You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Was ever a saying of Jesus' more often misconstrued, with such devastating consequences? When Judas protests that the cost of the ointment Mary “wasted” on Jesus could have fed the poor, Jesus defends Mary: “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.”
That one reference to the persistence of poverty has led some to a “so, why bother?” stance about remedying economic inequality. Others have gone so far as to see in those seven words a mandate for poverty, despite the full record of Jesus’ pronouncements about justice and giving. I actually heard someone quote these words and say Jesus does not want us to help the poor.
Such an interpretation makes a mockery of the Good News, which Jesus said he came to proclaim to the poor, as well as to other marginalized groups. The imperative to share our resources so that no one is in need, an ideal oft proclaimed by the prophets of Israel (and briefly achieved in the early church, according to Acts 4…) should be a driving force for Christians engaged in God’s mission to reclaim, restore, and renew all people to wholeness in Christ. In God’s realm no one is defined by how much or how little she has, but by his belovedness.
An even deeper distortion of the first seven words of that sentence can result when the second seven get ignored. That was the main point Jesus was trying to make – that his presence in human, embodied form was finite and soon to end. Those who emphasize the “social gospel” and Jesus’ love for the poor, as though he did not equally value the humanity in those with resources and privilege, can be in as great a danger of misinterpretation. It is Jesus who matters, more than his teaching and example and ministry and power. When we reduce him to “teacher” or “moral example,” "social worker” or even “healer,” we miss the most important part of his identity: Son of God, Redeemer, right here in your living room.
Mary, better than anyone else there, seemed to grasp what was happening: that Jesus, in the way they had known and come to love him, would soon be dead and gone. She alone understood that it was about him, all about Jesus, and she expressed that insight in a profoundly sacramental action.
Can we value him that much? Can we make Jesus our priority? Spend time with him, seek his counsel, ask to be filled with his Spirit, make him known among the people in need whom we encounter? I’m pretty sure that if more Christians put Jesus first, our hearts would be so transformed we could not tolerate poverty or injustice, violence or warfare. As Gandhi famously observed, if Christians were more like Christ, there would be a lot more of them. (That’s a paraphrase; the actual quote and its context can be found here.) If more Christians put Jesus first, I suspect there would be a lot more of us too.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
4-3-25 - Anointing
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
When Mary of Bethany poured a full jar of expensive oil of nard all over Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair, she wasn’t just trying to relax him with a little aromatherapy. She was anointing him, while she still could, guessing that his time on earth was short. Nard, an essential oil derived from spikenard, a flowering plant in the Valerian family (thanks, Wikipedia…) had many uses, although, except for a reference in the Iliad to its use in perfuming a body, it does not appear to have had funerary use. The spices brought after Jesus’ crucifixion were a mixture of myrrh and aloes. Yet Jesus answers Mary’s critics with this cryptic observation: “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”
The Bible relates many kinds of anointing – of priests and prophets, of kings and kings-to-be; anointing for healing; the hint of anointing in baptism; and the anointing of the Holy Spirit. This act of Mary’s doesn’t fit any of those categories. And if she bought the oil for Jesus’ burial, why does she use it all now?
Knowing the danger he was in, perhaps she wanted him to feel in a tactile way the love of those who surrounded him. Perhaps she had a sense of the horrors ahead, and wanted him to have one moment of pampering. Perhaps she wanted to show the others how to give it all. Perhaps she thought the day of his burial would be too late to do him any good. And six days later, Jesus will be washing the feet of his disciples, perhaps inspired by this incident? He will let them know in a tactile way what love feels like, the love of one who lays aside his power and prerogatives for the beloved. They don’t really understand then, any more than they likely understood Mary’s gesture. But later they would.
Who in our lives needs to feel our love in that way?
Who needs us to relinquish power or privilege and give of our time, our gifts, our pride?
Maybe someone to whom we are close; maybe someone we don’t know at all.
Feet are intimate, way too much so for many people; some churches wash hands instead of feet on Maundy Thursday. That breaks my heart a little: intimacy is the point. Being met at the place of our least attractive feature is the point. Being pampered and loved – and yes, anointed – is how God makes effective saints out of ordinary people.
All it requires is submitting to love. Even Jesus did that.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
When Mary of Bethany poured a full jar of expensive oil of nard all over Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair, she wasn’t just trying to relax him with a little aromatherapy. She was anointing him, while she still could, guessing that his time on earth was short. Nard, an essential oil derived from spikenard, a flowering plant in the Valerian family (thanks, Wikipedia…) had many uses, although, except for a reference in the Iliad to its use in perfuming a body, it does not appear to have had funerary use. The spices brought after Jesus’ crucifixion were a mixture of myrrh and aloes. Yet Jesus answers Mary’s critics with this cryptic observation: “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”
The Bible relates many kinds of anointing – of priests and prophets, of kings and kings-to-be; anointing for healing; the hint of anointing in baptism; and the anointing of the Holy Spirit. This act of Mary’s doesn’t fit any of those categories. And if she bought the oil for Jesus’ burial, why does she use it all now?
Knowing the danger he was in, perhaps she wanted him to feel in a tactile way the love of those who surrounded him. Perhaps she had a sense of the horrors ahead, and wanted him to have one moment of pampering. Perhaps she wanted to show the others how to give it all. Perhaps she thought the day of his burial would be too late to do him any good. And six days later, Jesus will be washing the feet of his disciples, perhaps inspired by this incident? He will let them know in a tactile way what love feels like, the love of one who lays aside his power and prerogatives for the beloved. They don’t really understand then, any more than they likely understood Mary’s gesture. But later they would.
Who in our lives needs to feel our love in that way?
Who needs us to relinquish power or privilege and give of our time, our gifts, our pride?
Maybe someone to whom we are close; maybe someone we don’t know at all.
Feet are intimate, way too much so for many people; some churches wash hands instead of feet on Maundy Thursday. That breaks my heart a little: intimacy is the point. Being met at the place of our least attractive feature is the point. Being pampered and loved – and yes, anointed – is how God makes effective saints out of ordinary people.
All it requires is submitting to love. Even Jesus did that.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
4-2-25 - What a Waste
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I am uncomfortable with hugely generous gestures, when someone sacrifices everything to help someone else, or to serve God. I probably would have told St. Francis of Assisi, “Why don’t you leave some of it behind? Why all of it? Don’t you want a little insurance?” Everything in moderation, right? Even sacrificial giving. So I’m not in particularly nice company this week – for the person in our story who articulates this more pragmatic way of thinking about resources is none other than Judas: 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?”
In an aside John tells us that Judas didn’t actually care about the poor, but wanted to steal the offering for himself. How about we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he actually did care about the poor, actually did care about the radical equality that Jesus was preaching, actually did want to see the Romans sent home and the revolution come to pass. To someone with economic justice on his mind, Mary’s extravagant gesture could seem an unconscionable waste of resources. Three hundred denarii’s worth of high-priced perfumed oil on one person’s feet? Stinking up the whole house?
It is outrageous, when you think about it as stewardship. It makes no sense. About as much sense as it made for God to offer up that One who was most precious to him, his only begotten Son. About as much sense as it made for that Son to take upon himself the catastrophic estrangement which was our due as those who rebelled against God; to give up his position, his dignity, his life.
One grey and rainy Good Friday I found myself in New York City’s Union Square after the three-hour Preaching of the Cross at Grace Church. Everything was dingy and dirty; everybody looked harried and downcast, me included. And I thought, “For this? You gave it all for this miserable lot? What a waste.”
Yes, what a waste; what ridiculous extravagance, to kill the Son of God so that we might be free to dwell in love with God for all eternity. As that beautiful hymn, My Song is Love Unknown, says, “Love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be. / Oh, who am I, that for my sake, my Lord should take frail flesh and die?”
Becoming a person who can offer it all starts with our willingness to accept that Christ has given it all for us; to accept that we are that precious to God, that God finds us worthy because God said so, not because of anything we think or do or say. Perhaps today we might meditate on that extravagant, profligate, wasteful, over-the-top love lavished upon us, try to let it soak into our bones, into our spirits, into all the dents the world’s “no’s” have left in us. You are loved, beyond measure, beyond sense. Deal with it!
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
I am uncomfortable with hugely generous gestures, when someone sacrifices everything to help someone else, or to serve God. I probably would have told St. Francis of Assisi, “Why don’t you leave some of it behind? Why all of it? Don’t you want a little insurance?” Everything in moderation, right? Even sacrificial giving. So I’m not in particularly nice company this week – for the person in our story who articulates this more pragmatic way of thinking about resources is none other than Judas: 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?”
In an aside John tells us that Judas didn’t actually care about the poor, but wanted to steal the offering for himself. How about we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he actually did care about the poor, actually did care about the radical equality that Jesus was preaching, actually did want to see the Romans sent home and the revolution come to pass. To someone with economic justice on his mind, Mary’s extravagant gesture could seem an unconscionable waste of resources. Three hundred denarii’s worth of high-priced perfumed oil on one person’s feet? Stinking up the whole house?
It is outrageous, when you think about it as stewardship. It makes no sense. About as much sense as it made for God to offer up that One who was most precious to him, his only begotten Son. About as much sense as it made for that Son to take upon himself the catastrophic estrangement which was our due as those who rebelled against God; to give up his position, his dignity, his life.
One grey and rainy Good Friday I found myself in New York City’s Union Square after the three-hour Preaching of the Cross at Grace Church. Everything was dingy and dirty; everybody looked harried and downcast, me included. And I thought, “For this? You gave it all for this miserable lot? What a waste.”
Yes, what a waste; what ridiculous extravagance, to kill the Son of God so that we might be free to dwell in love with God for all eternity. As that beautiful hymn, My Song is Love Unknown, says, “Love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be. / Oh, who am I, that for my sake, my Lord should take frail flesh and die?”
Becoming a person who can offer it all starts with our willingness to accept that Christ has given it all for us; to accept that we are that precious to God, that God finds us worthy because God said so, not because of anything we think or do or say. Perhaps today we might meditate on that extravagant, profligate, wasteful, over-the-top love lavished upon us, try to let it soak into our bones, into our spirits, into all the dents the world’s “no’s” have left in us. You are loved, beyond measure, beyond sense. Deal with it!
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
4-1-25 - Extravagant Love
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
There are some who suggest that Jesus of Nazareth was not the celibate religious leader depicted in the Gospels, that he was intimately involved with, perhaps even married to Mary Magdalene. Certainly, a married religious leader would have been more normal in that place and time than a celibate, but the Gospels convey not the slightest suggestion that Jesus was romantically linked to anyone.
And had he been, my candidate for the identity of the lucky girl would be not Mary of Magdala, but Mary of Bethany. She’s the one who neglected her household duties to sit at his feet, taking in his teaching while her sister prepared a meal alone (Luke 10:38-42). When Jesus finally arrives days after their brother Lazarus has died, he asks for Mary. And when she comes to him and gently rebukes him for having arrived too late, it is her tears, and those of onlookers, which appear to move him to action (John 11). There is no reason to imagine their connection went beyond friendship, but it seems to have been a deep one.
