ALL SAINTS CHURCH Lenten Toolkit

EASTER DAY

2011-04-24T08:39:00.000-07:00

Matthew 28:1–10

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and Mary, mother of James and Joseph, went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. The angel‘s appearance was like lightning, with garments white as snow. The guards shook with fear and fell as though they were dead. The angel said to the women, ―Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell the disciples: ‗He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Gali-lee. There you will see him.‘ Now I have told you.‖ So the women hurried away from the tomb, with awe and great joy, and ran to carry the good news to the disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. ―Shalom,‖ he said. They came to him, embraced his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, ―Do not be afraid. Go and tell the disciples to go to Galilee; there they will see me.‖

Reflection -- Anne Breck Peterson

During my years at All Saints it has been my privilege to participate in the memorial services of a host of amazing individuals I have worked with, known, admired and loved. Each service is planned taking into account the person‘s favorite hymns and passages of scripture—a process made easier if the individual has left a list of these things in a file somewhere. As I read this passage of Mary Magdalene at the tomb of her beloved friend Jesus, I realize I must make it clear to my family that this is the passage of scripture that affects me most deeply.

Sadly making her way to the tomb with her friend to anoint the body, Mary Magdalene experi-ences a shaking of the earth, a strange light in front of a tomb that is now empty, and guards in-ert with fear. Bidden to go and tell the others, she and her friend hurry to take the good news to the disciples, encountering the presence of Jesus in the process. I see Mary running to the disci-ples, exclaiming, ―I have seen the Lord!‖ Her surprise and delight communicate such energy to me. It makes me wonder in what ways I am living as if I had ―seen the Lord.‖

The most difficult death I have experienced was that of my adored father and last parent in 2000. During the months he was moving toward the end of his life, I was also helping my daughter to prepare for her marriage. He died two weeks before her wedding. A month later, I returned from Thanksgiving with my dear stepmother and her wonderful family where we had given away all his worldly goods. I was exhausted.

My colleagues agreed to pick up the plan-ning of Christmas services while I went to a friend‘s beach house to sleep and then to a psycho-therapist I had checked in with during other crises. He asked me what qualities in my father I admired most. As I listed them he asked, ―Which of those reside in you?‖ I felt a shift in my being, a moving to a new place, claiming some of the attributes I had so loved in him. I look back on this as a resurrection experience for me as I experienced life in a new way.

As Mary runs to tell the disciples, and as they themselves experience Jesus‘ presence, some-thing changes in them. No longer are they the followers who don‘t get the punch lines of his stories or who try to dissuade him from walking the bold journey that cost him his life. They, too, are able to claim for themselves some of the qualities they admired in Jesus and are fired up to take his life changing story to the ends of the earth.

—What in the Easter experience energizes you?
—What will you do with that energy?
—What has been a resurrection experience for you?

Holy Saturday: Easter Preparation

2011-04-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

by Susan Russell

In the calm-before-the-Easter-storm of music, mystery and Alleluias the back-stage preparations are in high gear. Flowers are being organized and arranged ...

... and the liturgies have been copied and collated ...

... as we prepare at All Saints Church for our six celebrations of Easter: the 4:00 Children's Vigil this afternoon, where 17 little people will be baptized into the Body of Christ; the 7:30 Great Vigil of Easter where we will kindle the first fire of Easter, sing the Exsultet, hear the stories of salvation and then baptize 5 bigger people and welcome 52 new members; and then the four Easter Day services -- 7, 9, 11:15 and 1pm -- with families and flowers and music and joy.

So in this calm-before-the-Easter-storm, here's a poem by John O'Donohue to help our internal preparation for Easter catch up with the external preparations so well underway:

No one knew the name of this day;
Born quietly from deepest night,
It hid its face in light,
Demanded nothing for itself,
Opened out to offer each of us
A field of brightness that traveled ahead,
Providing in time, ground to hold our footsteps
And the light of thought to show the way.

The mind of the day draws no attention;
It dwells within the silence with elegance
To create a space for all our words,
Drawing us to listen inward and outward.

We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.

Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.

So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one.

-John O'Donohue

MAUNDY THURSDAY

2011-04-21T21:33:00.000-07:00

John 13:1–17; 31b–35

Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to God. Having loved his own who were in the world, Jesus loved them to the end. The devil had al-ready put it into the heart of Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that God had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ―Lord, are you going to wash my feet?‖ Jesus answered, ―You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.‖ Peter said to him, ―You will never wash my feet.‖ Jesus answered, ―Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.‖ Simon Peter said to him, ―Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!‖ Jesus said to him, ―One who has bathed does not need to wash; except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.‖ For Jesus knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ―Not all of you are clean.‖ After Jesus had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ―Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.‖ Now is the Chosen One glorified and God is glorified as well. If God has been glorified, God will in turn glorify the Chosen One and will do so very soon. My little children, I will not be with you much longer. You will look for me, but what I said to the Temple authorities, I say to you: Where I am going, you cannot come. I give you a new commandment: Love one another. And you are to love one another the way I have loved you. This is how all will know that you are my disciples: that you truly love one another.‖

Reflection -- Carissa Baldwin

Drawing water for feet in Genesis was a way of welcoming what God was up to in the midst of the faithful - creative things, daring things, things not for the faint of heart. The first hospitality of foot washing in the Bible finds Abraham and Lot offering refreshment to God’s angels and messengers as they brought promise of proliferation and protection (Gen 18:4, 19:20). To re-ceive anyone in this way in the ancient Middle East was to convey a complete welcome and submission. ―So long as you are my guest, I shall provide for your need before my own.‖

Host as servant is a custom alive and well in many parts of the world today. A Pakistani will sleep on the floor in order for a friend or stranger to have a bed overnight. In contrast, the bur-dens of hospitality in recent American culture, are light. ―The bathroom’s down the hall,‖ or ―Can I get you something to drink?‖ will suffice. We are not expected to sympathize with the vulnerability of waiting, feeling hungry, or being disoriented.

Strangely, suffering and sympathy make us better hosts. And so these hard economic, social and emotional times, though unpleasant and unwelcome, have the potential to make us more generous people. In scarcity we either find solace in hate, or we choose to love more deeply from the chasm of our own deep loss and need. As people of faith, we choose love, openness and the courage they require.

Imagine the already anxious students of Jesus so close to the death of their friend. How much more nervous would they have felt when the one who gives them assurance starts acting weird - inverting social expectation by getting down on his knees. Teachers don’t wash students. Wise sages don’t act base and earthly. God’s promise of justice, wisdom and healing are most often told through inversion - sight to the blind, freedom to the captive, teacher as servant.

The disciples resisted the vulnerability of receiving God’s promise and teaching much like we get squeamish over washing one another’s feet. And yet this grand, uncomfortable gesture in-vites us to pry open our life chests to the deliberate and mysterious ways of God.

1. Look back on your life in these days of Lent. What might God be showing you? What might God be up to?

2. Invite a friend, loved one, colleague or acquaintance for dinner and devote your every moment of preparation and hospitality to concern for their hopes, needs, tastes, loves, feelings, moods, experience and desires.

Palm Sunday

2011-04-12T17:37:00.000-07:00

Matthew 26:36–56

After the meal, Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane and said to the disciples, “Stay here while I go over there and pray.” Jesus took along Peter, James and John and started to feel grief and anguish. Then he said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved, to the point of death. Please, stay here, and stay awake with me.” Jesus went on a little further and fell prostrate in prayer: “Abba, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by. But not what I want – what you want.” When Jesus returned to the disciples, he found them asleep. He said to Peter, “Could you not stay awake with me for even an hour? Be on guard, and pray that you may not undergo trial. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.”

Withdrawing a second time, Jesus prayed, “Abba, if this cup cannot pass me by without my drinking it, your will be done!” Once more Jesus returned and found the disciples asleep; they could not keep their eyes open. Jesus left them again, withdrew somewhat and prayed for a third time, saying the same words as before. Finally Jesus returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping? Still taking your rest? The hour is upon us – the Chosen One is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up! Let us be on our way! Look, my betrayer is here.”
While Jesus was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived – accompanied by a great crowd with swords and clubs. They had been sent by the chief priests and elders of the people. Judas had arranged to give them a signal.

“Whomever I embrace is the one,” he had said; “take hold of him.” He immediately went over to Jesus and said, “Shalom, Rabbi!” and embraced him. Jesus said to Judas, “Friend, just do what you are here to do!” At that moment, the crowd surrounded them, laid hands on Jesus and arrested him. Suddenly, one of those who accompanied Jesus drew a sword and slashed at the high priest’s attendant, cutting off an ear. Jesus said, “Put your sword back where it belongs. Those who live by the sword die by the sword. Do you not think I can call on God to provide over twelve legions of angels at a moment's notice? But then how would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen this way?” Then Jesus said to the crowd, “Am I a robber, that you have come armed with swords and clubs to arrest me? Every day I sat teaching in the Temple precincts, yet you never arrested me.” All this happened in fulfillment of the writings of the prophets. Then all the disciples deserted Jesus and fled.

