, beneath the stars all alone. It was there I found beside the Alamo, enchantment strange as the blue up above; a moonlit path that only she would know, still hears ...

And, thou didst bring away Captivity thence Captive, us to win. Behold, the Prophesied Redeemer has risen! The Jesus who was killed by the Roman Empire is alive again! His eyes were glossed over, but now he sees! His mouth was closed, but now he speaks! The Son of Humanity is here again, and he has come to free us from the Roman Empire! The exclamations of the disciples of Jesus on that day were ecstatic. When they saw him and recognized him, they were elated that their teacher was alive again. They had seen him hanging on the cross only two days before, and many of them also saw him placed in the tomb. The disciples saw their teacher die, but now they were seeing the impossible. They saw him alive again—and he had returned to free them at last! But, Jesus didn't free them from the Roman Empire. So, what does the resurrection of Jesus mean if he didn't free them from the Roman Empire? Why do we celebrate Easter if the resurrected Jesus returned only to leave again forty days la...

Ride on, ride on in majesty, in lowly pomp ride on to die. Last week, Jesus the Christ rode into Jerusalem—triumphant and humble, riding on a donkey. This was the Prophesied Redeemer, riding into Jerusalem to reclaim it from the hands of the oppressive Romans. But, Jesus did not rid the Romans by militant force or supernatural eviction. Instead, Jesus died. Today, Jesus is dead. He is dead, bled out on a cross with his life gone from behind his eyes. He has stiffened up, excremented, and begun to smell of rot. The mythologized loincloth does nothing to hide the  extent of his injuries, and the spear plunged into his side only confirms. Our Jesus has been murdered at the hands of the state, completely and utterly dead. Today, you may hear a preacher proclaim that "Christ is not dead forever!" But, beloved, do not be fooled. This proclamation is but a falsity. Our Jesus died on the cross. What foolishness it is to have hope when our Jesus has died. Today is a day of sorrow, not...

" I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug. " I had been undergoing a health struggle for a prolonged period. I had navigated multiple doctors and doctors' offices, and after long and excruciating three months, I had finally found my way to a specialist. I was relieved but still weary as I sat waiting to be seen. I had traveled to another city in the hope that she could help me, potentially even cure me. But, what if she couldn't help? What if I was to be stuck like this? Precisely on-time, the doctor entered the room. She introduced herself, examined me, and we talked for a while. We discussed diagnoses, treatments, and the like. She listened to me, as a patient, and I listened to her, as a medical provider. And, as the appointment was concluding, I found myself feeling a slight tremor of hope within my soul. Perhaps, I could be cured. ...

This month, I had the opportunity to meet and interview Evangelist Patsy Barnes – a native of McGregor, Texas, and a Christian minister who is no stranger to giving a powerful word. But, in this conversation, Mrs. Barnes did not preach from a pulpit or a stage. Instead, she spoke from her living room couch, recounting her childhood memories of McGregor's school integration in 1965. We talked for nearly two hours. I hung on every word, yet by the time we neared the two-hour mark, it felt as if only thirty minutes had passed. Mrs. Barnes shared stories of her upbringing in McGregor, her experiences with segregation, life in her church, her pastor, and the profound influence of Christianity and the biblical texts on her life. She offered no shortage of wisdom, and I – her interviewer – was deeply grateful for every word she shared. I conducted this interview with two primary goals. First, I sought to uncover McGregor's history concerning segregation from the perspective of East Mc...

One of my favorite things that Paw and I would do together was ride in his white Chevy pickup. The long rides down to Uncle JJ’s farm, the short rides home from middle school football practice, and every time that we rode down East Bear Springs Road together. He seemed to love to give up his time to drive me around, long before I could drive myself. That was my Paw, and that’s where I spent the best time with him – riding in his pickup truck. My favorite memory with Paw was doing just that. We were driving down East Bear Springs, and we were crossing the creek where the road dipped down. I don’t remember where we were going, or why. I just remember that we were together, me and Paw. “Coca-Cola Cowboy” by Mel Tillis was the song on the radio. I don’t exactly remember if he or I started singing first, probably me, but by the time that the road dipped down, we were both singing that song, together , me and Paw. I’ll always cherish that moment we had, singing along to a song. A so...

As someone who is studying to be a minister and an academic, Christmas brings with it the opportunity to explore the many dimensions of the birth of Jesus Christ. Rest assured, there is a plethora of ways in which one could view and appreciate the birth of Jesus. However, I believe that these various dimensions may not be the best way for us to understand the birth of Jesus this Christmas. So, today, I posit a different way to appreciate the baby Jesus – as a baby of Bethlehem. Around 4-6 BCE, Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem in Judea. Then occupied by the Roman Empire, Judea was a land marked by high tension, heavy taxation, and mass poverty. The Jewish people, of whom Jesus was a part, were being oppressed in their own land. Their existence and livelihood were subject to the whims of their imperial occupiers. These imperial forces called for a census, and because of this census, Joseph and Mary, the parents of Jesus, were forced to travel to Bethlehem – the ancestral homeplace of J...

A CEO was murdered. The police launched a manhunt and caught the assassin. A mom was denied medicine for her child. The child died. So it goes. A girl opened fire in a school. She killed two, wounded six. Ms. Barbara's kindergarteners go to school in the morning. So it goes. A bomb was dropped on tents. A family went in five directions. We go to the movies tonight. Perhaps we'll get popcorn. So it goes. A police cruiser speeds down the highway. The mother is dying. "Look at the pretty lights," the boy says. He sees a Christmas tree. So it goes. A man cries in the driver's seat. He was abused. "I need you," she says. He kisses her. This cycles. So it goes. "$X,000," says the politician. Those dinners could feed families. "At least he's liberal," says the starving mother. So it goes. The car was burning metal. "It's to remind me of home," he says. Bethlehem was bombed. So it goes. He played there. 19 dead. His brothers...