This is evident in the enormous intimacy and generosity of Mary’s gesture at the dinner in her home in this week's story: 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.
This act is shocking on several levels. First, there is the intimacy of anointing Jesus’ feet, well beyond the expected hospitality of washing the feet of one’s guests. Mary's using her hair to wipe the oil suggests such physical closeness it must have made onlookers uncomfortable. To kneel at someone’s feet and tend to them with your own hands and hair is a posture of profound worship and devotion.
Then there is the shocking extravagance, wastefulness even, of using the entire jar of ointment. Nard was extremely precious and very potent; no one would need a whole jar for one use. Learning that the house was filled with the fragrance tells us how excessive this gesture was.
But its very excess is what commends Mary’s action to us. She holds nothing back, not for economy or propriety. Spiritually connected to Jesus in a way few others are, she acts upon her instinctive knowledge that Jesus’ time among them is coming to an end and seizes the opportunity to demonstrate her great love for him while he is yet with her.
We are in a different situation – Jesus is not going anywhere; in fact, we’re waiting for him to return in fullness. But our time in this world is limited. Don’t we want to fully embrace God’s love in the here and now?
Where in our lives do we hold back on expressing our love for Jesus, for God? Do we content ourselves with the hour or so a week we spend in church; the amounts we give that stretch our budgets but little; short prayers at the beginning and end of the day and anytime a crisis arises in between? In what ways do we lavish our time and resources on God and God’s people? Can we think of times when we have left nothing in reserve? Those are occasions for rejoicing.
Mary demonstrated her extravagant worship in both quality and quantity. She held nothing back, lavishing love and care on her Lord. How might we love Jesus the way she did?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
There are some who suggest that Jesus of Nazareth was not the celibate religious leader depicted in the Gospels, that he was intimately involved with, perhaps even married to Mary Magdalene. Certainly, a married religious leader would have been more normal in that place and time than a celibate, but the Gospels convey not the slightest suggestion that Jesus was romantically linked to anyone.
And had he been, my candidate for the identity of the lucky girl would be not Mary of Magdala, but Mary of Bethany. She’s the one who neglected her household duties to sit at his feet, taking in his teaching while her sister prepared a meal alone (Luke 10:38-42). When Jesus finally arrives days after their brother Lazarus has died, he asks for Mary. And when she comes to him and gently rebukes him for having arrived too late, it is her tears, and those of onlookers, which appear to move him to action (John 11). There is no reason to imagine their connection went beyond friendship, but it seems to have been a deep one.
This is evident in the enormous intimacy and generosity of Mary’s gesture at the dinner in her home in this week's story: 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.
This act is shocking on several levels. First, there is the intimacy of anointing Jesus’ feet, well beyond the expected hospitality of washing the feet of one’s guests. Mary's using her hair to wipe the oil suggests such physical closeness it must have made onlookers uncomfortable. To kneel at someone’s feet and tend to them with your own hands and hair is a posture of profound worship and devotion.
Then there is the shocking extravagance, wastefulness even, of using the entire jar of ointment. Nard was extremely precious and very potent; no one would need a whole jar for one use. Learning that the house was filled with the fragrance tells us how excessive this gesture was.
But its very excess is what commends Mary’s action to us. She holds nothing back, not for economy or propriety. Spiritually connected to Jesus in a way few others are, she acts upon her instinctive knowledge that Jesus’ time among them is coming to an end and seizes the opportunity to demonstrate her great love for him while he is yet with her.
We are in a different situation – Jesus is not going anywhere; in fact, we’re waiting for him to return in fullness. But our time in this world is limited. Don’t we want to fully embrace God’s love in the here and now?
Where in our lives do we hold back on expressing our love for Jesus, for God? Do we content ourselves with the hour or so a week we spend in church; the amounts we give that stretch our budgets but little; short prayers at the beginning and end of the day and anytime a crisis arises in between? In what ways do we lavish our time and resources on God and God’s people? Can we think of times when we have left nothing in reserve? Those are occasions for rejoicing.
Mary demonstrated her extravagant worship in both quality and quantity. She held nothing back, lavishing love and care on her Lord. How might we love Jesus the way she did?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-31-25 - Friends In Bethany
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
The gospels say little about Jesus’ friendships. We see some of his interactions with disciples, but other than a few exchanges with Peter, those tend to be group encounters. Yet the gospels of Luke and John suggest there is one family with whom Jesus had a particularly close relationship: the two sisters and one brother from Bethany who appear in at least three stories.
Our passage this week begins with an almost comically understated reference to Jesus' connection with this family: Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.
This casual aside about Lazarus – “Oh, you know who I mean, the guy Jesus raised from the dead” is followed by the prosaic, “They gave a dinner for him.” Let's hope they did a lot more than that! We are told that Martha served, which might seem an inconsequential detail were it not for that brief but penetrating vignette in Luke about another time Martha cooked and served dinner for Jesus and got a lesson in priorities. We learn so much about her in that story, and here she is, serving dinner again.
The other sister, Mary, is the main character in this week’s reading, and we’ll introduce her tomorrow. What intrigues me as we begin to explore this short tale is the glimpse it gives us into Jesus’ social life. He had thousands of followers, and some close associates, but his peripatetic life and the increasing danger in which he found himself – John tells us this is six days before the Passover, the final Passover Jesus will celebrate in his worldly life – no doubt made it difficult to form and maintain friendships. This family seems to have been a place of refuge and friendship for him, and his humanity is more vivid seeing him rooted in this web of sibling relationships with distinct personalities.
If we think of Jesus often at the dinner table in that home in Bethany, we might more easily imagine him as a guest at our tables. And I believe that is where he wants to be - invited into our homes and lives, welcome at the table as we eat, on the couch as we relax, accompanying us as we work and exercise and play and recharge and interact with the people in our lives. This story reminds us that Jesus’ love is universal, and also always particular as we receive him.
He came for you, and for me. And as the poet and priest George Herbert so memorably articulated, he expects us to eat with him.
Love (III) - George Herbert (1593-1633)
Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back, guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack from my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, if I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
The gospels say little about Jesus’ friendships. We see some of his interactions with disciples, but other than a few exchanges with Peter, those tend to be group encounters. Yet the gospels of Luke and John suggest there is one family with whom Jesus had a particularly close relationship: the two sisters and one brother from Bethany who appear in at least three stories.
Our passage this week begins with an almost comically understated reference to Jesus' connection with this family: Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.
This casual aside about Lazarus – “Oh, you know who I mean, the guy Jesus raised from the dead” is followed by the prosaic, “They gave a dinner for him.” Let's hope they did a lot more than that! We are told that Martha served, which might seem an inconsequential detail were it not for that brief but penetrating vignette in Luke about another time Martha cooked and served dinner for Jesus and got a lesson in priorities. We learn so much about her in that story, and here she is, serving dinner again.
The other sister, Mary, is the main character in this week’s reading, and we’ll introduce her tomorrow. What intrigues me as we begin to explore this short tale is the glimpse it gives us into Jesus’ social life. He had thousands of followers, and some close associates, but his peripatetic life and the increasing danger in which he found himself – John tells us this is six days before the Passover, the final Passover Jesus will celebrate in his worldly life – no doubt made it difficult to form and maintain friendships. This family seems to have been a place of refuge and friendship for him, and his humanity is more vivid seeing him rooted in this web of sibling relationships with distinct personalities.
If we think of Jesus often at the dinner table in that home in Bethany, we might more easily imagine him as a guest at our tables. And I believe that is where he wants to be - invited into our homes and lives, welcome at the table as we eat, on the couch as we relax, accompanying us as we work and exercise and play and recharge and interact with the people in our lives. This story reminds us that Jesus’ love is universal, and also always particular as we receive him.
He came for you, and for me. And as the poet and priest George Herbert so memorably articulated, he expects us to eat with him.
Love (III) - George Herbert (1593-1633)
Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back, guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack from my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, if I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-28-25 - Found and Lost
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
It has been hard to pack all we might say about this powerful parable into five days. (To go deeper, I recommend Henri Nouwen’s classic, The Return of the Prodigal Son, which explores this story and especially its three main characters through the lens of Rembrandt’s painting of the same name.)
We haven’t spent nearly enough time on this “prodigal father,” whose extravagant forgiveness and restoration of his wastral son strikes some as no less wasteful than that son’s squandering of his inheritance. First among those who feel that way is the father’s elder son, who gets wind of the reunion and is horrified: “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. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he 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!’”
For the second time that day, the father goes out to meet a son where he is, not waiting for him to come in. He loves his sons equally – and that in itself is an affront to this elder boy who has faithfully served and done everything right. In his view, his father should love him more, for he has earned it.
And in this view he has a lot of company. When I ask people to whom they relate in this parable, most say the older brother. We like fairness. We like earning our way. Yet Jesus made it clear in parable after parable that the Realm of God is a place not of fairness but of grace. Grace extended to others, undeserving others – and grace by its definition comes to the undeserving – can make us feel cheated.
But God’s economy is one of abundance. Had the elder brother asked for a party, he could have had one every week. But how can he expect the father to love his other son less? The father’s love is a full measure, pressed down, overflowing. As I once sensed God say to me in prayer, “I already love you the most. There is nothing you have to do, or can do, to make me love you more – I love you the most.”
“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.’”
Jesus leaves the story unresolved. Does the elder son relent, allow grace to flow into him? Or does he define himself “lost” by his hardness of heart, like the religious leaders to whom Jesus was likely referring? And what about us? Are we willing to count ourselves “found” if the company includes people we would have trouble forgiving? What if we let God do it for us?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
It has been hard to pack all we might say about this powerful parable into five days. (To go deeper, I recommend Henri Nouwen’s classic, The Return of the Prodigal Son, which explores this story and especially its three main characters through the lens of Rembrandt’s painting of the same name.)
We haven’t spent nearly enough time on this “prodigal father,” whose extravagant forgiveness and restoration of his wastral son strikes some as no less wasteful than that son’s squandering of his inheritance. First among those who feel that way is the father’s elder son, who gets wind of the reunion and is horrified: “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. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he 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!’”
For the second time that day, the father goes out to meet a son where he is, not waiting for him to come in. He loves his sons equally – and that in itself is an affront to this elder boy who has faithfully served and done everything right. In his view, his father should love him more, for he has earned it.
And in this view he has a lot of company. When I ask people to whom they relate in this parable, most say the older brother. We like fairness. We like earning our way. Yet Jesus made it clear in parable after parable that the Realm of God is a place not of fairness but of grace. Grace extended to others, undeserving others – and grace by its definition comes to the undeserving – can make us feel cheated.
But God’s economy is one of abundance. Had the elder brother asked for a party, he could have had one every week. But how can he expect the father to love his other son less? The father’s love is a full measure, pressed down, overflowing. As I once sensed God say to me in prayer, “I already love you the most. There is nothing you have to do, or can do, to make me love you more – I love you the most.”
