We walked through the wilderness with eyes wide shut. Instead of neglecting the lessons of Bemidbar, perhaps -- in an age of questionable leadership -- we need to read it more slowly and carefully and pay better attention to the landscape.

While we cannot erase the problematic verses about homosexuality from the Torah, we can classify them as teachings that actively negate fundamental principles of Torah, and so are no longer to be accepted as "holy" -- artifacts of the human limitations of our ancestors' quest for holiness.

Jesus confronts Peter with the moral injury of the past. Through a ritual reenactment of that scene, Jesus walks Peter through his past and ushers him into a brand new future. Somehow healing begins, and new life bursts forth. May it be so with all who suffer moral injury.

Leviticus is teaching us that the holiest of work, even when we are suffering under the burden of our own grief, is to help bring healing to others.

Last week, as the Supreme Court heard arguments regarding marriage equality for same-sex couples, I returned to the Torah portion Shemini, with its cryptic report of the tragic fate of two sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu.

As we ponder in Lent the conflict of Jesus with the empire, we readily see how disturbingly contemporary the issue of this text is. The empire will hardly ever tolerate such a well-instructed, obedient advocate of alternative.

Putting aside worldly status and "earthly" credentials is not all that big a deal for Paul. He has always had high regard for the traditions that made him who he is and in fact depends on them. At the same time, his experience of Christ has led him to understand his past in a new light.

While we Jews have benefited greatly from creating a portable Judaism that we could take with us in our wanderings throughout the world, we are challenged today to consider how best to renew a sense of closeness to our Source, both cerebral and embodied.

Calling on the people -- reminding them of a shared purpose, building the sacred dwelling place we call home, or community, or our country -- is a holy task. And it is one where we all contribute, as fully as we can.

Jesus' summons to repent is not escapism or a minimization of life's hardships. It means coming to discover God as the source of sustenance, belonging, meaning and hope in this difficult life and into future existence.

I used to think that Aaron was a pretty smart person. After all, they don't make you the High Priest of the whole Jewish people unless you are a pretty capable person. But now I believe he was an amateur -- at least at the art of making excuses. You can't compare him to Lance Armstrong.

Some 12 million women, men and children across these United States await with baited breath to see what political deals will be made to construct either a pathway to citizenship or pave a road to deportation hell.

Most often in our culture God is the address for requests, for the expectation that something that I cannot control will be taken care of by a Higher or Greater Power. What if, in the spirit of Purim and our Torah reading, we adapt JFK's famous statement and ask not what God can do for you, but what you can do for God?

A fundamental question undercuts the elaborate description in this week's Torah portion, Exodus 25-27: Why does God need a home?

In a world where climate change is evidenced in super storms, wildfires, heat waves, droughts and floods, it is urgent that people of faith return to our first responsibility of being stewards of the world in which we live.

God's self-revelation in last week's Torah portion is incomplete without a human implementation of that revelation on earth in the form of just societies, as we read about this week.

When we extend generosity and justice to others, it alters our relationship to them. Especially when those "others" are foreign to us. Hospitality has ways of making the people who receive it come inside and stick around, whether we really want them to or not.

Jews, Protestants and Catholics have different versions of the Ten Commandments. Even within Judaism, the ancient rabbis held different views of which commandments were among the 10 given with such pomp and circumstance at Mount Sinai.

How shall we interpret what Jesus said in light of our deep divisions over abortion? Is the fetus in the womb oppressed or is the pregnant woman denied choices oppressed?

These bones represent a witness and protector from the past demanding to be remembered as an integral part of a leap into the future. The past, like bones in a body, provides a basic structure and form so that a person or a people has the capacity to move as one.

As we continue our journey through the book of Exodus, reading about the triumphs and travails of the Israelites in their march to freedom, let us also pause to reflect on the legacies of Abraham Joshua Heschel and Martin Luther King Jr., two great modern advocates of compassion and justice.

The gifts to Jesus of frankincense and myrrh from the wise men were practical forms of dentistry. Even today, gifts of dental healthcare for those in need continue to be vital.

As we begin the annual reading of the book of Exodus, we call on our political leaders in Israel to carefully reread this time-honored narrative, seeing themselves as modern-day figures like Moses and Miriam, who have the great opportunity and responsibility to help shape a diverse and promising Jewish and democratic society in our ancestral homeland.

Scripture is replete with examples of God drawing leaders out of the most dire circumstances. Yet, we must not let Hannah's blessing obscure our vision: Life is a hell for millions.

Too rarely do we appreciate these cheery winter holidays as an opportunity for spiritual engagement, life review or reflection. Even more rarely do we pause to realize that the family and friends with whom we spend these celebrations are more than fellow partygoers, but potential sources of inspiration for our lives.