Category: Love

Faith, Love, worship

Vulnerability Creates Love: Thoughts from Maundy Thursday

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez


  I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13: 34-35*

In a chapter entitled, “Places We Go When the Heart is Open,” author and professor Brené Brown writes “there is a debate among researchers about whether love is an emotion.” [1]

Some researchers lean toward love being an action or an intention more than emotion. And some, like Dr. Brown seem to think love is a bit of both—a descriptive word for an emotion and its accompanying feelings as well as a verb full of actions.

Yet love, whether an emotion or action or both remains elusive. Author and social critic, bell hooks, writes in her book All About Love that:

“Everywhere we learn that love is important, and yet we are bombarded by its failure. In the realm of the political, among the religious, in our families, and in our romantic lives, we see little indication that love informs decisions, strengthens our understanding of community, or keeps us together. This bleak picture in no way alters the nature of our longing. We still hope that love will prevail. We still believe in love’s promise.” [2]

Today, as we begin the service of the three days, we hear once again the story of Jesus giving the disciples a new commandment, not an additional commandment added to the other ten, but a new commandment.

34 I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Yet in order to know who to love as Jesus commands, we must return to what Jesus has been showing us throughout the story of his life here, the story of his ministry on earth.

We know Jesus ate with sinners and tax collectors. Extortionists and soldiers.

We know Jesus healed people considered the “throw-aways.” The ones banished to the edges of their communities. Forced to beg or worse in order to survive.

We know that Jesus also healed the un-seen. People who did not count as much. Whose humanity was somehow lesser than others, children and women.

We know that Jesus taught all people—regardless—about what it means to be human and in relationship with one another and with God.

And we know that Jesus taught and lived a form of unheard-of-equality. He himself was no greater than his followers. Jesus was no greater than the servants serving him. No greater than human beings suffering enslavement.

Brené Brown writes “We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness, and affection.”

Jesus shows himself often to be vulnerable. In our text this evening, Jesus kneels as the servants and enslaved do. He disrobes. And while he is not fully naked, without his robe he is less protected, more vulnerable. Then he makes an offering to his disciples, his beloved disciples. And the offering is one of trust, respect, kindness, and affection.

In this action of love Jesus moves the disciples (all but one disciple that is) away from all that damages the tender roots of love: “shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection.”

And while Jesus does not say it in the Gospel of John, he does say something very important about love in Luke, chapter 10 in the parable of the Good Samaritan:

 “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

Love your neighbor as yourself brings us back to Brene Brown’s work. She believes from her research that “we can love others only as much as we love ourselves.”

This love thing for others does not happen unless we are willing to be vulnerable with ourselves and others. And only if we are willing to heal the soil in which love cannot grow for ourselves and others. And only if we treat our own bodies with the tenderness that Jesus washed the feet of his friends, even the friend who betrayed him!

To love then is not easy. It is as layered as the gospel writers of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John as well as the Deuteronomist say it is. Love takes our hearts, our souls, our minds, and our strength. Not so much as to love but as to heal the blame, shame, disrespect, betrayal and withholding of affection that dampens and even kills love.  So yes, bell hooks, is correct. The picture of love is bleak in this world we live in. But it was also bleak when Jesus lived on this earth. And yet, he held hope for all creation that love was and is possible. And if Jesus showed us that love is still possible then I believe we too can remain hopeful and with open hearts for ourselves and others. Amen.

[1] Brown, Brené (2021) “Places We Go When the Heart is Open,” in Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience.

[2] hooks, bell (2001) all about love: new visions.

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

*The above post is based on John 13:1-17, 31b-35 and was originally heard as the Maundy Thursday sermon on April 17, 2025 in the midst of the congregation of St. Johns Lutheran Church, Rock Island, Illinois.

Grief, Healing, Love, Trauma, Trauma recovery

Unsent Letter

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased. Luke 3:22

A few years back I began repeating this biblical text to my sons. Words spilling out when I was at the very end of my patience or beyond tired. Often accompanied by placing my hand on their heads of tangled hair in an unofficial gesture of blessing.

These words calmed me. Diffused any situation. Whatever it was. Reminded me that no matter what I loved them with every connected molecule of my being. Later, I would laugh at my audacity. Knowing  it would take some time for them to realize I was quoting scripture. 

My eldest son asked me on the day of his dad’s one year memorial mass,  “How can you be proud of me when I haven’t done anything with my life yet?”

Through tears, I babbled some sort of response. Praying it was enough for my hurting son on that raw and painful day. Later, I thought of what I could have said, still wanted to say. So, I wrote this letter and found it among my many drafts not so long ago, still unsent. 

                                                                                                               After the 13th of August, 2017 

To my beloved sons,

Did you know the root of the word “believe” finds its way back to the word “beloved?” What a wild play on words! To say we believe in something or someone is to acknowledge our love for them.