“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.’”
Jesus leaves the story unresolved. Does the elder son relent, allow grace to flow into him? Or does he define himself “lost” by his hardness of heart, like the religious leaders to whom Jesus was likely referring? And what about us? Are we willing to count ourselves “found” if the company includes people we would have trouble forgiving? What if we let God do it for us?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-27-25 - Home Comes To Us
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
As a teenager, I was enthralled with the movie Love Story, with its famous tagline, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That kind of statement can pretty much only be made after someone’s just said, “I’m sorry…” A more accurate statement would be, “Love means always having to say you’re sorry.” We need always be aware of the ways in which we hurt or fail to notice our loved ones’ feelings. Learning to say you’re sorry quickly and naturally is one of the building blocks of a healthy relationship.
Yet working up to “I’m sorry” is often a struggle. Once we’ve wrestled through our self-justifications and acknowledged the need, we often find ourselves rehearsing, trying to find the right words. That’s exactly what the young man in Jesus’ story does: writes his speech ahead of time: “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.
When we head off to ask forgiveness of another person, we can never be sure of the reception we’ll get. This young man, who had in effect disowned his father, probably causing him to liquidate assets at a loss, may have assumed his father had disowned him. When we offer repentance, we have to simply offer it, and be willing to lay it down and walk away. We can’t compel forgiveness or even a hearing.
Ah, but Jesus tells us that it’s different with God. If this story is a picture of what the realm of God is like, we should take notice of what happens next: forgiveness doesn’t wait for this young man to express his sorrow. Forgiveness is out in the road, waiting for him: 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.
The son tries to make his speech, but his father is way ahead of him: But the father said to his servants, “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!”
Was the father peering down that road every day, hoping against hope to see his son return? Did he even care if the boy was sorry, or did he only want to be reunited with his beloved? Does God really love us that much?
Jesus said “yes.” Jesus showed us “yes,” just how much God loves us. Jesus left Home and came into our road to wait for us. We don’t even have to get home – Home comes to us, with royal robes and sandals for our tired feet. This is one “I’m sorry” for which we don’t have to doubt the reception. We only need to turn ourselves toward home.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
As a teenager, I was enthralled with the movie Love Story, with its famous tagline, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That kind of statement can pretty much only be made after someone’s just said, “I’m sorry…” A more accurate statement would be, “Love means always having to say you’re sorry.” We need always be aware of the ways in which we hurt or fail to notice our loved ones’ feelings. Learning to say you’re sorry quickly and naturally is one of the building blocks of a healthy relationship.
Yet working up to “I’m sorry” is often a struggle. Once we’ve wrestled through our self-justifications and acknowledged the need, we often find ourselves rehearsing, trying to find the right words. That’s exactly what the young man in Jesus’ story does: writes his speech ahead of time: “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.
When we head off to ask forgiveness of another person, we can never be sure of the reception we’ll get. This young man, who had in effect disowned his father, probably causing him to liquidate assets at a loss, may have assumed his father had disowned him. When we offer repentance, we have to simply offer it, and be willing to lay it down and walk away. We can’t compel forgiveness or even a hearing.
Ah, but Jesus tells us that it’s different with God. If this story is a picture of what the realm of God is like, we should take notice of what happens next: forgiveness doesn’t wait for this young man to express his sorrow. Forgiveness is out in the road, waiting for him: 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.
The son tries to make his speech, but his father is way ahead of him: But the father said to his servants, “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!”
Was the father peering down that road every day, hoping against hope to see his son return? Did he even care if the boy was sorry, or did he only want to be reunited with his beloved? Does God really love us that much?
Jesus said “yes.” Jesus showed us “yes,” just how much God loves us. Jesus left Home and came into our road to wait for us. We don’t even have to get home – Home comes to us, with royal robes and sandals for our tired feet. This is one “I’m sorry” for which we don’t have to doubt the reception. We only need to turn ourselves toward home.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-26-25 - Return To Self
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
This week's gospel story works well with people in recovery from addiction. They can relate to a guy who leaves home, loses everything and finds himself starving in a pig pen. Millennia before 12-step groups were developed, Jesus found perfect language to describe hitting bottom: 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.
The line that grabs me is “But when he came to himself….” It so economically describes what happens when we’ve gone off the rails, deep into toxic behaviors or thinking – it’s like we’ve parted ways with our true self. The first step of reconciliation is to return to ourselves and welcome ourselves home.
This young man suddenly saw himself and his surroundings clearly. He recognized the truth of what had happened, where his choices had brought him. Sure, he didn’t cause the famine, but the choices he’d made since leaving home had left him with no resources to weather it. And when he saw himself for who he was, he remembered who he had been, the status he had given up when he estranged himself from his family. In a moment of true humility, he also saw clearly that he had forfeited that status forever. Formulating a plan to get out of his dire straits, he did not presume to regain his son-ship, but resolved to beg his father to allow him to be a servant in his old house.
True repentance begins when we stop blaming other people, our history and circumstances for where we find ourselves now. That can be one of the hardest steps to take, to accept where we are, regardless of whose choices helped get us there. Certainly our own choices played a part, and that’s where we start the road toward reconciliation.
Today let’s take stock of what “pig pens” we endure in our lives. Where are we stuck in patterns that keep us from thriving? Who do we need to forgive or get out of the way of? What are we clinging to? What are we using to anesthetize us from pain and the real work of healing into which the Spirit invites us?
I know how to wallow, and how to compartmentalize my life. Yet Jesus invites me, with this young man, to take the risk of true humility and clarity. And as I reconnect with my deepest self, he beckons me to find my way home.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
This week's gospel story works well with people in recovery from addiction. They can relate to a guy who leaves home, loses everything and finds himself starving in a pig pen. Millennia before 12-step groups were developed, Jesus found perfect language to describe hitting bottom: 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.
The line that grabs me is “But when he came to himself….” It so economically describes what happens when we’ve gone off the rails, deep into toxic behaviors or thinking – it’s like we’ve parted ways with our true self. The first step of reconciliation is to return to ourselves and welcome ourselves home.
This young man suddenly saw himself and his surroundings clearly. He recognized the truth of what had happened, where his choices had brought him. Sure, he didn’t cause the famine, but the choices he’d made since leaving home had left him with no resources to weather it. And when he saw himself for who he was, he remembered who he had been, the status he had given up when he estranged himself from his family. In a moment of true humility, he also saw clearly that he had forfeited that status forever. Formulating a plan to get out of his dire straits, he did not presume to regain his son-ship, but resolved to beg his father to allow him to be a servant in his old house.
True repentance begins when we stop blaming other people, our history and circumstances for where we find ourselves now. That can be one of the hardest steps to take, to accept where we are, regardless of whose choices helped get us there. Certainly our own choices played a part, and that’s where we start the road toward reconciliation.
Today let’s take stock of what “pig pens” we endure in our lives. Where are we stuck in patterns that keep us from thriving? Who do we need to forgive or get out of the way of? What are we clinging to? What are we using to anesthetize us from pain and the real work of healing into which the Spirit invites us?
I know how to wallow, and how to compartmentalize my life. Yet Jesus invites me, with this young man, to take the risk of true humility and clarity. And as I reconnect with my deepest self, he beckons me to find my way home.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-25-25 - Independence
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Growing up can be described as one long, push-and-pull struggle for independence. We strive to be seen for who we are, separate from our parents and their expectations and desires. Psychologists call this process individuation, and how one navigates it has great bearing on the maturity and self-integrity one has as an adult. Pushing out and pulling back enact a basic inner conflict we all share: We want to be our own person, and we want to be enfolded in Home, be it real or idealized. And we can’t have both.
Some people push out harder than others. The young man in the story Jesus told pushed farther than many – he not only struck out on his own, he pretty much burned his bridges. [Jesus said] “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 travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.”
Asking for his inheritance before his father had even died was tantamount to wishing the old man dead. And going to a distant country was a way of saying to those at home, “I’m getting as far away from you as I can. I can take care of myself.” Only it turns out he couldn’t – he lacked the maturity to spend his inheritance wisely. He squandered it living the high life, no doubt buying drinks for hangers-on who disappeared as soon as his cash was gone. This young man went as far away from Home as he could.
Was he rebelling against his father? The three glimpses we get of this father show him to be a wise and compassionate man, excelling in grace with his difficult sons. Was this young man’s behavior a response to losing his mother - Jesus mentions none. Or was this son reacting to the rectitude of his older brother, whom we learn is obedient to a fault? Some schools of psychology root personality development in sibling relationships as much as parental ones. Did this “goody two shoes” take all the gold stars, leaving his younger brother to define himself by rebellion?
Here I go again, treating this like a real story. As of course it is, in one way or another. How is it real for you?
Where do you find yourself in this younger son?
When have you rebelled, and against who or what?
In what ways do you try go it alone, to make it on self-saving strategies rather than relying on God and community?
Are you comfortable in being the person you are, or do you feel incomplete?
Our God desires wholeness for us, within ourselves, and in our relationships with others. Often that requires knowing where we are “unwhole” – and unholy. If you feel like making a conscious a self-examination, here is a form you can download to help think through the areas of your life.
We may not be squandering our property in riotous living, but I dare say most of us are some distance from the Love that made us and calls us home. Awareness of what is causing that distance will help reduce it.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Growing up can be described as one long, push-and-pull struggle for independence. We strive to be seen for who we are, separate from our parents and their expectations and desires. Psychologists call this process individuation, and how one navigates it has great bearing on the maturity and self-integrity one has as an adult. Pushing out and pulling back enact a basic inner conflict we all share: We want to be our own person, and we want to be enfolded in Home, be it real or idealized. And we can’t have both.
Some people push out harder than others. The young man in the story Jesus told pushed farther than many – he not only struck out on his own, he pretty much burned his bridges. [Jesus said] “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 travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.”
Asking for his inheritance before his father had even died was tantamount to wishing the old man dead. And going to a distant country was a way of saying to those at home, “I’m getting as far away from you as I can. I can take care of myself.” Only it turns out he couldn’t – he lacked the maturity to spend his inheritance wisely. He squandered it living the high life, no doubt buying drinks for hangers-on who disappeared as soon as his cash was gone. This young man went as far away from Home as he could.
Was he rebelling against his father? The three glimpses we get of this father show him to be a wise and compassionate man, excelling in grace with his difficult sons. Was this young man’s behavior a response to losing his mother - Jesus mentions none. Or was this son reacting to the rectitude of his older brother, whom we learn is obedient to a fault? Some schools of psychology root personality development in sibling relationships as much as parental ones. Did this “goody two shoes” take all the gold stars, leaving his younger brother to define himself by rebellion?
Here I go again, treating this like a real story. As of course it is, in one way or another. How is it real for you?
Where do you find yourself in this younger son?
When have you rebelled, and against who or what?
In what ways do you try go it alone, to make it on self-saving strategies rather than relying on God and community?
Are you comfortable in being the person you are, or do you feel incomplete?