REFLECTIONby James Walker

Waking from a nap during a TV rerun of the 1965 epic film, The Greatest Story Ever Told, my mother mumbled in sleepy horror, "Oh, phooey; I couldn't stay awake with Jesus, just like his disciples. ‘The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.’” I don't remember how I responded to my mother's dazed comment forty years ago — I suspect something smart and/or pious (fully capable of both in those teenage years) — but I do believe we have much to gain if we are able to stay awake with Jesus, in real time.

Once again our annual pilgrimage of Holy Week is upon us. How does the scene in the garden of Gethsemane speak to us today? Each year, I feel called to walk with Jesus into the valley of grief, betrayal and death. We know the story, even as it unfolds, like a familiar song.

My song is love unknown,
My savior’s love to me,
Love to the loveless shown
That they might lovely be.
O who am I
That for my sake
My Lord should take
Frail flesh, and die?

My savior’s love, so great that he feels all that I feel — joy, anxiety, peace, strength, vulnerability, despair. Jesus, clothed in my very human flesh, yet so centered and aligned in God’s love. Jesus shows me the way to live. In this sense, Jesus truly is my savior, the light of my salvation, my saving health. His life of service leads me on the path of abundant life.

And, here at the end of that magnificent life, as friends desert and betray him, as his confidants fall asleep and leave Jesus to his stark loneliness, as he prays to God that this moment would simply pass, Jesus remains steadfast to the life of love — even to execution on the cross.

He came from his blest throne
Salvation to bestow,
But men made strange, and none
The longed-for Christ would know.
But O my friend,
My friend indeed,
Who at my need
His life did spend.

My savior, my friend. Jesus is my companion, my God-in-flesh brother. I used to shy away from language such as this, fearing the mirror of my perceived wacky-fringe family. A personal relationship with Jesus the savior? “Not for me,” I would lie. For the truth is that my close companionship with Jesus has saved my life in the valleys of despair and alienation. It is this dearest of friendships that illuminates my daily path, and it is this cherished sweetness that I pray sings in my heart this week and through eternity.

Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine:
Never was love, dear King,
Never was grief like thine.
This is my friend,
In whose sweet praise
I all my days
Could gladly spend.

—Samuel Crossman (1624-1683)

Lent V

2011-04-09T10:37:00.000-07:00

John 11:1–45

There was a certain man named Lazarus, who was sick. He and his sisters, Mary and Martha, were from the village of Bethany. Mary was the one who had anointed the feet of Jesus with perfume and dried his feet with her hair, and it was her brother Lazarus who was sick. The sisters sent this message to Jesus: “Rabbi, the one you love is sick.”

When Jesus heard this, he said, “This sickness will not end in death; it is happening for God’s glory, so that God’s Only Begotten may be glorified because of it.” Jesus loved these three very much. Yet even after hearing that Laza-rus was sick, he remained where he was staying for two more days. Finally he said to the disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”

They protested, “Rabbi, it was only recently that they tried to stone you – and you want to go back there again?” Jesus replied, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk by day do not stumble, because they see the world bathed in light; those who go walking by night will stumble because there is no light in them.” After Jesus said this, he said to the disciples, “Our beloved Lazarus has fallen asleep, I am going to Judea to wake him.”

The disciples objected, “But Rabbi, if he is only asleep, he will be fine.” Jesus had been speaking about Laza-rus’ death, but they thought he was talking about actual sleep. So he said very plainly, “Lazarus is dead! : For your sakes I am glad that I was not there, that you might come to believe. In any event, let us go to him.” Then Thomas, “the Twin” said to the rest, “Let us go with Jesus, so that we can die with him.” When Jesus arrived in Bethany, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Since Bethany was only about two miles from Jerusa-lem, many people had come out to console Martha and Mary about their brother.

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him, while Mary stayed at home with the mourners. When she got to Jesus, Martha said, “If you had been here, my brother would never have died! Yet even now, I am sure that God will give you whatever you ask.” “Your brother will rise again!” Jesus assured her. Martha replied, “I know he will rise again in the resur-rection on the last day.”

Jesus told her, “I am the Resurrection, and I am Life: those who believe in me will live, even if they die; and those who are alive and believe in me will never die. Do you believe this?” “Yes!” Martha replied. “I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, God’s Only Begotten, the One who is coming into the world.”

When she had said this, Martha went back and called to her sister Mary. “The Teacher is here, asking for you,” she whispered. As soon as Mary heard this she got up and went to him. Jesus had not gotten to the village yet. He was at the place where Martha had met him. Those who were there consoling her saw her get up quickly and fol-lowed Mary, thinking she was going to the tomb to mourn.

When Mary got to Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, “If you had been here, Lazarus never would have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the other mourners as well, he was troubled in spirit, moved by the deepest emotions. “Where have you laid him?” Jesus asked. “Come and see,” they said. And Jesus wept. The people in the crowd began to remark, “See how much he loved him!” Others said, “He made the blind person see; why could he not have done something to prevent Lazarus’ death?”

Jesus was again deeply moved. They approached the tomb, which was a cave with a stone in front of it. “Take away the stone,” Jesus directed. Martha said, “Rabbi, it has been four days now. By this time there will be a stench.” Jesus replied, “Did I not assure you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”

So they took the stone away. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and said, “God, thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd, that they might believe that you sent me!” Then Jesus called out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus came out of the tomb, still bound hand and foot with linen strips, his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus told the crowd, “Untie him and let him go free.” Many of those who had come to console Mary and Martha, and saw what Jesus did, put their faith in him.

Reflection-- by Sharalyn Hamilton

I grew up in a family of storytellers. Sitting around the kitchen table or, on summer nights, on the porch listening to stories of hardship, tragedy, triumph and love are some of my favorite memories.

The gospel writer, John is a skillful story teller. In the story often referred to as “the raising of Lazarus,” John crafts the hardship –Lazarus falls ill and his friend Jesus, the healer, is nowhere near. His sisters try to locate their dear friend Jesus and bring him to Lazarus. Then the tragedy – Jesus does not come and Lazarus dies. Martha and Mary are filled with grief over the loss of their brother and regret that Jesus did not get back in time to save him. But when Jesus arrives he brings triumph over death, calling Lazarus from the tomb. Woven through the relationships, motivating actions and prompting the rejoicing, is love. It is no wonder I love bible stories. They mirror the stories of my family, and the entire human family.

One of the ways to reflect on this kind of a story is to read it out loud and see if you are drawn to a particular character. Read it again putting yourself in that character’s place. Then take time to reflect. Allow your mind to rewrite the story and be open to what it might have to teach you.

Several years ago I reflected on today’s passage using this method. I put myself in Lazarus’ place. For days I reflected on being Lazarus in the tomb and, surprisingly, I did not want to come out. I would hear Jesus calling me and I didn’t want to move from my dark and now familiar place. The stone was rolled away allowing light to pierce the darkness, but, rather than drawing me out, this repelled me. I was clinging to the darkness where I felt safe. But the voice continued to call.

Finally I realized that a small part of me (of my life) had died and needed to be left behind so that the rest of me could live. I said my good-byes, grieved the loss and, even though afraid, walked into the light. To my surprise the light was warm and others were there to help unbind me and set me free to experience resurrection.

There are many aspects of this story on which to reflect:

1. What is friendship? How much we are our brother’s keeper? Martha and Mary call on their friend when he is needed. Jesus does not run to Lazarus immediately.
2. Feelings such as fear are messengers about what we need and what to ask for, and not impede ments to moving forward. The disciples feared what would happen if Jesus returned to Judea because they had experienced hostility.
3. Grief may be a part of letting go and experiencing resurrection. Martha, Mary and Jesus were clearly grieving Lazarus.
4. As much as any experience may feel personal and lonely, we are not alone. Lazarus heard Jesus calling him. When he emerged from the tomb he was still bound by the burial cloths. Those gathered at the tomb unbound him.