After all that has happened, I still believe in us, in our family, and in our love for one another. We loved, Dad and I, by believing in one another and in you. 

Right now you may not believe in anything. Yet you love. You have loved more in the past twelve months than ever before. Loved Dad in loss and grief. Loved me at my absolute worst. Loved one another in the midst of chaos. And most importantly loved your selves–your grieving, traumatized, messy, lost selves. You may not feel you are loving right now. But here’s what I believe (and therefore love): We cannot face adversity without courage. And true courage is born of love.

I am and remain proud of you both. Not just of who you are right now but of who you will become in life. Not that I know or can see or predict the you that you will be. But I believe in you both. 

Love, 

Mom

Love

Soul Mosaic

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

The following words are from my talk at this year’s Quad Cities Pride Fest, June 3, 2023

It is my humble delight to by this year’s spiritual speaker. Or as like I say, “soul speaker.” Because that’s what people like me do, we care for souls—both our own and others. We care for souls not by saving souls from whatever sin is! But we care for souls with openness, love, and compassion.

So let’s take a moment to care for our souls. Take a moment to feel the difference in temperature between the air around you and the temperature of your skin.

Notice the difference. Name the difference. Welcome the difference between you as a human being and the natural world’s air, breeze, wind.

So, before we go any further, let’s define together just what we think “soul” is? (And I say there is no right or wrong here). What is our soul? How do we define it?

Soul is something deep within us. Something that flows through our veins and our nervous systems. Soul connects us to our hearts, minds, and bodies. Soul joins us to every part of who we are and in doing so knows the fullness of our truths. Even the truths we have yet to discover about ourselves.

So, here’s why I think caring for souls is necessary and my two reasons are equally important:

  • All souls deserve to be cared for.
  • Cared for souls care for other souls.

Soul care happens in small and big ways, both micro and macro ways. Micro, small ways such as greeting a stranger with a smile or being polite to the person checking out your groceries or taking time to recenter ourselves when feeling stressed. These are small moments of soul nourishment.

Macro, well today, this festival, is a macro event of soul caring. And this event, this month, and the hard work of these times shifts and changes the organizational systems which want to oppress souls. Oppress the diversity of souls. Squeeze all souls into only two categories.

Which is so bizarre to me since in my spiritual tradition, God created the first soul on earth and called that soul “adam” which in ancient Hebrew means “human being!” 

And Eve, the next soul to be created, means life or source of life. So together these two words mean human being, source of life.

So everyone here knows that words have meaning and power. Yet this Judeo-Christian creation story has come to mean male and female and that’s it. Never do we hear that these two names might mean something broader, more encompassing, more undefinable such as human being, source of life!

This creation story in the way it has been historically told impacts and infects us all. So where did this narrowed view of creation begin. Well, I suspect in a lack of internal curiosity of who each of us is as a human being, source of life. In a lack of soul curiosity. Such wondering requires us to be curious about our emotions. And emotions, for some reason, seem to be scary.

So here’s a question for you: How many emotions do you think you experience?

Researchers disagree a bit about our diversity of emotional experience. But most agree that we experience far more emotions than we can name. If fact, Brené Brown says we experience around 87 different emotions. In her research she found that most people can only name 3 emotions. 3! What about the other 84?

Do you know what the three most nameable emotions are?

  • Happy
  • Sad
  • Mad

That’s rights–happy, sad, and mad!

So, let’s take a few minutes right now, to tend to our souls again. This time I want you to go inside yourself, inside your body. And be curious about what you are feeling right now. Ask yourself:

“Hey body! How are you feeling today?”

If you are struggling to put a name on what you are internally experiencing, turn to your neighbor (if you feel comfortable) for some assistance.

Once you can name how your body is feeling on the inside, share it on the outside. Share it with someone you know but I also support you in sharing with someone you do not know.

Okay. Let’s find out how many emotions are happening right here, right now. Start shouting out emotions to me. Let’s see if we can get way past 3!

My friends, diversity begins within before it flows out. It begins when we connect to our souls, claim our souls, care for our souls so that we can name and claim the myriad of emotions we experience each and every day. True soul care asks us for this recognition of our own beloved internal diversity. And diversity continues as our cared-for souls care for other souls. And our community’s souls, our nation’s souls, and our world’s souls.

When we do this deep work of soul care, we create the true mosaic of who we all are as human beings, sources of life!

So, my friends, I leave you today with this soul blessing:

May all of creation bless you. May all of creation claim you as beloved. May all of creation shine in your soul. Blessed, claimed, and shining, may you do the same for every soul you meet.

Thank you for sharing your souls with me today!

Pride Image by Robert Jones from Pixabay.

Faith, Love

Revealing Gospel

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

Two seminary professors asked my classmates and me this question:

“What is Gospel?”