Our God desires wholeness for us, within ourselves, and in our relationships with others. Often that requires knowing where we are “unwhole” – and unholy. If you feel like making a conscious a self-examination, here is a form you can download to help think through the areas of your life.
We may not be squandering our property in riotous living, but I dare say most of us are some distance from the Love that made us and calls us home. Awareness of what is causing that distance will help reduce it.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-24-25 - Eating With Sinners
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Oh joy! This week we get to reflect of the best stories in the entire bible: Jesus’ parable about a man and his two sons, and their very different approaches to sin and forgiveness. This story is told in such vivid detail, some forget it is a parable; they think it really happened. In some ways, it did, and does, every single day. But it is a tale Jesus made up to enlighten the religious leaders who looked askance at the company he kept: Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. 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…”
Before we get into the details of the story, let’s think about the context in which it is being told, which also provides the reason. Jesus wasn’t just spinning a cool yarn, he was making a point in narrative form, in a story which he knew would have resonances for all his hearers. The context was the fact that many of the people responding to Jesus’ invitation to “Come, follow me,” were the wrong sorts of people, tax collectors and sinners.
Remember, tax collectors in that day had little in common with IRS auditors; they were Jews who collected the Romans’ taxes for them, often strong-arming their fellow Jews and adding on a hefty surcharge for their own “fees.” They were corrupt and often extortionist, and hated as collaborators with the occupying empire. The term “sinners” probably included low-lifes, petty thieves, prostitutes and party girls – those who did not measure up in fidelity to the law and traditions as well as did the religious leaders.
So Jesus tells a story about one son who is quite obviously a sinner who has strayed far from God’s ways, who comes to repentance and is forgiven; and another son who does everything right – except for his utter inability to show mercy. And that just might exceed other forms of sin in its virulence. Those who point at others and label them sinners are often the ones most in need of God’s grace and least able to accept it.
Before we enter the story, let’s take some time to think about who it is that we regard as “sinners.” For few are so full of God’s grace that they don’t find one sort of person or other offensive. We might be fine with tax collectors and prostitutes, but have trouble with hypocritical leaders, or people who would kill animals for sport, or the ultra-wealthy, or terrorists, or … you name it. Who is it that you have trouble forgiving, even accepting that God might forgive? Make a list today.
We need to know who it is that we label “sinners” so that we might contemplate eating with them. That’s what Jesus did. He hung out with those whom others thought unworthy. He was able to stomach some pretty rough company – and by breaking bread with such people and offering relationship, to lead them to repentance and transformation. When you think about it, every Sunday Jesus breaks bread with a bunch of sinners. And he hasn’t kicked us out yet.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Oh joy! This week we get to reflect of the best stories in the entire bible: Jesus’ parable about a man and his two sons, and their very different approaches to sin and forgiveness. This story is told in such vivid detail, some forget it is a parable; they think it really happened. In some ways, it did, and does, every single day. But it is a tale Jesus made up to enlighten the religious leaders who looked askance at the company he kept: Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. 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…”
Before we get into the details of the story, let’s think about the context in which it is being told, which also provides the reason. Jesus wasn’t just spinning a cool yarn, he was making a point in narrative form, in a story which he knew would have resonances for all his hearers. The context was the fact that many of the people responding to Jesus’ invitation to “Come, follow me,” were the wrong sorts of people, tax collectors and sinners.
Remember, tax collectors in that day had little in common with IRS auditors; they were Jews who collected the Romans’ taxes for them, often strong-arming their fellow Jews and adding on a hefty surcharge for their own “fees.” They were corrupt and often extortionist, and hated as collaborators with the occupying empire. The term “sinners” probably included low-lifes, petty thieves, prostitutes and party girls – those who did not measure up in fidelity to the law and traditions as well as did the religious leaders.
So Jesus tells a story about one son who is quite obviously a sinner who has strayed far from God’s ways, who comes to repentance and is forgiven; and another son who does everything right – except for his utter inability to show mercy. And that just might exceed other forms of sin in its virulence. Those who point at others and label them sinners are often the ones most in need of God’s grace and least able to accept it.
Before we enter the story, let’s take some time to think about who it is that we regard as “sinners.” For few are so full of God’s grace that they don’t find one sort of person or other offensive. We might be fine with tax collectors and prostitutes, but have trouble with hypocritical leaders, or people who would kill animals for sport, or the ultra-wealthy, or terrorists, or … you name it. Who is it that you have trouble forgiving, even accepting that God might forgive? Make a list today.
We need to know who it is that we label “sinners” so that we might contemplate eating with them. That’s what Jesus did. He hung out with those whom others thought unworthy. He was able to stomach some pretty rough company – and by breaking bread with such people and offering relationship, to lead them to repentance and transformation. When you think about it, every Sunday Jesus breaks bread with a bunch of sinners. And he hasn’t kicked us out yet.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-21-25 - The Gardener
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
The more I reflect on this parable Jesus told, the more I like this gardener. To the owner who wants to cut down a fig tree that has borne no fruit for three years, he says this: “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.”
I appreciate Jesus highlighting a character who has both compassion and inclination to think strategically about how to remedy a situation. Rather than blaming the victim and diverting resources, this gardener thinks in transformational terms. He is also realistic. He knows sometimes you can improve a situation and do your best to get resources where they’re needed, and still end up fruitless. Anyone who has ever worked with addicts or people stuck in ruts of chronic poverty recognizes that heartbreak. And yet, such workers also see transformation of people and lives and communities – that’s what keeps them digging and fertilizing, tending and watering.
As I read the parable again (remembering that we can see it differently from one time to the next), I see the gardener as Jesus, who came that we might have life and have it in abundance, who yearned for his followers to bear abundant fruit. Though he could be ruthless with the powerful and self-righteous, he was both clear and compassionate with those who struggled with failure. He invited the broken and the sinful into relationship, offering forgiveness and friendship and the opportunity to serve others. And one by one those who followed him became transformed and fruitful. The extra care and time yielded fruit.
Jesus has done the same for us. We may not always want his hand reaching toward us; we’d rather he kept his digging and fertilizing for someone else. Other times we’re well aware of how much like that fig tree we are. What Good News it is to know we have a gardener who wants to tend and nurture us to greater growth. Just accepting that News can strengthen our roots, as we’re humble enough to receive it.
Two images of gardener come to us from our scriptures. One is in the story of creation in Genesis, when we’re told that, after creating the first human being, “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.” Humankind’s original purpose was to be a gardener.
The other image, which I cannot but hold together with this first, comes on the first day of the new creation, Easter morning, when the resurrected Jesus stood in a garden speaking to one of those reclaimed fig trees, Mary Magdalene. She didn’t recognize him; she thought he was the gardener. Perhaps she was right.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
The more I reflect on this parable Jesus told, the more I like this gardener. To the owner who wants to cut down a fig tree that has borne no fruit for three years, he says this: “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.”
I appreciate Jesus highlighting a character who has both compassion and inclination to think strategically about how to remedy a situation. Rather than blaming the victim and diverting resources, this gardener thinks in transformational terms. He is also realistic. He knows sometimes you can improve a situation and do your best to get resources where they’re needed, and still end up fruitless. Anyone who has ever worked with addicts or people stuck in ruts of chronic poverty recognizes that heartbreak. And yet, such workers also see transformation of people and lives and communities – that’s what keeps them digging and fertilizing, tending and watering.
As I read the parable again (remembering that we can see it differently from one time to the next), I see the gardener as Jesus, who came that we might have life and have it in abundance, who yearned for his followers to bear abundant fruit. Though he could be ruthless with the powerful and self-righteous, he was both clear and compassionate with those who struggled with failure. He invited the broken and the sinful into relationship, offering forgiveness and friendship and the opportunity to serve others. And one by one those who followed him became transformed and fruitful. The extra care and time yielded fruit.
Jesus has done the same for us. We may not always want his hand reaching toward us; we’d rather he kept his digging and fertilizing for someone else. Other times we’re well aware of how much like that fig tree we are. What Good News it is to know we have a gardener who wants to tend and nurture us to greater growth. Just accepting that News can strengthen our roots, as we’re humble enough to receive it.
Two images of gardener come to us from our scriptures. One is in the story of creation in Genesis, when we’re told that, after creating the first human being, “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.” Humankind’s original purpose was to be a gardener.
The other image, which I cannot but hold together with this first, comes on the first day of the new creation, Easter morning, when the resurrected Jesus stood in a garden speaking to one of those reclaimed fig trees, Mary Magdalene. She didn’t recognize him; she thought he was the gardener. Perhaps she was right.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-20-25 - Fertilizer
You can listen to this reflection here.
The landowner in the story Jesus told about the unfruitful fig tree makes a very harsh assessment about this tree: It is wasting the soil. The response of his gardener is to deal not with the tree, but with the soil: "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?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"
This gardener is a believer in second chances, in improving the conditions in which something (or someone…) can thrive. He does not blame the tree; he does not think it is squandering the very soil in which it sits. He thinks the soil needs some improvement, some aerating, so water and carbon can get to the roots of the tree. And he thinks it needs fertilizing, to add nutrients and catalyze growth.
I am not a biologist, but I am fascinated by the efficiency of eco-systems, whether within the human body or in the natural world. The way limbs and leaves fall and decay, generating nutrients which help bring about new growth in the next season is but one example of organic economy. Nothing is wasted – even waste products.
The same can be true of our lives. In what ways has the “manure” generated in your life functioned to fertilize new growth? Often we don’t want to look at our emotional waste – it’s ugly and smelly and dark, like the biological kind. We’d rather flush it away. But what if we invited God to help us use that matter for growth? What if we asked what use that failed relationship or thwarted professional venture or even trauma could possibly be for our future fruitfulness?
Here I’m venturing into icky territory, but I am fascinated by the uses which medicine is finding for human waste. The careful reintroduction of “cleaned” excrement back into someone’s system can restore the balance of gut biomes, resolve ailments like C.diff and celiac disease, and possibly even cure conditions such as MS. (Here is a compelling and easy to read New Yorker article from a few years back about medical uses of excrement.) I think there is a spiritual analogy here.
This is one purpose for repentance – not to wallow in our “manure,” but to bring into the light things of which we are not proud, to bring healing and redemption into our wounds or failures – and just maybe render them useful to us in the future. Left alone, they just accumulate and decay, building up noxious gases in our psyches. But when we aerate our soil, inviting in light and air, that which seems most useless can become the ground of new growth. We can do this in therapy, in the confessional, or both.
This is true of societal detritus as well as personal. Our attempts to flush away cultural sins such as racism and chronic poverty have not brought healing. We need to reckon with the effects, address the horrors, feel the feelings if we hope to move through the trauma to a new way of being. This is the approach Restorative Justice takes – it can break cycles of vengeance and lead to freedom and new relationships. Maybe learning how to repurpose our waste – compost our failures – can result in the fruit of justice and peace.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
The landowner in the story Jesus told about the unfruitful fig tree makes a very harsh assessment about this tree: It is wasting the soil. The response of his gardener is to deal not with the tree, but with the soil: "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?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"
This gardener is a believer in second chances, in improving the conditions in which something (or someone…) can thrive. He does not blame the tree; he does not think it is squandering the very soil in which it sits. He thinks the soil needs some improvement, some aerating, so water and carbon can get to the roots of the tree. And he thinks it needs fertilizing, to add nutrients and catalyze growth.