Lent IV

2011-04-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

John 9:1-41

As Jesus walked along, he saw someone who had been blind from birth. The disciples asked Jesus, “Rabbi, was it this individual's sin that caused the blindness, or that of the parents?” “Neither,” answered Jesus, “It was not because of anyone's sin – not this person's, nor the parents.‟ Rather, it was to let God's works shine forth in this person. We must do the deeds of the One who sent me while it is still day – for night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

With that, Jesus spat on the ground, made mud with his saliva and smeared the blind one's eyes with the mud. Then Jesus said, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means "sent"). So the person went off to wash, and came back able to see. Neighbors and those who had been accustomed to seeing the blind beggar began to ask, “Is this not the one who used to sit and beg?” Some said yes; others said no – the one who had been healed simply looked like the beggar. But the individual in question said, “No – it was me.” The people then asked, “Then how were your eyes opened?” The answer came, “The one they call Jesus made mud and smeared it on my eyes, and told me to go to Siloam and wash. When I went and washed, I was able to see.” “Where is Jesus?” they asked. The person replied, “I do not know.”

They took the one who had been born blind to the Pharisees. It had been on a Sabbath that Jesus had made the mud paste and opened this one's eyes. The Pharisees asked how the individual could see. They were told, “Jesus put mud on my eyes. I washed it off, and now I can see.” This prompted some Pharisees to say, “This Jesus cannot be from God, because he does not keep the Sabbath.” Others argued, “But how could a sinner perform signs like these?” They were sharply divided. They addressed the blind person again: “Since it was your eyes he opened, what do you have to say about this Jesus?” “He is a prophet,” came the reply.

The Temple authorities refused to believe that this one had been blind and had begun to see, until they summoned the parents. “Is this your child?” they asked, “and if so, do you attest that your child was blind at birth? How do you account for the fact that now your child can see?” The parents answered, “We know this is our child, blind from birth. But how our child can see now, or who opened those blind eyes, we have no idea. But do not ask us – our child is old enough to speak without us!” The parents answered this way because they were afraid of the Temple authorities, who had already agreed among themselves that anyone who acknowledged Jesus as the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. That was why they said, “Our child is of age and should be asked directly.”

A second time they summoned the one who had been born blind and said, “Give God the glory instead; we know that this Jesus is a sinner.” “I do not know whether he is a sinner or not,” the individual answered. “All I know is that I used to be blind, and now I can see.” They persisted, “Just what did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” “I already told you, but you will not listen to me,” came the answer. “Why do you want to hear it all over again? Do not tell me you want to become disciples of Jesus too!” They retorted scornfully, “You are the one who is Jesus' disciple. We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses, but we have no idea where this Jesus comes from.” The other retorted: “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes! We know that God does not hear sinners, but that if people are devout and obey God's will, God listens to them. It is unheard of that anyone ever gave sight to a person blind from birth. If this one were not from God, he could never have done such a thing!” “What!” they exclaimed. “You are steeped in sin from birth, and you are giving us lectures?” With that they threw the person out.

When Jesus heard of the expulsion, he sought out the healed one and asked, “Do you believe in the Chosen One?” The other answered, “Who is this One, that I may believe?” “You have seen him,” Jesus replied. “The Chosen One is speaking to you now.” The healed one said, “Yes, I believe,” and worshiped Je-sus. Jesus said, “I came into this world to execute justice – to make the sightless see and the seeing blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were nearby heard this and said, “You are not calling us blind, are you?” To which Jesus replied, “If you were blind, there would be no sin in that. But since you say, "We see,‟ your sin remains.”

Reflection by Christina Honchell

Here we have another of those great dramatic set pieces in the gospel of John: a couple of compelling main characters, timid parents for comic effect, an ethical lesson regarding the origin of sin and two choruses, the Pharisees and the disciples.

Where do I start with the things that bother me about this story? I'm a relentlessly rational person. I've always read the miracle stories with some discomfort, and I'm in good company. Thomas Jefferson cut out this story, and all of the miracle stories, when he published his version of the New Testament. This Lenten season I've been reading Leo Tolstoy's version of the Jesus story, The Life of Jesus, in which we find Tolstoy equally uncomfortable with miracles, going so far with this story that he changes the main character's blindness from a physical condition to a condition of lack of education and spirituality (the disciples ask: “Is it his fault or his parents, since they did not educate him?”).

Some of my discomfort is endemic to all of John‟s gospel: it's important to remember that this gospel was written sixty years after Jesus' death, and written in a period of great conflict between those in the Jesus movement, now in its second and third generation, and the Jewish community from which they came. And to bracket all of the language and commentary put on the lips of the Jewish Pharisees; reading John's gospel requires vigilance to recognize the anti-Semitic prejudices of the author's voice and to cut through it to find the important story being told about Jesus and his ministry.

And while it is clearly an ethical step forward for Jesus to proclaim that neither individual sin, nor inherited sin, caused the man's blindness, it feels like a step backward when he completes the lesson by saying that the man is blind in order to let “God's works shine forth.” I don't believe for a moment that God intends for some to suffer so that others might learn.

So setting aside those things that give me ouches, there is much to love about this story. Beginning with the healing ritual itself: nothing ethereal, just a gob of mud and spit smeared on the man's eyes. Washed clean in living water. Earthy, sacramental, messy. The young man, and we, are healed by the things of this earth, materials available to all of us, and it speaks to me of the importance of our life in the here and now.

When I drill down to what speaks to me in this story, it takes me back to that rationalism that I carry around with me, and that keeps me from seeing – I relate to those Pharisees.

Not so much in their obsession with sin abounding – sin in Jesus, in the young man, in his parents, but in their hubris about their religious rules and practices. They are sure that they are doing religion right. When Jesus heals on the Sabbath, the Pharisees are unable to see beyond the limits of their doctrine, and actually unable to acknowledge what has happened right before their eyes. Tolstoy changes “Pharisees” to “the Orthodox” in his retelling of the story, to indict the religious authorities of his age and of ours. No matter what our beliefs, we can all benefit from a season of bracketing our tightly held assumptions so that we can be open to what is happening right in front of us.

When Jesus says “but since you say "We see," your sin remains,” I hear a call to moving beyond the relentless rationalism that keeps me from seeing miracles around me. That keeps me from being open to the miraculous, compassionate healing that Jesus offers in this story and throughout the gospels (and that I frankly need – I have a badly broken foot that has dramatically impacted my life and challenged me to deal with discouragement and despair). That keeps me from entering into the mystery of God's Oneness.

As James Carroll says in the concluding chapter of his new book, Jerusalem, “God is greater than religion, and greater than meaning too.”

My prayer this Lenten season is to know that I don't know, and to live in that knowledge.

Has religion or religious practice blinded you to God's love and compassion at some point in your life?
What is the cost of letting go of those closely held assumptions that keep you from being open to the miraculous around you?
How do you reconcile the gifts of rational thought and the gifts of God's unexplainable miracles?

LENT III

2011-03-26T10:16:00.000-07:00

John 4:5-42

Jesus came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestors Leah, Rachel and Jacob, who gave us the well, and with their offspring and flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”

The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship God neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship God in spirit and truth, for God seeks such worshipers as these. God is spirit, and those who worship God must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah –The Anointed One – is coming, and will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am the Messiah.”

The disciples, returning at this point, were shocked to find Jesus having a private conversation with a woman. But no one dared to ask, “What do you want of him?” or “Why are you talking with her?” The woman then left her water jar and went off into the town. She said to the people, “Come and see someone who told me everything I have ever done! Could this be the Messiah?” At that, everyone set out from town to meet Jesus. Meanwhile, the disciples were urging Jesus, “Rabbi, eat something.” But Jesus told them, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about.” At this, the disciples said to one another, “Do you think someone has brought him something to eat?” Jesus explained to them, “Doing the will of the One who sent me and bringing this work to completion is my food. Do you not have a saying, ‘Four months more and it will be harvest time’? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields – they are ripe and ready for harvest! Reapers are already collecting their wages; they are gathering fruit for eternal life, and sower and reaper will rejoice together. So the saying is true: ‘One person sows; another reaps.’ I have sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the work, and you have come upon the fruits of their laborer.”

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the strength of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”
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Reflection -- by Zelda Kennedy

Marcus Borg once wrote, “. . . to be on a journey is to be in movement. Moving from place to place, and there is change in such a life. A journey is a process that involves our whole being. It involves our feet as well as our minds and our heads. A journey involves following a path or way. To be on a journey is not to be involved in aimless wandering, though there may be times when it feels like that; people have gone on this journey before that we are called to, and there is a trail, a path, a way.”

The journey I want us to follow today is that of the “Woman of Samaria,” whose story is found only in the gospel of John. Please know that while this is a story about a woman, I believe this story reflects our journey in varying phases. It’s a story of a person who finds herself at a point in life where self-esteem is low, life is lonely and yet she finds ways to cope with her situation. It is a story of someone, who has a divine encounter that’s life changing. It is a story of someone given a choice to make a change that allows her to make a difference. I know that many of you have heard and read the story of Jesus and the Woman at the Well numerous times. Please take time to re-read it, again. Interestingly, each time I re-read this story, the more I realize what an incredible encounter it is.