What? Aren’t we supposed to know what Gospel is? Isn’t part of being a Christian knowing this stuff. Even if we are sort of a part-time Christian? Or even a couple-times-a-year Christian?

Oh Crap. I’m in seminary and I’m Googling the definition. If anyone is supposed to know what the Gospel is, it’s people like me.

Google is good though. I get “the revelation of Christ.”

Revelation, now that’s an interesting word. It’s from the verb, to reveal. Reveal meaning make known, disclose, tell, release.  So are the Gospels like God’s version of reality TV’s “big reveal?” Like God’s big makeover? God not happy with God’s image or God’s house? Or both? Or is this revelation something else?

I’m banking on a combination of all of the above. Beginning with Old Testament metaphors. Words used to describe God by comparing God to other stuff like king, father, ruler, rock, fire, water, tree, potter, beekeeper, shepherd, stronghold, fortress, and high ridge. God, according to these comparisons, is a leader, a collection of necessary natural resources, a creator of earthly goods, a farmer, and a protector. All image with some relationship stuff.

The Old Testament also speaks of a savior. Someone or something being sent by God some time in the future. This savior also has many names. Names such as branch, son, gift, prince of peace, counsellor, signal, and Immanuel.

Immanuel, a different word than the rest. A name rather than a metaphor. A word meaning God with us. But how? How is God with us?

Back to the metaphors. God has been with God’s people from the beginning. In a variety of odd ways. God the seamstress made clothing for Adam and Eve as they left the garden. God the burning bush got Moses’ attention. God the natural resource produced water from desert rocks for thirsty Israelites. In the Old Testament God shows up story after story sticking with people. Regardless of their actions. Regardless of their doubts. Regardless of their complaining.

And then comes the New Testament. Beginning with the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. Four books called “the Gospels.” Four books about Jesus’ life on earth including his death and it’s afterwards. Stories revealing who this guy was and is. And because Jesus is both fully human and fully divine, these same books reveal who God is as well.

So what do we find out about Jesus and God in the Gospel stories? What is revealed? Uncovered? Made clear? Discovered?

In Immanuel, God is made known in a new way. A more intimate way. Immanuel God is God of the burning bush and the whirlwind and the shouting prophet and a collection of odd metaphors and something more.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What came into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Words from the beginning of the fourth Gospel, the Gospel of John. Jesus, the Word, the message, the light, the past, current, and ongoing story. Jesus, both with God and with us as well. Humans depicted as the metaphor of darkness in contrast to the metaphor used for God, light. Humans never God or able to overcome God even though we try obliterating our own humanness and all of creation instead. Reading verse 5 as: “God loves into our humanness, and our humanness did not succeed in overcoming God.”

In the beginning was the Word creating life, everlasting and continuing life. Life-giving life for all people, all creation. Our life always with God and God always with us. Where ever we are. In suffering. In joy. In sorrow. In hope. Sometimes in crazy talking burning bushes. Sometimes in the skilled hands of a surgeon. Sometimes in the embrace of a friend. Sometimes in a smile from a stranger. Sometimes in a wrong that has been made right. Sometimes when we reach out to help someone else.

God with us, in us, loving us, always. Love, a gift. Called grace. For everyone. Grace given when we try to cover up God. Grace given when we stop and see a glimpse of God instead. Grace, relational, forgiving, feeding, caring, repairing. Grace calling us to do God’s work on earth as it is in heaven.

The Word, a metaphor. Containing enormous meaning. Word as message, story. In the beginning was and is our never-ending story of being human. Of being God’s beloved people and of who God is. God known to us, not only in a collection of words. But God as human being. In Jesus Christ. Jesus, “the word of life…revealed.” (1 John 1: 2) Always with us through Spirit’s breath, wind, energy, and call. God, Immanuel still. Then. Now, Tomorrow. Always.

Amen.

Scripture quoted is from the NRSV. 

Image by Felix-Mittermeier.de from Pixabay

Family, Healing, Love

My Children Leave Me in January

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez
Snow and Ice

My children leave me in January when winter sky covers the fields. Dropped temperatures bundle us into sluggish selves. Frosted windows watch as the world whispers in thickened silence.

My children leave me in January never following the predetermined course of others their age. Not August or September when many return to school. While recent graduates load trailers traveling toward new adventures. And gap year’s youth stuff large backpacks with necessities for discovering the unknown.

But January while I wonder who I am without their daily sounds and smiles. Mourn my womb’s smallness. Never enough to hold them forever, within me, around me, close.

My children leave me in January leaving a scattering of unpaired shoes, balled up socks, and half-read books. Things set down as markers of this place still theirs while they seek something other than here.

My children leave me in January as if coming back. And they do. But each time less to stay than to visit. A gradual reduction of living together as family. Signaling a time almost over for forever. Womb receding, shriveling, sobbing in emptiness.