I am not a biologist, but I am fascinated by the efficiency of eco-systems, whether within the human body or in the natural world. The way limbs and leaves fall and decay, generating nutrients which help bring about new growth in the next season is but one example of organic economy. Nothing is wasted – even waste products.
The same can be true of our lives. In what ways has the “manure” generated in your life functioned to fertilize new growth? Often we don’t want to look at our emotional waste – it’s ugly and smelly and dark, like the biological kind. We’d rather flush it away. But what if we invited God to help us use that matter for growth? What if we asked what use that failed relationship or thwarted professional venture or even trauma could possibly be for our future fruitfulness?
Here I’m venturing into icky territory, but I am fascinated by the uses which medicine is finding for human waste. The careful reintroduction of “cleaned” excrement back into someone’s system can restore the balance of gut biomes, resolve ailments like C.diff and celiac disease, and possibly even cure conditions such as MS. (Here is a compelling and easy to read New Yorker article from a few years back about medical uses of excrement.) I think there is a spiritual analogy here.
This is one purpose for repentance – not to wallow in our “manure,” but to bring into the light things of which we are not proud, to bring healing and redemption into our wounds or failures – and just maybe render them useful to us in the future. Left alone, they just accumulate and decay, building up noxious gases in our psyches. But when we aerate our soil, inviting in light and air, that which seems most useless can become the ground of new growth. We can do this in therapy, in the confessional, or both.
This is true of societal detritus as well as personal. Our attempts to flush away cultural sins such as racism and chronic poverty have not brought healing. We need to reckon with the effects, address the horrors, feel the feelings if we hope to move through the trauma to a new way of being. This is the approach Restorative Justice takes – it can break cycles of vengeance and lead to freedom and new relationships. Maybe learning how to repurpose our waste – compost our failures – can result in the fruit of justice and peace.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-19-25 - Fruitful
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
It is fashionable in corporate and non-profit circles to talk about markers of effectiveness, data-driven strategies, measurable goals and outcomes. Jesus used one word for all of that: fruitful.
“Each tree is known by its fruit,” he taught. (Luke 6:44). “Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” (Matt 7:19).
“No branch can bear fruit by itself.“ (John 15:4b). “I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” (John 15:16b).
And in this week's parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.”
Anytime we want to evaluate our effectiveness as bearers of Christ and ministers of the Good News, there’s our criterion: are we bearing fruit, good fruit, fruit that will endure? That can be a highly subjective question – sometimes there’s lots of fruit, but not where we’re looking, or it’s not yet ripe, or doesn’t look like good fruit. And sometimes we think we’re rolling in fruit – like when numbers are up – and it turns out there isn’t much transformation going on. Fruitfulness is about more than productivity.
The marker of good fruit I look for is this: Are lives being changed? Are people turning their hearts God-ward and becoming less reliant on their own strength, on the traps and pitfalls this life throws our way? Are they becoming more gentle, more generous, more gracious? Are they less tolerant of injustice and inequity, and quicker to right a wrong?
Sometimes I feel the "fruit" is very scarce; I question whether all my activity is having any impact, yielding any transformation at all. In such times, I need to remember that I’m just a farm worker, helping to plant, weed, water and shade. The fruit itself is up to the Gardener, and sometimes we just need to get out of his way. Notice, the gardener in Jesus’ story was all for giving the fig tree another year.
When you look around your life, what feels fruitful? Where are you making God connections? How are you growing in faith?
And what feels stunted and not growing? Can you have a conversation with God about that?
There are also seasons. There is a song I like called “Desert Song” (listen here; song begins at about 2.35), which talks about praising God in all circumstances. It's bridge goes,
It is fashionable in corporate and non-profit circles to talk about markers of effectiveness, data-driven strategies, measurable goals and outcomes. Jesus used one word for all of that: fruitful.
“Each tree is known by its fruit,” he taught. (Luke 6:44). “Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” (Matt 7:19).
“No branch can bear fruit by itself.“ (John 15:4b). “I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” (John 15:16b).
And in this week's parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.”
Anytime we want to evaluate our effectiveness as bearers of Christ and ministers of the Good News, there’s our criterion: are we bearing fruit, good fruit, fruit that will endure? That can be a highly subjective question – sometimes there’s lots of fruit, but not where we’re looking, or it’s not yet ripe, or doesn’t look like good fruit. And sometimes we think we’re rolling in fruit – like when numbers are up – and it turns out there isn’t much transformation going on. Fruitfulness is about more than productivity.
The marker of good fruit I look for is this: Are lives being changed? Are people turning their hearts God-ward and becoming less reliant on their own strength, on the traps and pitfalls this life throws our way? Are they becoming more gentle, more generous, more gracious? Are they less tolerant of injustice and inequity, and quicker to right a wrong?
Sometimes I feel the "fruit" is very scarce; I question whether all my activity is having any impact, yielding any transformation at all. In such times, I need to remember that I’m just a farm worker, helping to plant, weed, water and shade. The fruit itself is up to the Gardener, and sometimes we just need to get out of his way. Notice, the gardener in Jesus’ story was all for giving the fig tree another year.
When you look around your life, what feels fruitful? Where are you making God connections? How are you growing in faith?
And what feels stunted and not growing? Can you have a conversation with God about that?
There are also seasons. There is a song I like called “Desert Song” (listen here; song begins at about 2.35), which talks about praising God in all circumstances. It's bridge goes,
All of my life in every season you are still God, I have a reason to sing, I have a reason to worship.”
And the last verse says, And this is my prayer in the harvest, When favor and providence flow,/I know I'm filled to be emptied again; the seed I've received I will sow.
We need to be faithful to the work, adjusting our approach as God leads, but we cannot control the harvest. And, though fruit can be counted, it’s not really until you take a bite that you know whether or not it’s any good. As tempting as it is to measure ourselves and others by worldly standards, only God is entitled to judge us. He might prune our branches or dig around us, but we can be sure God is invested in our bearing beautiful fruit.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
And the last verse says, And this is my prayer in the harvest, When favor and providence flow,/I know I'm filled to be emptied again; the seed I've received I will sow.
We need to be faithful to the work, adjusting our approach as God leads, but we cannot control the harvest. And, though fruit can be counted, it’s not really until you take a bite that you know whether or not it’s any good. As tempting as it is to measure ourselves and others by worldly standards, only God is entitled to judge us. He might prune our branches or dig around us, but we can be sure God is invested in our bearing beautiful fruit.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-18-25 - Figs In a Vineyard?
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Jesus had a strange relationship to fig trees. One of the most negative uses of divine power recorded in the Gospels comes when he curses a fig tree that has no fruit on it, though the writers tell us it was not the season for figs. Now, after reminding his listeners that they are called to repent and return to the Lord, he tells this mystifying 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?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”
We will play with this parable this week, exploring what Jesus was saying about the ways of God and his own mission of redemption. Parables invite us to ask questions, to interpret them one way and then turn them upside down and see them entirely differently. So let’s start with the first question that pops into my mind: Why is the fig tree planted in a vineyard? Do fig trees belong in vineyards? Is the vineyard the world? Is Jesus saying his followers are to bear fruit in challenging circumstances?
And who or what does the fig tree represent? Is it the religious system into which Judaism had evolved by Jesus’ time, a constrained and codified system of sacrifice and legalism? Or is that represented by the vineyard? Who is the “man” – God the Father? Is Jesus the gardener?
Or let’s flip it: is Jesus the fig tree who, after three years of ministry, still isn’t seeing the kind of fruit he was hoping to? Is cutting down the fig tree a reference to his own death? Or is he talking about his often-clueless disciples?
Going beyond what Jesus may have meant, how does this parable play if we put ourselves into it? Our churches? Are we bearing the kind of fruit the Gardener wants? Are we planted in the right place? Are there areas of our lives in which we are “wasting the soil.” the resources we've been given for ministry?
There is no one right answer or one right interpretation. Jesus taught in parables to invite his followers to see things in new ways, from new angles. Read the parable over to yourself today, and see what fruit emerges. And then do it again tomorrow – it may yield something entirely different, like finding a fig tree among the grapevines.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Jesus had a strange relationship to fig trees. One of the most negative uses of divine power recorded in the Gospels comes when he curses a fig tree that has no fruit on it, though the writers tell us it was not the season for figs. Now, after reminding his listeners that they are called to repent and return to the Lord, he tells this mystifying 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?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”
We will play with this parable this week, exploring what Jesus was saying about the ways of God and his own mission of redemption. Parables invite us to ask questions, to interpret them one way and then turn them upside down and see them entirely differently. So let’s start with the first question that pops into my mind: Why is the fig tree planted in a vineyard? Do fig trees belong in vineyards? Is the vineyard the world? Is Jesus saying his followers are to bear fruit in challenging circumstances?
And who or what does the fig tree represent? Is it the religious system into which Judaism had evolved by Jesus’ time, a constrained and codified system of sacrifice and legalism? Or is that represented by the vineyard? Who is the “man” – God the Father? Is Jesus the gardener?
Or let’s flip it: is Jesus the fig tree who, after three years of ministry, still isn’t seeing the kind of fruit he was hoping to? Is cutting down the fig tree a reference to his own death? Or is he talking about his often-clueless disciples?
Going beyond what Jesus may have meant, how does this parable play if we put ourselves into it? Our churches? Are we bearing the kind of fruit the Gardener wants? Are we planted in the right place? Are there areas of our lives in which we are “wasting the soil.” the resources we've been given for ministry?
There is no one right answer or one right interpretation. Jesus taught in parables to invite his followers to see things in new ways, from new angles. Read the parable over to yourself today, and see what fruit emerges. And then do it again tomorrow – it may yield something entirely different, like finding a fig tree among the grapevines.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-17-25 - Bringing Life Out of Suffering
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
If the only impression we got of Jesus came from this week’s Gospel passage, we might not sign on as disciples. When asked about some of the great tragedies of his day, he seems to sweep aside the suffering involved and make of each example a warning to repent: At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He 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.”
Going back to chapter 12, we can see Jesus is already pretty wound up, saying, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” He has told parables about being ready to give account when the end comes. So maybe he’s not in the mood for philosophizing. When told about what appears to have been a particularly sacrilegious atrocity committed by the Roman governor, he says those Galileans were not singled out for punishment by God – God doesn’t work that way. But he is quick to point out that everyone listening is vulnerable to eternal death unless they repent and choose eternal life in Christ. Similarly with some people who were killed in an accident; they were no worse sinners than anyone else, nor being punished – “but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” By “perish” Jesus is not talking about physical death, but a spiritual one.