Historically, in first century Palestine, where the woman of Samaria resided, the major racial division was between Jews and Gentiles. Jews resented Samaritans because in them was found a mixture of Jewish and Gentile blood. This mixture of the races in Samaria made the Samaritans so repulsive to the pureblood Jews of Judea and Galilee that it was freely acknowledged "Jews had no dealings with Samaritans" (John 4:9; 8:48), and despised Samaritans so much that they would not set foot in Samaria. Therefore, instead of taking the direct route through Samaria when traveling, Jews went out of their way to travel along the east bank of the Jordan River. Thank God, it was not so with Jesus! "He needed to go through Samaria" (John 4:4). Why? In second Thessalonians the writer states that this Samaritan woman was chosen for Christ’s salvation (2 Thessalonians 2:13), and while the males of her time considered this nameless woman of Samaria a possession, Jesus reminded her how very precious she was by his mere acknowledgement of her humanity. He didn’t have to know her name. He knew her heart.

He essentially tells her that she is worthy of receiving the best God has to offer – even with questionable morals. (John clearly states that she had been married to five different men, and was now living with another man outside the bounds of holy matrimony (John 4:16-18)). During her day this was considered scandalous behavior. This was probably the reason why she came to draw water from the public well "about the sixth hour" (John 4:6), which was high noon, according to the Jewish computation of time. The more respectable women drew water in the cooler hours of the morning or the evening. I also believe our nameless woman of Samaria came to the well during the hottest hour of the day because she had low self-esteem. She didn’t believe she was somebody. Her actions and behavior demonstrated she felt like nobody – truly unworthy – unworthy of receiving and giving joy; unworthy of being satisfactorily single; unworthy of being, while feeling trapped and outside of the norms of society and living on the margins.

This remarkable story of divine encounter shows us the power of being given an opportunity to choose. Someone once wrote, “The most basic choice we have in life is whether to expand or contract, whether to bring our creative and expressive energies out into the world in positive or negative ways.” No matter what our circumstances, we have the power to choose our directions for our journey. Jesus gave the woman of Samaria a choice. And what did she do? She took her choice and ran with it! She was not satisfied with receiving and keeping her gift from Jesus to herself. No, she went out and shared it with others.

How many of us can see ourselves in the woman at the well?During this Lenten season, I want to challenge you to accept this time as a gift, like receiving a long, cool drink of refreshing water. A gift that allows you to take care of self, so that you may eventually shift your focus to others, while you continue to revisit, rediscover, realign and reignite your purpose in life.

Lent II

2011-03-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Lent II
John (3:1–17)

A certain Pharisee named Nicodemus, a member of the Sanhedrin, came to Jesus at night. “Rabbi,” he said, “we know you are a teacher come from God, for no one can perform the signs and wonders you do, unless by the power of God.” Jesus gave Nicodemus this answer: “The truth of the matter is, unless one is born from above, one cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus said, “How can an adult be born a second time? I cannot go back into my mother’s womb to be born again!” Jesus replied: “The truth of the matter is, no one can enter God’s kingdom without being born of water and the Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh; what is born of the Spirit is Spirit. So do not be surprised when I tell you that you must be born from above. The wind blows where it will. You hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” “How can this be possible?” asked Nicodemus.

Jesus replied, “You are a teacher of Israel, and you still do not understand these matters? The truth of the matter is, we are talking about what we know; we are testifying about what we have seen – yet you do not accept our testimony. If you do not believe when I tell you about earthly things, how will you believe when I tell you about heavenly things? No one has gone up to heaven except the One who came down from heaven – the Chosen One. As Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so the Chosen One must be lifted up, so that everyone who believes might have eternal life. Yes, God so loved the world as to give the Only Begotten, that whoever believes may not die, but have eternal life. God sent the Chosen One into the world not to condemn the world, but that through the Only Begotten the world might be saved.

Reflection: Giving Up Literalism for Lent -- by Susan RussellNicodemus is one of my all time favorites. The story we have for the Gospel this second Sunday in Lent is a perfect example of someone of good faith with great intentions and a sincerely seeking heart utterly missing the point Jesus was trying to make by falling into the trap labeled “literalism.”

And even more than I love Nicodemus, I love how graciously and patiently Jesus works to move him beyond the limits of literalism that trap him into failing to see the wideness and abundance of God’s love, justice and compassion. Jesus does not give up on Nicodemus -- even after he asks one question after the other … even as he seems determined not to “get” that being born from above (other translations call it “born again”) has nothing to do with a physical birth but with a spiritual re-birth.

This conversation we have here in the third chapter of John can’t be the only one Jesus and Nicodemus had. The others aren’t preserved for us – by John or by anybody else. But there are two reasons I’m convinced that Nicodemus continued to learn from Jesus – and those two reasons are the two other places Nicodemus shows up in John’s gospel.

We encounter him again in chapter seven during a debate between Pharisees and the temple guards about what to do about this radical rabbi from Nazareth:

Nicodemus, who had gone to Jesus earlier and who was one of their own number, asked, “Does our law condemn a man without first hearing him to find out what he has been doing?” They replied, “Are you from Galilee, too? Look into it, and you will find that a prophet does not come out of Galilee.” Then they all went home.

So Nicodemus – a teacher and political leader – has gone from meeting with Jesus under the cover of darkness to standing up in the Sanhedrin (think Senate or House investigative hearing) to defend him.

But wait – there’s more. The third and last time we encounter Nicodemus is in the nineteenth chapter of John … just after the crucifixion:

Later, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jewish leaders. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away. He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen … and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

Quite a transformation! From missing entirely the point of the Good News Jesus had come to proclaim to standing up and speaking truth to power in his defense at the Sanhedrin to courageously seeing to it that Jesus was properly buried after all the disciples had fled in fear, terror and disappointment. Nicodemus may not have grasped what Jesus meant by “born from above” when first they met but by the end of the story he is a living example of what that re-birth looks like: of someone who both stepped out and spoke up. He is an icon of transformation.

And it seemed to me – mulling this text this year – that the first step on that transformational journey for Nicodemus was moving beyond the limits of literalism and being open to what Jesus so patiently tried to teach him … and us … in this third chapter of John. “The wind blows where it will,” Jesus said. And that is as true for us as it was for Nicodemus, for that wind is still blowing. The wind of change. The wind of challenge. The wind of the Holy Spirit.

• Where are we being called – like Nicodemus was – to look beyond what we think we know in order to become what God would have us become?
• When have we – as individuals, as a church, as a community – been challenged to give up literalism in order to embrace new understandings?
• How can we – like Nicodemus – be “born from above” and empowered to speak truth to power in our own “Sanhedrins” as he did in his?

Holy God, heal us – as you healed your servant Nicodemus – of being so blinded by literal words on paper that we cannot see the Living Word in our world. And help us, we pray, to follow Nicodemus by boldly proclaiming your Good News to all as we speak truth to power and stand with the marginalized and oppressed. Amen.

LENT I

2011-03-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

Matthew 4:1-11

After Jesus was baptized, he was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said, “If you are the Only Begotten, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But Jesus answered, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Then the devil took Jesus to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying, “If you are the Only Begotten, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘God will command the angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus replied, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” Again, the devil took Jesus to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Jesus said, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only God.’” Then the devil left Jesus, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

Reflection by Jeremy Langill, Director of Youth Ministry

Forty days and forty nights was an expression often used to convey the experience of a great length of time—today we say, “I waited forever” or “not in a million years.” When Jesus was tempted for forty days and forty nights, it was a way of saying, “Jesus went through a long and difficult ordeal.”

We experience our own “forty days and forty nights” in different ways in our own lives. Sometimes we enter a period of fasting unintentionally—the events of life move us into a space of struggle and reflection. Other times, like during Lent, we are asked to think of ways in which we can purposively sacrifice in order to discern some spiritual truth.

1st Temptation:

Evil said to Jesus, “If you are truly the one who loves and is loved, then quench your hunger and turn this rock into food.”

Jesus said, “There is more to life than food—in fact, life and food itself flows from the very center of God, which is love.”

Do I lead a life of love? Do I love in order to quench my own desires or do I love in order to serve the world around me? Jesus reminds me that what flows from the love of God is far greater than food—it is love itself, which is the activity that binds all things together.

2nd Temptation:

Again, evil said to Jesus, “if you are truly the one who loves and is loved, throw yourself from the top of the temple, because the one who loves you will surely send you help, so that nothing will harm you.”

Jesus replied, “Do not tempt me with the path of ease, ignorance and excess, for the journey of work, understanding and contentment is the one that seeks love first.”

It is easy for me to worry about myself—it’s not hard to remain blind to the excess in my life and my own misplaced sense of entitlement. Do I trust in the right provision that flows from being centered in God, or do I work to secure my own end? Instead of creating for myself, how do I create for others?

3rd Temptation:

A third time, evil said to Jesus, “I will give you every/thing that is in the world to be had if you will only give yourself to me.”

Jesus turned from evil, saying, “I reject the path of destruction and hate! I will only give myself to God, and in so doing, will serve/love all that is in the world with me.”

Who has the ability to give me every/thing? In my ignorance, do I vainly seek it? To whom and what do I freely give my love?

The temptations remind me to allow love to work within me, so that in our experience of life we focus on the love of God in all creation, not just in ourselves.

"Why Bother?" An Ash Wednesday Reflection

2011-03-09T16:40:00.000-08:00

by Susan Russell

It is Ash Wednesday once more – the entry point for yet another 40-day Lenten journey toward Easter. And today we hear again the words as familiar as their outward-and-visible signs etched on our foreheads: “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

On this Ash Wednesday, as the liturgical season shifts from Epiphany to Lent, we are called to make a shift, too. Our focus shifts, as it does every year at this time, from stories about the outward manifestations of God's presence among us to a more interior place as we journey with Jesus on the road we know leads to Golgotha – to the cross – and ultimately, to the resurrection.

And so, on this Ash Wednesday, here is my annual advice for the journey ahead: Do not give up epiphanies for Lent!

Let us not become so inwardly focused that we forget to notice – to give thanks for – to respond to – those encounters we can and will have with the holy in the next 40 days. Let us not become so focused on our own “journey with Jesus” that we forget that as long as there are still strangers at the gate, walking humbly with our God is not enough: let us not forget that we are also called to do justice.

Called to do justice. During Lent? Really???? Yes. Really. And it’s not something Ed Bacon came up during a glory attack or an idea that’s exclusive to All Saints Church. It’s a call that was issued by Isaiah and incarnated by Jesus. It’s as old as the prophets and as urgent as this morning’s news … it’s a call to fast for justice:

Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly.

The fast Isaiah calls us to isn’t about giving up Twitter or Starbucks or Girl Scout cookies for Lent … it’s about getting ANYTHING out of the way that gets in the way of our being aligned with God’s love, justice and compassion ... as we journey into these 40 days of Lent and beyond. It’s why we bother – not just with this service and these ashes this season of Lent. It’s why we bother to follow Jesus.

Let’s face it … you could all be doing something else with this hour at noontime … Eating lunch. Picking up dry cleaning. Going to the gym. Playing Farmville on Facebook. But you’re here. In this church. In this moment. Remembering that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Why bother?

It’s a bit like a question I got on my blog this week in response to Sunday’s sermon:

So if we're all going to heaven anyway, what's the point of going to Mass or even bothering to have a relationship with Christ and following any commandments at all? Why bother?

It’s a classic question and one I’ve had on my heart getting ready for today. What is the answer we give to those who wonder why we’re here … who wonder why we bother. Lots of people don’t. Bother. With Lent. There’ll be a lot more people in church on Easter Sunday than there are on Ash Wednesday. And there are even more who have dismissed the “whole Christian thing” because it was reduced for them to “follow these rules and you’ll get into heaven” – and condemns to “the Lake of Fire” anybody who doesn’t. Follow the rules. The way you do.

Why bother? Here’s my short answer:

We bother because we gather here today not to try to earn God’s love by following rules but to give thanks for God’s love that transcends all boundaries. We bother because we follow Jesus not in HOPE that he’s our ticket into heaven but in RESPONSE to the promise he incarnates that nothing – even death – can separate us from the love of God. And freed from that fear of death we are free to live life abundantly … and to risk journeying into the wildernesses that cry out for the love, justice and compassion that God calls us to live out in the world.

We bother because there are many “wildernesses” into which we are called this Lent 201l: If we are to be a people who have bread to share with the hungry we must challenge those who would balance our budgets on the backs of the least of these.

We bother because we serve the God whose fast is “to let the oppressed go free” – and so we continue to speak out about protecting family values that value ALL families.

We bother because in order to choose the fast Isaiah offers us this Lent we must continue to undo the thongs of the yokes of racism AND sexism that continue to keep this country and this church from being all that God would have them be.

We bother because living up to our baptismal covenant calls us to advocate for just immigration policies that will truly respect the dignity of every human being.

We bother because today we choose again to follow the one who calls us to journey with Him into those wildernesses -- bearing the Good News of a God who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another.

It is Ash Wednesday once more – the entry point for yet another 40-day Lenten journey toward Easter. And now IS the acceptable time. May we be given the grace to choose the fast our God calls us to choose … trusting that the One who calls us into this wilderness will be with us and bless us on the journey.

Easter Sunday

2010-04-08T18:40:00.000-07:00

Matthew (28:1–10)

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. The angel’s appearance was like lightning, with garments white as snow. The guards shook with fear and fell as though they were dead.

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell the disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

So the women hurried away from the tomb, with awe and great joy, and ran to carry the good news to the disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. “Shalom,” he said. They came to him, embraced his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell the disciples to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

Reflection -- by Zelda Kennedy

Last year, a member of our community invited me to the Crystal Cathedral to experience their Easter pageant performance. It was grand! Yet, it wasn’t the first time I experienced a major production of Easter with people dressed in period costumes and with real animals. In North Carolina it’s done on an outside stage. The reenactment of the crucifixion seems so real that, for some, it is almost unbearable to witness. However, for me, it was always just a performance.

Therefore, as I watched the performance at the Crystal Cathedral, my reaction to the story surprised me. I was surprised by my emotions, which were traumatic. During the crucifixion, while listening to the performer sing, “Were you there, when they crucified my Lord,” a profound sadness that seemed to reach the core of my being, overpowered me. It was an experience that continued to haunt me during my ministry. While reading Trauma and Grace, by Dr. Serene Jones, I learned that “trauma is an act of overwhelming violence that is visceral.” Finally, I had words to help me understand my feelings. I could also imagine what the followers of Jesus might have felt at Calvary, and the days following.

Therefore, I want you to visualize Mary Magdalene and the other Mary on their way to the tomb with trauma still fresh in their minds and bodies. I want you imagine their sadness and perhaps confusion. I want you to visualize them wondering just what were they going to do at the tomb? They certainly could not enter the tomb because guards and a large stone blocked the door.

The scripture tells us they were met by an angel, who reported that Jesus, who was so horribly crucified, was gone – resurrected and, while that is the Easter message, this scripture tells us much more. It tells us that the very women, who were on the margins of their society, were now at the center of the gospel message. Jesus, still radical and countercultural, chose them to be the bearers of the good news! Jesus chose them to disclose the message of Easter.

One of my colleagues once preached, “Easter is not bunnies and butterflies. Easter is about a body that somehow got loose. . . Easter is about a Jesus, who while alive was so radical, so countercultural that the prevailing culture killed him. He is not flow, he’s counterflow. Easter is about a Jesus, who spoke about forgiving one’s enemies as a condition of being forgiven ourselves, so that we may be made whole . . . of treating everyone with respect. Easter is about continuing the ministry of Jesus – feeding the hungry, helping the poor, visiting the sick, caring for and protecting the children and others in need.”

We shout at the Easter vigil, “Alleluia, the Lord is risen; the Lord is risen indeed,” because the Jesus, who was radical, countercultural and risen, invites us to be the same. So, I ask you to experience this Easter as a time of promise and great expectation as we live into our resurrection and offer the following excerpt from the Franciscan Blessing.

May God bless you that you remember
we are all called
to continue Jesus’ redemptive work
of love, forgiveness and healing
in God’s place, in and through God’s name,
in God’s Spirit, continually creating
and breathing new life and grace
Into everything and everyone we touch.

During Holy week, consider one or all of the following:

¨ Be more kind to family and friends.

¨ Forgive - yourself and others.

¨ Work toward helping to shape this community, city, nation.

¨ Prepare for an amazing Easter!

Maundy Thursday

2010-04-01T08:55:00.000-07:00

John (13:1–15)

Before the feast of the Passover, Jesus realized that the hour had come for him to pass from this world to God. He had always loved his own in this world, but now he showed how perfect this love was. The Devil had already convinced Judas Iscariot, begot of Simon, to betray Jesus. So during supper, Jesus – knowing that God had put all things into his own hands, and that he had come from God and was returning to God – rose from the table, took off his clothes and wrapped a towel around his waist. He then poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and dry them with the towel around his waist. When Jesus came to Simon Peter, Peter said, “Rabbi, you are not going to wash my feet, are you?”