Jesus makes it clear that God does not visit suffering upon people, and certainly does not punish through tragedy. God is in the business of life, not death. So we can quote Jesus to those who suggest, when a child dies, that “God wanted another angel,” or “Everything happens for a reason.” It may or it may not. We are to go deeper than the mystery of tragedy and loss. Jesus is saying, “More important than why someone suffers or dies is this: What eternal choice are you going to make? Will you repent – i.e., turn from living on your own terms to living on God’s terms, and live? Or will you continue to live as though this world is all there is, and ultimately perish?
Atrocities and horrible accidents will shadow us this side of glory; our news feeds are full of them. Most often they result from humans exercising free will, even the increasing numbers of natural disasters brought about by climate change. We can invite those making harmful choices to repent, and acknowledge our own complicity when needed.
More importantly, each time we encounter suffering, we have an opportunity to proclaim God’s goodness in the face of it, and invite people to choose life over death. God does not promise protection from harm. God promises a Life that goes beyond life into infinity, a Life in God’s presence, a Life that begins in the here and now and continues long after we have ceased to draw breath. As we live more deeply into that Life, we have more to offer in the face of tragedy.
I once saw a Salvation Army ad depicting relief workers in the aftermath of a hurricane. The caption read: “We meet natural disasters with acts of God.” That's how we can bring life into suffering.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
If the only impression we got of Jesus came from this week’s Gospel passage, we might not sign on as disciples. When asked about some of the great tragedies of his day, he seems to sweep aside the suffering involved and make of each example a warning to repent: At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He 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.”
Going back to chapter 12, we can see Jesus is already pretty wound up, saying, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” He has told parables about being ready to give account when the end comes. So maybe he’s not in the mood for philosophizing. When told about what appears to have been a particularly sacrilegious atrocity committed by the Roman governor, he says those Galileans were not singled out for punishment by God – God doesn’t work that way. But he is quick to point out that everyone listening is vulnerable to eternal death unless they repent and choose eternal life in Christ. Similarly with some people who were killed in an accident; they were no worse sinners than anyone else, nor being punished – “but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” By “perish” Jesus is not talking about physical death, but a spiritual one.
Jesus makes it clear that God does not visit suffering upon people, and certainly does not punish through tragedy. God is in the business of life, not death. So we can quote Jesus to those who suggest, when a child dies, that “God wanted another angel,” or “Everything happens for a reason.” It may or it may not. We are to go deeper than the mystery of tragedy and loss. Jesus is saying, “More important than why someone suffers or dies is this: What eternal choice are you going to make? Will you repent – i.e., turn from living on your own terms to living on God’s terms, and live? Or will you continue to live as though this world is all there is, and ultimately perish?
Atrocities and horrible accidents will shadow us this side of glory; our news feeds are full of them. Most often they result from humans exercising free will, even the increasing numbers of natural disasters brought about by climate change. We can invite those making harmful choices to repent, and acknowledge our own complicity when needed.
More importantly, each time we encounter suffering, we have an opportunity to proclaim God’s goodness in the face of it, and invite people to choose life over death. God does not promise protection from harm. God promises a Life that goes beyond life into infinity, a Life in God’s presence, a Life that begins in the here and now and continues long after we have ceased to draw breath. As we live more deeply into that Life, we have more to offer in the face of tragedy.
I once saw a Salvation Army ad depicting relief workers in the aftermath of a hurricane. The caption read: “We meet natural disasters with acts of God.” That's how we can bring life into suffering.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-14-25 - Come Unto Me
You can listen to this reflection here.
My congregations are doing a worship series this Lent on the spiritual practice of Sabbath-keeping. Many Sundays we will deviate from the lectionary. On those weeks, Friday’s Water Daily will focus on my chosen gospel reading. This week that is Matthew 11:28 – 12:8, which contains an invitation we ignore at our peril: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
Do you know anyone who is not carrying heavy burdens, who is not in need of rest? Our 24/7/365 culture promotes exhaustion and burn-out, not rest, relaxation, recharging. Most Christians, even those who would post the Ten Commandments in every school and government office, routinely ignore the fourth one: “Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.” Why do we so resist this invitation to rest in God? Why has the Christian faith become so associated with work and responsibility, when Jesus invited people to follow him, to leave their burdens behind and join his mission?
Maybe it's because human beings are hardwired to seek contracts not covenants – we like to earn our rewards, not have them given to us. Working for it leaves us in control – and if we’re in control we can choose not to enjoy our rewards, and just keep working for more. But our brains and our bodies need fallow time as much as do the fields and the workers and the animals around us. When I do manage to keep sabbath I find myself much readier to work the next day; I’m more centered, less prone to irritation, more attuned to Holy Spirit nudges.
Can we reclaim this spiritual practice that goes back to the very creation of the world? Like all spiritual practices, this one takes practice – but we can do it. Some religious communities still practice sabbath-keeping, and we can learn from them. We don’t have to be rigid about how we approach it. For me, a sabbath day is any 24-hour period when I refrain from being productive, from anything that would be on my to-do list. If making a dinner for 12 is creative and life-giving for you, do it on the sabbath; if it’s work, don’t.
Jesus invites us to put off the yokes that drive us like oxen in the fields, and take on his yoke – which he says is light and leads to peace and joy. That is one reason I urge us to try this practice on for Lent – peace and joy are scarce commodities in the world right now. If we, as the people of God practicing Jesus’ Way of Love, can become more grounded in the peace of Christ, we have something vital to share with those around us. Gain more by doing less!
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
My congregations are doing a worship series this Lent on the spiritual practice of Sabbath-keeping. Many Sundays we will deviate from the lectionary. On those weeks, Friday’s Water Daily will focus on my chosen gospel reading. This week that is Matthew 11:28 – 12:8, which contains an invitation we ignore at our peril: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
Do you know anyone who is not carrying heavy burdens, who is not in need of rest? Our 24/7/365 culture promotes exhaustion and burn-out, not rest, relaxation, recharging. Most Christians, even those who would post the Ten Commandments in every school and government office, routinely ignore the fourth one: “Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.” Why do we so resist this invitation to rest in God? Why has the Christian faith become so associated with work and responsibility, when Jesus invited people to follow him, to leave their burdens behind and join his mission?
Maybe it's because human beings are hardwired to seek contracts not covenants – we like to earn our rewards, not have them given to us. Working for it leaves us in control – and if we’re in control we can choose not to enjoy our rewards, and just keep working for more. But our brains and our bodies need fallow time as much as do the fields and the workers and the animals around us. When I do manage to keep sabbath I find myself much readier to work the next day; I’m more centered, less prone to irritation, more attuned to Holy Spirit nudges.
Can we reclaim this spiritual practice that goes back to the very creation of the world? Like all spiritual practices, this one takes practice – but we can do it. Some religious communities still practice sabbath-keeping, and we can learn from them. We don’t have to be rigid about how we approach it. For me, a sabbath day is any 24-hour period when I refrain from being productive, from anything that would be on my to-do list. If making a dinner for 12 is creative and life-giving for you, do it on the sabbath; if it’s work, don’t.
Jesus invites us to put off the yokes that drive us like oxen in the fields, and take on his yoke – which he says is light and leads to peace and joy. That is one reason I urge us to try this practice on for Lent – peace and joy are scarce commodities in the world right now. If we, as the people of God practicing Jesus’ Way of Love, can become more grounded in the peace of Christ, we have something vital to share with those around us. Gain more by doing less!
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-13-25 - Stoning the Prophets?
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Jesus’ observation on the outskirts of Jerusalem – often depicted as taking place on a hillside overlooking the city – is seen by many as a compassionate lament for the great city which had been for many centuries the center of Israel’s religious life. Maybe it’s that repetition of “Jerusalem,” and the hen thing, that make it sound that way.
But when we look at what he actually says, and what’s going on at the time, we detect a more forceful, thwarted, even angry tone. Jesus is passing judgment on the ancient city, which he says has always excelled in missing the point, often violently so. After noting – with sarcasm? –that “it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem,” he goes on: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you.”
Israel’s history was replete with stories of prophets whose dire warnings of judgment to come went unheeded, who were rebuked, imprisoned, tortured and sometimes killed by the powers against whom they ranted. Prophets were considered holy men who spoke for God – unless their message was too harsh or unpopular, or perhaps conflicted with the message of another self-acclaimed prophet. Who’s to know who to believe? People will generally stay with the one whose message is most palatable, much in the way we can now choose which media from which to get our news, and what friends’ opinions are likely to show up on our social media feeds. We didn’t invent the closed feedback loop.
It’s awfully hard to know who is a true prophet until after the fact. But we have been given a fullness of revelation in Jesus Christ, and it’s not so hard to know him. Some who knew him in the flesh ultimately turned away from him, rejecting, betraying, even condemning him. What would we have done? Would we have recognized him as a true prophet or rejected him as one more disappointment, one more person out of touch with how the world really is, one more would-be prophet distorting God’s word?
Go back and read the words of Jesus in the Gospels this week. What is he really saying? Do we accept his hard teachings, or dismiss him?
Jesus may have been uttering judgment upon Jerusalem, so soon to repeat its pattern of death-dealing, but we would be foolish if we thought this lament doesn’t apply to us too. Jerusalem was and is a place with a particular history and customs, but in the Bible it is also a symbolic place where God and humankind meet. The Book of Revelation speaks of the “new Jerusalem, coming down from heaven like a bride adorned for her husband.” Jeru-salem, the word “peace” embedded in its very name, represents the hope of reconciliation, of fidelity and obedience, of that mystical place where God himself will dwell, “and they shall be God’s people and God himself shall be with them.” (Revelation 21:1-4)
We can choose which Jerusalem we will be – the one that kills its prophets and stones its messengers, or the new Jerusalem where heaven and earth can truly meet. That is a place of courageous truth-telling and peace-making.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Jesus’ observation on the outskirts of Jerusalem – often depicted as taking place on a hillside overlooking the city – is seen by many as a compassionate lament for the great city which had been for many centuries the center of Israel’s religious life. Maybe it’s that repetition of “Jerusalem,” and the hen thing, that make it sound that way.
But when we look at what he actually says, and what’s going on at the time, we detect a more forceful, thwarted, even angry tone. Jesus is passing judgment on the ancient city, which he says has always excelled in missing the point, often violently so. After noting – with sarcasm? –that “it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem,” he goes on: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you.”
Israel’s history was replete with stories of prophets whose dire warnings of judgment to come went unheeded, who were rebuked, imprisoned, tortured and sometimes killed by the powers against whom they ranted. Prophets were considered holy men who spoke for God – unless their message was too harsh or unpopular, or perhaps conflicted with the message of another self-acclaimed prophet. Who’s to know who to believe? People will generally stay with the one whose message is most palatable, much in the way we can now choose which media from which to get our news, and what friends’ opinions are likely to show up on our social media feeds. We didn’t invent the closed feedback loop.