Jesus answered, “You do not realize what I am doing right now, but later you will understand.” Peter replied, “You will never wash my feet!” Jesus answered, “If I do not wash your feet, you have no part with me.” Simon Peter said to Jesus, “Then, Rabbi, not only my feet, but my hands and my head as well!” Jesus said, “One who has bathed is clean all over and only need to wash their feet – and you are clean, though not every one of you.” For Jesus knew who was to betray him. That is why he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After washing their feet, Jesus put his clothes back on and returned to the table. He said to them, “Do you understand what I have done for you? You call me ‘Teacher,’ and ‘Sovereign’ – and rightly, for so I am. If I then – your Teacher and Sovereign – have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.”

Reflection by Susan Russell

So what’s up with the footwashing?

One commentary I read reaches this conclusion: “Jesus was showing us that we are all equal when we gather around the table of the Lord. If the Creator could wash the feet of the created, should not the creatures wash the feet of one another in equality? And if Jesus saw himself in his creatures, shouldn’t we see him in each other?”

Does that mean we’re supposed to REALLY wash each other’s feet? Well, let’s look again at our criteria for primary sacraments in the church: We do it because Jesus told us to. (“given by Christ to His Church” in the loftier words of the catechism)

Baptism in Matthew 28: Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son & Holy Spirit.

Eucharist in Luke 22: And he took bread and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them saying, “This is my body which is given for you. DO THIS in remembrance of me.”

And in Footwashing in today's gospel: John 13: So, then, if I — your Lord and teacher — have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example that you also should do as I have done to you.

Could it be that part of the reason the “kingdom” hasn’t come yet is that the church missed the boat on what Jesus intended to be another primary sacrament “given by Christ to his Church”: the sacrament of servanthood? Sadly, examples are all too easy to find -- such as a newspaper article about a church edict forbidding women and children to participate in ceremonial foot washings on Maundy Thursday. It declared that the act of foot washing was symbolic of Jesus choosing an all male priesthood — therefore the ceremony would consist of twelve men from any congregation — no women and no children.

Can you imagine our Lord saying to his disciples gathered on the night before he was handed over to suffering and death: “A new commandment I give you: exclude women and children.”

I can’t imagine that – instead I imagine Jesus reading that news report, shaking his head in discouragement and saying, “What part of love one another don’t you understand?”

The priesthood of all the faithful: that’s the calling we ALL gather on Maundy Thursday to celebrate as we share with each other the bread and wine made holy. The priesthood of all the faithful — ALL the beloved people of God: not just the ones with white plastic around their necks and seminary degrees hanging on their walls.

And the more we remember that the closer we come to the kingdom.

During the week:

Can we – in this “out-of-the-ordinary” week – dare to claim that extraordinary calling?

Can we – each and every one of us – believe that God will give us the grace to obey this New Commandment – to walk in love as He loved us and gave Himself for us?

Can we even imagine what the church would look like if the “sacrament of servanthood” became a reality?

Palm Sunday

2010-03-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

Luke 22: 14–30 (31–23:56)

When the hour had come, Jesus took a place at the table with the apostles. Jesus said to them, “I have longed to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. I tell you, I will not eat it again until everything is fulfilled in the reign of God.” Then taking a cup of wine, Jesus gave thanks and said, “Take this and share it among you. I tell you, I will not drink wine from now on, until the reign of God comes.” Jesus took bread and gave thanks for it broke it and gave it to them saying, “This is my body, which will be given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

Jesus did the same with the cup after supper and said, “This cup is the New Covenant in my blood, which will be poured out for you. Look! The hand of my betrayer is at this table with me. The Chosen One is following the appointed course. But woe to the person by whom that One is betrayed!” Then they began to argue among themselves as to which of them would do such a deed. Another dispute arose among them about who would be regarded as the greatest.

But Jesus said to them, “Earthly rulers domineer over their people. Those who exercise authority over them are called their ‘benefactors.’ This must not happen with you. Let the greatest among you be like the youngest. Let the leader among you become the follower. For who is the greater? The one who reclines at a meal, or the one who serves it? Is it not the one reclining at table? Yet here I am among you as the one who serves you.

You are the ones who have stood by me faithfully in trials. Just as God has given me dominion, so I give it to you. In my reign, you will eat and drink at my table, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

Reflection by Lori Kizzia

This is the Passion, THE Passion, Christ’s passion. It is a story that we speak as prayer each time we share the Eucharistic meal, more familiar than any human story and yet, it always overwhelms and surprises me, leaving a profound sadness and a wholeness of being which can only come from embracing life in the shadow of looming death. Approaching one’s own death or the death of a loved one (here, our beloved Jesus) creates a transformation in us which fills every moment with sacred clarity. Each word becomes a sonnet, each breath a psalm. The beautiful and fragile nature of life itself becomes vibrantly clear in the face of death. Every hour becomes a festival celebration. When Jesus calls us to the table with him for a last meal before he dies, he is calling us into a moment such as this, highly charged, passionate and urgent, full of insight. Here, in the Upper Room, death pounding at the door, he offers what is for me, his most powerful teaching on the meaning of human experience.

After breaking and blessing the Passover bread and offering his companions the wine glass, Jesus confirms that someone at the dinner party will betray him into death. His companions argue about whom it might be, accusing each other and no doubt attempting to escape the blame. Absurdly, they escalate the argument into a question of who among them might be considered the greatest. Jesus responds...

“Let the greatest among you be like the youngest. Let the leader among you become the follower. For who is the greater? The one who reclines at a meal or the one who serves it? Is it not the one reclining at table? Yet here I am among you as the one who serves you.”

Jesus, the one who serves us, not Lord Jesus, not Jesus the Savior of the World, not the King of Kings, but Jesus the servant, here in the last hours of his life, calling us into the greatness of serving one another. Some scholars suggest that this moment is added by the gospel writer of Luke, to reflect the fulfillment of a messianic prophecy. Maybe so, maybe not. Either way, a story this powerful doesn’t need to be factual to be true. Jesus calling us into the service of God’s Kingdom is revealed here as a stunning, unavoidable truth.

Contemporary filmmakers and Renaissance painters have it all wrong when it comes to depicting this scene in the gospel drama. Jesus does not elevate himself to the starring role. In casting the Last Supper, Jesus takes the role of servant-waiter, not the celebrity guest of honor, and he expects us to do likewise if we truly want to love and serve God.

There is nothing I desire more in life than to serve God. I often pray a single prayer, “God use me,” to express my desire to be God’s presence to those in need or pain. Yet for many of us, particularly those who have experienced oppression or abuse because of our target status in society, there is a perceivable tension between the role of servant and the abuses of servitude. It can be very difficult to assume the role of servant in a society that demeans and minimizes women, children, people of color, immigrants.

Those who serve are often treated unjustly, paid unfairly, and used by a system which doesn’t value their humanity. The working class poor, those who labor without documents, children who are forced to work adult jobs, those who are put in harms way through their service, all of these servants are denied the dignities that we all deserve as members of the human family.

Here, at the Last Supper, sacred ground we visit together every week, Jesus calls us to serve the servants in our lives and in ourselves. He challenges us to speak, advocate and struggle for justice as acts of love. He calls us to dismantle social structures of oppression and abuse, and to take big risks when need be to accomplish this. Arrest, torture, death—none of these could stop him from serving, and I ask myself daily what am I willing to risk to serve others today?

The Passion of Christ is narrowly described as Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection. But Jesus’ larger passion was his passion for humanity, for the work of bringing God’s Kingdom to Earth. His passion was his love for God and for those he served, for the servant disciple in each of us. Each time I open my heart or stand in solidarity with someone, each time I lend my voice to demand justice, offer a simple act of kindness or love someone who challenges me, I become a part of Jesus’ story.

This commitment to serve others, even when it is difficult or painful, is the deeper passion of Christ. And it is through this passion that we are lifted out of the abuses of servitude, healed by Jesus’ perfect love for us, and invited into the knowledge that every moment is sacred and every human interaction is an opportunity to touch, know, and serve the Divine.

During the Week
Look for Jesus in each person who serves you, restaurant servers, childcare workers, teachers, postal workers and gardeners. Smile from your heart and acknowledge the divine presence in each person.

Make a list throughout the week, of all who serve you and your family, and all those you serve. Create a litany of gratitude for each one in your own words; offer these thanksgivings to God in your daily prayers.

Offer yourself intentionally as a servant to the Christ in all people. Go out of your way to serve someone this week. Lend a hand to an elderly neighbor by taking out the trash or bringing a treat. Surprise your co-workers with a thank you note for great team work, appreciate your family with extra time and attention, say more than just thank you to every person who helps or serves you.