It’s awfully hard to know who is a true prophet until after the fact. But we have been given a fullness of revelation in Jesus Christ, and it’s not so hard to know him. Some who knew him in the flesh ultimately turned away from him, rejecting, betraying, even condemning him. What would we have done? Would we have recognized him as a true prophet or rejected him as one more disappointment, one more person out of touch with how the world really is, one more would-be prophet distorting God’s word?
Go back and read the words of Jesus in the Gospels this week. What is he really saying? Do we accept his hard teachings, or dismiss him?
Jesus may have been uttering judgment upon Jerusalem, so soon to repeat its pattern of death-dealing, but we would be foolish if we thought this lament doesn’t apply to us too. Jerusalem was and is a place with a particular history and customs, but in the Bible it is also a symbolic place where God and humankind meet. The Book of Revelation speaks of the “new Jerusalem, coming down from heaven like a bride adorned for her husband.” Jeru-salem, the word “peace” embedded in its very name, represents the hope of reconciliation, of fidelity and obedience, of that mystical place where God himself will dwell, “and they shall be God’s people and God himself shall be with them.” (Revelation 21:1-4)
We can choose which Jerusalem we will be – the one that kills its prophets and stones its messengers, or the new Jerusalem where heaven and earth can truly meet. That is a place of courageous truth-telling and peace-making.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-12-25 - Jesus, the Brood Hen?
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Those who are concerned about gender-inclusive language and imagery in the Bible often face a slog finding maternal or feminine terms. There is Spirit language that can skew feminine. Late Isaiah has a startling passage in which the restored Jerusalem is likened to a nursing mother, in quite graphic language. Paul writes about having been like a nurse or governess to a community he has been mentoring. But references are few and far between. So some people go nuts with this remark of Jesus’ about Jerusalem: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…”
This is hardly a maternal scene, though. Jesus may desire to gather the children of Jerusalem like a hen gathers her brood, but he’s just noted their penchant for killing God’s messengers, and what follows this lovely, nurturing image is a stark negative: “…and you were not willing!”
If Jesus is expressing maternal feelings here, they are those of a mother who’s been rejected by her offspring (much as he brushed off his own mother when she tried to persuade him to stop all this foolishness and come home?). This is a thwarted mother, whose invitations to loving embrace have been rejected, who knows her beloved children are more than capable of turning on her. Hardly the nurturing feminine imagery we are looking for.
Yet, a thwarted mother is not a bad image to convey God’s experience with a faithless people, and a good deal less jarring than the way the prophet Hosea depicts God, as a cuckolded husband. Most of us can relate to times when we pushed away our mothers or fathers and tried to go our own way. I still wince at how mean and “I can do it myself!” I was to my parents the day they drove me to college. Sometimes it’s the only way we can attain independence.
Whatever the context in which that phrase is uttered, the image has life for us: Jesus’ desire that God’s people would consent to be brooded over, to be gathered under God’s almighty wings. In that image, we are little fledglings, not fully able to take care of or protect ourselves. We like to think we’re big and tough and self-sufficient, but look at us from God’s perspective: we are barely hatched, trying to figure out how to move in a straight line. And Jesus desires to gather us in community, and hold us in his love.
Puts a whole new spin on Easter chicks, doesn’t it?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Those who are concerned about gender-inclusive language and imagery in the Bible often face a slog finding maternal or feminine terms. There is Spirit language that can skew feminine. Late Isaiah has a startling passage in which the restored Jerusalem is likened to a nursing mother, in quite graphic language. Paul writes about having been like a nurse or governess to a community he has been mentoring. But references are few and far between. So some people go nuts with this remark of Jesus’ about Jerusalem: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…”
This is hardly a maternal scene, though. Jesus may desire to gather the children of Jerusalem like a hen gathers her brood, but he’s just noted their penchant for killing God’s messengers, and what follows this lovely, nurturing image is a stark negative: “…and you were not willing!”
If Jesus is expressing maternal feelings here, they are those of a mother who’s been rejected by her offspring (much as he brushed off his own mother when she tried to persuade him to stop all this foolishness and come home?). This is a thwarted mother, whose invitations to loving embrace have been rejected, who knows her beloved children are more than capable of turning on her. Hardly the nurturing feminine imagery we are looking for.
Yet, a thwarted mother is not a bad image to convey God’s experience with a faithless people, and a good deal less jarring than the way the prophet Hosea depicts God, as a cuckolded husband. Most of us can relate to times when we pushed away our mothers or fathers and tried to go our own way. I still wince at how mean and “I can do it myself!” I was to my parents the day they drove me to college. Sometimes it’s the only way we can attain independence.
Whatever the context in which that phrase is uttered, the image has life for us: Jesus’ desire that God’s people would consent to be brooded over, to be gathered under God’s almighty wings. In that image, we are little fledglings, not fully able to take care of or protect ourselves. We like to think we’re big and tough and self-sufficient, but look at us from God’s perspective: we are barely hatched, trying to figure out how to move in a straight line. And Jesus desires to gather us in community, and hold us in his love.
Puts a whole new spin on Easter chicks, doesn’t it?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-11-25 - The Day After Tomorrow
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
If the Pharisees’ warning to Jesus about escaping Herod’s clutches was meant to scare him, it didn’t work: He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.’”
We have been told that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem; the Pharisees seem to be trying to divert him. But he will be moved neither from his itinerary nor his agenda: the work of proclaiming and demonstrating the inbreaking Kingdom of God. Healing and deliverance is the work of the moment and the near future. And on the “third day” he must finish that work, showing to the world the most complete revelation of God’s love in what looks like complete defeat.
If they think he’s going to be swayed by threats of death, he makes it clear: the death he is to undergo – which, he says, can happen nowhere other than Jerusalem – is part of the work. I’m sure it made no sense to anyone listening to him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d said such things.
I’m intrigued by this repetition of “today, tomorrow and the third day,” “today, tomorrow and the next day.” It focuses our attention on time. For Christians the phrase “third day” always carries echoes of Easter Sunday. Here it may also refer to living in the rhythm of God’s mission, which always has a future-bound momentum. We are to be about the work of God today, the day in which we live, in which we trust for daily bread. We are to plan for tomorrow – we’re not just adrift in time. And the day after tomorrow – which we cannot really predict with any accuracy – we finish the work God has given us to do. But by that time, it’s today. It's like we're living in a wave which starts, builds and then dissipates, by which time the next one is already building.
This phrase suggests to me a constantly forward-rolling movement of present ministry, future planning and then release into God’s hands. Every ministry we undertake, small or large, must get “finished” and a new one entered, one which is already underway, because it comes from God and is completed in God. This way of seeing our engagement in God's mission makes us less generators of work than surfers of God’s movement – and surfers know how to relax and ride the wave. The day after tomorrow maybe we'll see what God was doing through us today. Gnarly.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
If the Pharisees’ warning to Jesus about escaping Herod’s clutches was meant to scare him, it didn’t work: He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.’”
We have been told that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem; the Pharisees seem to be trying to divert him. But he will be moved neither from his itinerary nor his agenda: the work of proclaiming and demonstrating the inbreaking Kingdom of God. Healing and deliverance is the work of the moment and the near future. And on the “third day” he must finish that work, showing to the world the most complete revelation of God’s love in what looks like complete defeat.
If they think he’s going to be swayed by threats of death, he makes it clear: the death he is to undergo – which, he says, can happen nowhere other than Jerusalem – is part of the work. I’m sure it made no sense to anyone listening to him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d said such things.
I’m intrigued by this repetition of “today, tomorrow and the third day,” “today, tomorrow and the next day.” It focuses our attention on time. For Christians the phrase “third day” always carries echoes of Easter Sunday. Here it may also refer to living in the rhythm of God’s mission, which always has a future-bound momentum. We are to be about the work of God today, the day in which we live, in which we trust for daily bread. We are to plan for tomorrow – we’re not just adrift in time. And the day after tomorrow – which we cannot really predict with any accuracy – we finish the work God has given us to do. But by that time, it’s today. It's like we're living in a wave which starts, builds and then dissipates, by which time the next one is already building.
This phrase suggests to me a constantly forward-rolling movement of present ministry, future planning and then release into God’s hands. Every ministry we undertake, small or large, must get “finished” and a new one entered, one which is already underway, because it comes from God and is completed in God. This way of seeing our engagement in God's mission makes us less generators of work than surfers of God’s movement – and surfers know how to relax and ride the wave. The day after tomorrow maybe we'll see what God was doing through us today. Gnarly.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-10-25 - Hypocrites?
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I’m not sure why the lectionary presents this passage from Luke’s Gospel for next Sunday; it’s short, not really a story, and somewhat inscrutable. (At my churches, we will start a Lenten series on Sabbath keeping…) But let’s see what gems we might mine from it. It begins with a warning to Jesus: At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, "Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you."
On the face of it, this would appear a benevolent act, to warn a man that he’s in trouble with the political powers. But let’s not forget who’s issuing this warning: the religious powers with whom Jesus has been publicly tangling. Are they looking to spare his life? Or to get him out of their way, so they no longer have to put up with his insults and skewering of their hypocrisies?
I rarely engage in word study and have forgotten what little Greek I acquired during seminary, but I read that the Greek word from which we get “hypocrite” means simply “actor, or one who plays a part.” Jesus frequently accused the Pharisees of proclaiming one thing and doing another, of acting the part of deeply holy men while they benefited from the charity of those they oppressed. If anyone might have wanted Jesus out of the way, it would have been this party. Did they take the act a step further, feigning concern?
From his response, it doesn’t appear that Jesus thought they had his best interests at heart. In replying, he manages to further inflame them. So now Jesus has enemies in the temple courts as well as in the palace. And maybe that was okay with him. He knew that as he continued his mission of deliverance and healing, going head to head with the source of evil and calling out injustice, he would rattle a lot of cages. He knew to put his trust only in his heavenly father and a few followers – and soon found he couldn’t even fully rely on the followers.
So why are we reading this in church on a Sunday? Perhaps as a reminder that when we’re truly about the work of proclaiming freedom for captives and justice for the oppressed, sight for the blind and new life for the dead, we’re going to make enemies. There are many forces invested in the status quo. Few are more hated than peace-makers - that's why so many are assassinated.
Of course, we still need to proceed with humility and discernment – too many false prophets have cited resistance to their message as proof of their rectitude. We know it’s not that simple… And yet, I want to ask this: If we’re not making anybody mad, are we really living the gospel?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
I’m not sure why the lectionary presents this passage from Luke’s Gospel for next Sunday; it’s short, not really a story, and somewhat inscrutable. (At my churches, we will start a Lenten series on Sabbath keeping…) But let’s see what gems we might mine from it. It begins with a warning to Jesus: At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, "Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you."
On the face of it, this would appear a benevolent act, to warn a man that he’s in trouble with the political powers. But let’s not forget who’s issuing this warning: the religious powers with whom Jesus has been publicly tangling. Are they looking to spare his life? Or to get him out of their way, so they no longer have to put up with his insults and skewering of their hypocrisies?