Finally, offer your gratitude to Jesus himself. Speak to him in your heart; share your joy and thanksgiving for his life and witness and for his constant service to you on the journey of your life.

LENT V

2010-03-15T16:14:00.000-07:00

John 12:1–8

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There the family gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

Reflection by Sharalyn Hamilton

To come to Jerusalem for the Passover was an act of courage for Jesus. The authorities had made him somewhat of an outlaw, a wanted man (John 11.) Like Jesus, great crowds of people would have journeyed to Jerusalem for Passover, so many that some would need to stay in the nearby countryside such as Bethany. At the home of his dear friends, Jesus appears to have taken lodging and a meal. Reminiscent of their roles in earlier passages, Martha, a practical woman was serving Jesus. Clearly she showed her love through the work of her hands. Then there is Mary, the one who is characterized as loving him most; sitting at his feet and hanging on his every word while Martha cooked and served. In this passage Mary shows the extravagance of her love by giving her most precious belonging. Immediately Judas tries to shame her for her extravagance, but Jesus’ response is “Let her alone!” and he goes on to say that while the poor will always be with them, (inferring that they should always be cared for) they will not always have Jesus. Some have said that Mary was the first believer. She acted upon her belief in who he was and what was to come of him. This story is often referred to as an anointing and slightly different variations are found in each of the gospels.

In the ancient Jewish world, relationship was developed and somewhat defined by the gift you presented to someone. If you wanted to create a stir, you gave an extravagant gift! And Mary did. Immediately it called into question her judgment and the appropriateness of the gift, but Jesus understood it was her best, coming from a place of abundance rooted in love rather than a place of scarcity rooted in fear.

One of my great privileges is to witness extravagant gifts and the great joy experienced by the giver. It is a relationship building experience, not necessarily with another human being but between the giver and this church and ultimately between the giver and his or her God. The extravagance of the gift has little or nothing to do with the dollar value of the gift. One day I stood at the stewardship table while a man of what appeared to be very little means, calculated his pledge. If he gave fifty cents a week to the operating budget, could he also afford ten cents a week to the building project. He did the math and joyfully presented his pledge. He was now in the deepest kind of relationship with his church, He had given an extravagant gift from the resources of his life and labor. A few weeks later I was present when someone gave a twenty-five thousand dollar unsolicited gift, just because she had been moved by the worship and the witness of this church. She was moved to be extravagant, to say I believe in what is taking place here and I want to be a part of it. I have no doubt that these gifts are an expression of love, appreciation and gratitude. I have no doubt that the givers blessed themselves in the giving of these gifts.

There is a contemporary song, by singer Kris Allen entitled, Live Like We’re Dying. It is a cheesy pop song that reminds people to do what is most important right now. “Yeah we gotta start lookin’ at the hand of the time we’ve been given here. This is all we got and we gotta start pickin’ it. Every second counts on a clock that’s tickin’. Gotta live like we’re dying.”

I have spent the last couple weeks sitting at my dying father’s bedside watching the stream of people say goodbye. Like everyone who has experienced this period of closure, I wanted to be extravagant and give my most precious gift, my time. It felt so good. I called into question why it took this moment to prompt some of that extravagance. When we know someone is dying it changes everything and yet aren’t we all dying even as we live?

During the Week

In the week to come, live like you're dying.

Who needs to hear from you and you from them?
With whom do you want to create relationship through a gift or sharing a meal?
Where does fear and scarcity need to give way to love and abundance?
What is my most precious, most extravagant gift to give to God’s world?

LENT IV

2010-03-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

Luke 15:1–3,11b–32

All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So Jesus told them this parable: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.

When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything.

But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’ So he set off and went to his father.

But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe–the best one–and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. The slave replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then the elder son became angry and refused to go in.

His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’

Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

Reflection by Christina Honchell

I have known these three guys for as long as I can remember, much as I know the characters in my favorite fairy tales. The images were set in early Sunday School: I known what they are wearing, what the layout of the house looks like, know in detail the pig farm up on a plateau, and the long road home down a gentle hill dotted with wildflowers. I can see the big, flashy ruby ring that the father places on the young son’s hand, I can hear the music and catch a glimpse of the dancing at that party that went on till dawn (and it looks just like one of my parents’ swinging 60’s cocktail parties). Following on the heels of two shorter, metaphorical tales of sheep and coins, this novella of a gospel drama is rich and provocative, personal and relational, Jesus at his story-telling best.

Everyone in this story is prodigal: extravagant, extreme, archetypal. I have been both sons, and I long to be the father.

The younger son is clueless, impulsive, insensitive to the impact he has on his family. I was that kid in my own rebellious years. And like him, I was blessed to have a safety net and the privilege to make some really bad decisions – and to still be welcomed home. Like him, I have been haunted by the sense that I have disappointed my family and let that embarrassment keep me separated, to my own detriment.

But I have spent much more of my life in the skin of the older brother, soured by his resentments and haunted by his questions: Doesn’t loyalty count for anything? Why should I bother to work hard? Where is the justice? Wanting to yell out in my best 3-year-old whine: “It isn’t fair!!” I can’t count how many times I shut myself out of a celebration over some slight, perceived or real – I have walked out of family dinners and parties, I have pouted and given in to the worst kind of envy. Like the Pharisees who worried about Jesus eating with sinners, the ones to whom Jesus told this story, I have been caught up in the nonsense of following rules and missing grace. This loving parent tells him (and me)“everything I have is yours,” and everything isn’t enough.

The true prodigal in this story is the father – his love, his generosity and forgiveness are unlimited and beyond measure. The father extends himself to both sons: The younger son can’t even get out the lame story that he crafted to win forgiveness before the father grabs him, kisses his neck and brings him home; the father leaves the house to beg the sulker to come to the party. The genius of this story is that it gave me my first image of God, as generous parent beyond my dreams – a good argument for making this the first Bible story you teach your kids. God is wildly inclusive, full of open invitation and forgiveness.

My Lenten practice this year is generosity. I’ve decided to take on the spiritual practice of giving the benefit of the doubt: that car that cut me off on my way home from work – maybe it was a scared father racing his sick child to the hospital; the phone company guy who came two hours late for our appointment – maybe he was helping someone whose phone is literally their lifeline. Baby steps, I know, but they take me down the road toward prodigal mercy. God is calling us to live in celebration, without envy, to love and forgive in ways that make no sense.

During the Week

Try on each of the three characters in the story – how have you:
a) Separated yourself from loved ones because of your perceived inadequacies?
b) Acted out of resentment toward those who showed generosity to others; felt cheated, the victim of unfairness?
c) Shown extreme generosity and unconditional love toward someone who feels unloved or unworthy?

How would you finish the story – does the older son join the party? What happens the next
morning?

For further reading: Henri Nouwen wrote a wonderful meditation on this gospel story, "The Return of the Prodigal Son, A Homecoming Story," based on his love of Rembrandt’s painting of the same name.

LENT III

2010-03-01T13:48:00.000-08:00

Luke 13:1–9

There were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. Jesus asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them – do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

Then Jesus told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ The gardener replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”

Reflection -- by Sam Prince

In a college drawing class, I was once given an assignment to create a narrative piece of art—one that would beautifully and effectively tell a story. The catch was, I could only use a pen and permanent ink. Despite my countless hours of intensive brainstorming, planned sketching, and focused efforts to “perfectly” execute my vision, it was in the final stages of my drawing that an unsuspected and unwanted blotch of ink appeared in the middle of the page.

After the horror of realizing there was no going back, I was forced to make a choice: I could give up on the piece, forget about the story I was trying to tell, choose to see the blotch as a waste of space, and wallow in my dismay asking the age-old question: "WHY did this happen?"

…OR, I could choose to see this blotch as an opportunity to re-engage my imagination, spark my creativity, and ask, “What now?” I could utilize this unexpected and seemingly dreadful circumstance to think of creative ways to continue drawing my picture, telling the story I had begun in a new way, now with a redemptive dialogue.

This is the agony of creation.

While it is not my intention to trivialize human suffering to a drop of ink, I think great truth can be found in the creative process. It is in this ongoing activity of re-imagination that we experience the call of God, the Great Creator, to repent—to see things differently and to do something about it.

Take the text at hand. Here, the people ask Jesus about suffering with a tangible experience of their own. What I love is that instead of allowing them to get stuck asking “Why?” Jesus encourages them to be creative.

As I read this passage in its entirety, I hear Jesus saying: Yes, suffering happens; and it’s not the consequence of this people’s sin. SO, unless you repent and see things differently—stop asking, “Why?” and start asking, “What now?”—you will be like a fig tree that bears no fruit. And this lack of creativity will leave you feeling unfulfilled and unresolved. YET, no matter how long you have been uncreative, and no matter how much you might feel like a “waste of space,” the Good Gardener, the Great Artist, is always there realizing your potential and, with Grace, offering you another chance.

Let this Lent be a time for repentance—for re-engaging our imagination and choosing to see suffering in a new way. Let us ask God and ourselves how we might be creative with the blotches of ink on our own page. How might we continue to tell the story that has begun, only now with a redemptive dialogue? …because after all, the roll of an artist is not simply visionary. The roll of an artist is to produce something that changes the world; and with God’s grace we can do it.

During the Week

What are the “blotches of ink” that have fallen on the page of your life? Offer them to God in prayer. Then, ask yourself how these circumstances might be an opportunity to engage your creativity and imagine life in a new way. How might you incorporate these blotches to continue making a beautiful piece of art that tells a story of redemption?

In order to create the “masterpieces,” artists must always dig deep within themselves and do the work of creating, no matter how ugly they think some of their creations might be. This is the digging and spreading of manure. Is there any work that needs to be done in your own life that will help you to bear fruit? Anything you could dig up and get rid of or take up and spread like manure? Are there things you can do today, this week, this Lent?

Do you ever feel like a waste of space? Maybe you feel like you ARE the blotch of ink or the fig-less fig tree? Try to re-imagine yourself and your life as part of a greater picture, a bigger garden, a larger story that continues to unfold. And know that the Great Artist, the Good Gardener, is always there waiting to help you be creative and bear fruit.

Lent II

2010-02-25T14:24:00.000-08:00

Luke 13:31–35

Some Pharisees came to Jesus and said, “You need to get out of town, and fast. Herod is trying to kill you.” Jesus replied, “Go tell that fox ‘Today and tomorrow, I will be casting out devils and healing people, and on the third day I will reach my goal.’ Even with all that, I will need to continue on my journey today, tomorrow and the day after that, since no prophet can be allowed to die anywhere except in Jerusalem.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem! You kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you! How often have I wanted to gather your children together as a mother bird collects her babies under her wings, yet you refuse me! So take note: your house will be left to you desolate. I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is the One who comes in the name of our God!’”

Reflection -- by James Walker

This passage from Luke’s Gospel falls between two teachings of Jesus that are unsettling to the status quo. Indeed, from my perspective, Jesus is constant in his challenge to the sensible and proper conventions of accepted daily life. In the world that God is creating, “some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

So, as I begin my Lenten journey into the depths of contemplation, it occurs to me to focus my meditation on Jesus’ words in this lesson: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem! You kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you!”

I’ve been told over the years that I can tend to take things too personally, so I figure I might as well continue that behavior, here. For you see, in this passage, I can easily hear Jesus talking to me — to us. How do I, in 2010, continue to slay, squelch and suppress the prophets? How do we as individuals, as a church, and as a nation betray the message and lives of those who have called us to live the liberating news of justice, peace and reconciliation?

The religious leaders in this lesson are encouraging Jesus to play it safe and get out of town before Herod destroys him. Yet the serenely powerful response of Jesus is to keep going at the work of healing, confronting evil directly, and bringing new life and health to those who are hungry for it. This isn’t play-it-safe, compliant behavior. Jesus clearly knows the dangers involved in this truth telling, in prophesying — especially to those in power. This is head-on, confrontational and subversive. He challenges the convenience of our lifestyles, belief systems and false allegiances.

And this is precisely why I choose to follow Jesus, the embodiment of God and role-model of how to live my life. Jesus shows me the way to live in love, including uncomfortable truth-telling, and that love is so immense and gives itself so fully that it will walk steadfastly to Jerusalem — even to execution on the cross.

In this Lenten season of contemplation and self-examination, I hope that we will prayerfully hear the courageous Jesus who heals us and calls us to question all systems that cause violence to the spirit of God in us or in any of our sisters and brothers. May we then offer ourselves as instruments of peace, reconciliation, justice, healing, love, hope and joy.

During the Week

Can you find a place to take Jesus’ words personally? In what ways are your thoughts and actions inhibiting the Reign of God?

Where can you find strength and encouragement to run the race with steadfast endurance?

LENT I

2010-02-19T10:22:00.000-08:00

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. Jesus ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Chosen One, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”

Jesus answered, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” Then the devil led Jesus up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only God.’”

Then the devil took Jesus to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying, “If you are the Chosen One, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘God will command angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” Having finished every test, the devil departed from him until an opportune time.

Reflection -- by Toi Perkins

Here I stand in the wilderness - the desert of my soul. My disappointments clutter my path like tumbleweeds.Mistakes blur my vision like wisps of dry, sandy air. Pleading lips and heart cracked open. I begin to surrender myself to the desert, sinking into the sands of despair. And yet a cool breath like sea breeze whispers: “This is not your end, but your beginning.”

Jesus was led to the wilderness and yet this barren terrain of nothingness was not the end. “He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished.” After days of fasting, emptying, giving up, letting go, Jesus experiences a deep hunger – a hunger that could not be sated by food for, as the author of Luke writes, Jesus says, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.”

What can I give over to the desert? I search my rooms: I find guilt and shame under the bed, fear stuffed between the cushions of the couch, old grudges tucked away in a closet. Flipping through an old file cabinet I find a note that reads: “I love you. You are forgiven. Forgive.” That I will keep.

Before we meet Jesus in the desert, we meet his ancestors - a mix of Jews and non-Jews, known and unknown, ‘holy’ and ‘unholy’. Jesus is from everyone, represents everyone and is for everyone. The wilderness experience is the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. The author of Luke does not write much about Jesus’ wilderness days, but maybe Jesus sat with his disappointments and mistakes on the brink of despair. Maybe as he sat, he could feel the love of God out of the nothingness. It was this God of the desert that gave him the strength and power to begin. It was this God that showed him that the true bread of the desert is hope.

I know that I am loved, am loveable. This is my new life. I sink no more into despair and complacency. A deep hunger gnaws at my soul; a deep hope burrows itself into the sinews of my heart.

Our journey will inevitably lead us into the desert. Some of us are on the fringes, and others of us are trapped among vast dunes. It is part of our humanity and, as such, connects us. God beckons us out of our desert places into an oasis of abundant life and love. If there is something keeping you from the bread of the desert, you may find, tucked away in a rusty file cabinet, help in a note that reads: “I love you. You are forgiven. Forgive.” – keep it.

During the Week

What can you give to the desert? How much more could you give, how much more could you receive if you gave something up?

Can you allow yourself to be anointed by the desert?

ASH WEDNESDAY

2010-02-14T16:16:00.000-08:00

February 17

Matthew 6:1–6, 16–21

Jesus said, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from God in heaven. So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you.

And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to God who is in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you.

And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by God who is in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you. Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Reflection -- by Anne Peterson

A year ago, on Palm Sunday, we waved fronds from palms during the procession, as a reminder of the cheering crowd that hailed Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. In a poetic system of recycling, those palms have been burned and have become the ashes of Ash Wednesday.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, historically a six-week period of preparation for new members who would be baptized into the Christian community on Easter Eve. The ashes are imposed on our foreheads during the Ash Wednesday service, as a symbol of our mortality. “From dust you came, and to dust you shall return,” are the words said as the sign of the cross is made on our foreheads. This powerful symbol serves as a wake-up call, a reminder that life is short, and that one should live it thoughtfully.

The introspective tone of Lent is modeled on Jesus’ fasting in the desert—the 40 days in the wilderness where he was tempted by the forces of the world, a period of preparation for the beginning of his ministry. There is a wonderful freedom in this structure of Lent, a sense of permission to change the hectic rhythms of life-as-it-is-usually lived and retreat in some small way.

Over the years I have marked this season by giving something up or taking something on. I have set the alarm earlier in order to be silent for a period each morning, noting in a journal what comes to me. And often, as with this year, I have worked through what is going on in my soul in a small group. This year, my focus is my relationship with God using Marcus Borg’s book, The God We Never Knew. Each year I have asked, where am I blocked in my spirit? What is weighing me down? This year the answer to that is, my garage. The very act of putting this into print makes me vibrate with anxiety. I am not good at sorting, tossing, and organizing. And it is not the contemplative, inner work I associate with Lent.

This may be the most difficult Lent I have ever spent.

The fact I will keep track of my progress in community, in my small group, gives me hope. I promise not to ask them to physically help me work in my garage. But I know I cannot be a person of faith alone and that my small group will help me to focus and get a grip!

During the Week

Identify your “garage” and bring it to God in silence and to your community aloud.