I rarely engage in word study and have forgotten what little Greek I acquired during seminary, but I read that the Greek word from which we get “hypocrite” means simply “actor, or one who plays a part.” Jesus frequently accused the Pharisees of proclaiming one thing and doing another, of acting the part of deeply holy men while they benefited from the charity of those they oppressed. If anyone might have wanted Jesus out of the way, it would have been this party. Did they take the act a step further, feigning concern?
From his response, it doesn’t appear that Jesus thought they had his best interests at heart. In replying, he manages to further inflame them. So now Jesus has enemies in the temple courts as well as in the palace. And maybe that was okay with him. He knew that as he continued his mission of deliverance and healing, going head to head with the source of evil and calling out injustice, he would rattle a lot of cages. He knew to put his trust only in his heavenly father and a few followers – and soon found he couldn’t even fully rely on the followers.
So why are we reading this in church on a Sunday? Perhaps as a reminder that when we’re truly about the work of proclaiming freedom for captives and justice for the oppressed, sight for the blind and new life for the dead, we’re going to make enemies. There are many forces invested in the status quo. Few are more hated than peace-makers - that's why so many are assassinated.
Of course, we still need to proceed with humility and discernment – too many false prophets have cited resistance to their message as proof of their rectitude. We know it’s not that simple… And yet, I want to ask this: If we’re not making anybody mad, are we really living the gospel?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-7-25 - Round 1
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, the devil is depicted as a grey, slithery, humanoid creature with malevolent eyes, lurking at the edges of the scenes of Christ’s passion and death. He is there in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus confronts the agony he is about to endure and even dares to wish he might be spared before once more laying down his will before his heavenly Father. He is there as Jesus is paraded down the streets of Jerusalem, and on the hillside where Judas commits suicide. Was Jesus constantly having to do battle with him?
At the end of his trial in the wilderness, Jesus seems to have bested his foe. But Luke writes these fateful words, “When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” You can just about hear the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. We don’t know if the devil was constantly seeking to trip up Jesus, but we do know that Jesus saw much of his work of healing, forgiveness and deliverance as setting people free from the power of Satan. So one can imagine his enemy would have been riled up.
But what about us? Do we need to worry about the devil – in whom many modern Christians profess not even to believe? I am ever challenged by the disjuncture between our doctrinal assertion that Jesus has vanquished the devil, and evil’s seemingly unfettered destructive power so widespread in the world. The devil may not be behind our temptation to eat more ice cream than is good for us, but wherever evil is done, violence perpetrated, terror wrought and destruction unleashed, we can be quite sure that some person has lost a battle with temptation. (Another reason to pray for our enemies!) If God has given human beings the free will to choose, that must mean that God will not protect us from making choices. And much of the pain we suffer and inflict comes from choosing the wrong instead of the right.
So yes, the enemy of human nature continues to snap at the heels of God’s beloved, and often to dominate those who say they believe in nothing. We should be aware of the choices beneath the choices of our actions. And we can ever pray, as I do fairly constantly these days, “Deliver us from evil.” But we need not fear. As Martin Luther wrote so memorably in his hymn, A Mighty Fortress, “His craft and power are great…” but “One little word shall fell him.”
That word is simply the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the only protection we need. When we feel tempted to despair or to try to control a situation or to impose our will upon another, or find ourselves beset by negative emotions, or up against evil in a more clear and threatening way, we need only remember whose we are and say, “Thank you, Jesus, for being my shield and protector.” As St. Peter wrote, “Rebuke the devil, and he will flee from you.”
Jesus did win the war. And the more people know and believe that, the less foothold the devil has in this world. There’s another reason to share our faith.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, the devil is depicted as a grey, slithery, humanoid creature with malevolent eyes, lurking at the edges of the scenes of Christ’s passion and death. He is there in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus confronts the agony he is about to endure and even dares to wish he might be spared before once more laying down his will before his heavenly Father. He is there as Jesus is paraded down the streets of Jerusalem, and on the hillside where Judas commits suicide. Was Jesus constantly having to do battle with him?
At the end of his trial in the wilderness, Jesus seems to have bested his foe. But Luke writes these fateful words, “When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” You can just about hear the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. We don’t know if the devil was constantly seeking to trip up Jesus, but we do know that Jesus saw much of his work of healing, forgiveness and deliverance as setting people free from the power of Satan. So one can imagine his enemy would have been riled up.
But what about us? Do we need to worry about the devil – in whom many modern Christians profess not even to believe? I am ever challenged by the disjuncture between our doctrinal assertion that Jesus has vanquished the devil, and evil’s seemingly unfettered destructive power so widespread in the world. The devil may not be behind our temptation to eat more ice cream than is good for us, but wherever evil is done, violence perpetrated, terror wrought and destruction unleashed, we can be quite sure that some person has lost a battle with temptation. (Another reason to pray for our enemies!) If God has given human beings the free will to choose, that must mean that God will not protect us from making choices. And much of the pain we suffer and inflict comes from choosing the wrong instead of the right.
So yes, the enemy of human nature continues to snap at the heels of God’s beloved, and often to dominate those who say they believe in nothing. We should be aware of the choices beneath the choices of our actions. And we can ever pray, as I do fairly constantly these days, “Deliver us from evil.” But we need not fear. As Martin Luther wrote so memorably in his hymn, A Mighty Fortress, “His craft and power are great…” but “One little word shall fell him.”
That word is simply the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the only protection we need. When we feel tempted to despair or to try to control a situation or to impose our will upon another, or find ourselves beset by negative emotions, or up against evil in a more clear and threatening way, we need only remember whose we are and say, “Thank you, Jesus, for being my shield and protector.” As St. Peter wrote, “Rebuke the devil, and he will flee from you.”
Jesus did win the war. And the more people know and believe that, the less foothold the devil has in this world. There’s another reason to share our faith.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-6-25 - Security
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I have always placed the devil’s third temptation of Jesus in the category of security, God’s protection. But, other than Psalm 91, which the devil quotes at Jesus, the Bible contains no promise of physical protection for God’s people. And a quick look at the sufferings of saints throughout history, not to mention the passion of Christ himself, should quickly disabuse us of the notion that God made any such deal with us. What the devil is doing here is tempting Jesus to test his value to God as an asset. “Surely, he’s not going to let you die? Before your time, that is...?”
Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his 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 him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”
If God has not promised to protect us, why do we continue to pray for protection? And why do we so often court damage to our bodies, minds and spirits by living in ways that we know can hurt us? While not quite in the category of risk as throwing oneself off the pinnacle of the temple, we don’t always treat ourselves as the precious assets we are. “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
Where in your life do you push the boundaries of good sense and healthy self-maintenance?
What do you consume too much of, or too little?
I have always placed the devil’s third temptation of Jesus in the category of security, God’s protection. But, other than Psalm 91, which the devil quotes at Jesus, the Bible contains no promise of physical protection for God’s people. And a quick look at the sufferings of saints throughout history, not to mention the passion of Christ himself, should quickly disabuse us of the notion that God made any such deal with us. What the devil is doing here is tempting Jesus to test his value to God as an asset. “Surely, he’s not going to let you die? Before your time, that is...?”
Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his 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 him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”
If God has not promised to protect us, why do we continue to pray for protection? And why do we so often court damage to our bodies, minds and spirits by living in ways that we know can hurt us? While not quite in the category of risk as throwing oneself off the pinnacle of the temple, we don’t always treat ourselves as the precious assets we are. “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
Where in your life do you push the boundaries of good sense and healthy self-maintenance?
What do you consume too much of, or too little?
What is your relationship with exercise, and rest, and play?
Lent is a great time to examine where in our lives we put the Lord God to the test, expecting God to save us from ourselves, as well as from other people. I don’t mean to make light of the dangers in the world – they are real; I feel acutely at risk these days, despite the protections my privileges afford me. I will continue to pray for physical protection for me and those I love, and for total strangers like the thousands facing deportation, the millions suffering as US AID and domestic grants have been frozen, the refugees barred from safe harbor here, the wildlife and increasingly scarce wild places facing ruin.
And I intend to watch for the ways I contribute to my own destruction, and invite the Spirit of God to help me live into the promises God has made: if not protection, then presence always, power, and peace that defies understanding. Those we can count on.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Lent is a great time to examine where in our lives we put the Lord God to the test, expecting God to save us from ourselves, as well as from other people. I don’t mean to make light of the dangers in the world – they are real; I feel acutely at risk these days, despite the protections my privileges afford me. I will continue to pray for physical protection for me and those I love, and for total strangers like the thousands facing deportation, the millions suffering as US AID and domestic grants have been frozen, the refugees barred from safe harbor here, the wildlife and increasingly scarce wild places facing ruin.
And I intend to watch for the ways I contribute to my own destruction, and invite the Spirit of God to help me live into the promises God has made: if not protection, then presence always, power, and peace that defies understanding. Those we can count on.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-5-25 - Worship
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
They say in advertising it’s important to know your audience, especially their vulnerabilities. You’d think the Tempter would have done better market research on Jesus before he tried to sway him by offering him adulation and authority. Jesus showed very little interest in such things: Then the devil led him 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.”
This is like trying to sell somebody a priceless work of art they had donated in the first place. Did the devil did not know that Jesus had had all authority in heaven and earth, that he had voluntarily given it up in order to enter into human nature and submit himself to our condition? He wasn’t interested in that kind of glory, especially not at the price of worshipping the enemy of human nature. Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”
Does this suggest that when we stray from the presence of God, when we go against God’s will and choose our own gratification, that we are worshiping the devil? No – but it does mean we have turned our worship away from the Living God. Whatever it is that tempts us away from the Lord – whether a behavior, or a commodity, or letting a feeling run riot in us – in that moment that becomes the object of our worship. We don’t think of it as worship, but that’s what it is. We have placed that thing or person or condition at the center of our life and oriented ourselves around it. If it’s a big temptation, it becomes all we can see.
Thanks be to God, it’s not difficult to turn back. We need only become aware that we’ve turned our attention to an unworthy object, and redirect our gaze back toward the God who loves us. The Greek word for repentance is metanoia, which suggests turning, turning away from what is less than life-giving and turning back to the Source of our life. Worship means worth-ship – ascribing worth to someone or something. When we turn back to God, we once again ascribe all worth to God.
If you go to church today for the Liturgy for Ash Wednesday, you will be invited into a lengthy and thorough confession of sin and repentance. No one can avoid being snagged by at least one part of that litany. So let’s go through it aware of how we have turned toward some of these things we confess, and see how they've become central.
And let’s enact this repentance with joyful hearts, for God delights in seeing us turn back toward him, which we do, over, and over, and over again, until at last we are Home and there is no more turning to be done, for we are in God. A blessed Ash Wednesday to you.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
They say in advertising it’s important to know your audience, especially their vulnerabilities. You’d think the Tempter would have done better market research on Jesus before he tried to sway him by offering him adulation and authority. Jesus showed very little interest in such things: Then the devil led him 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.”
This is like trying to sell somebody a priceless work of art they had donated in the first place. Did the devil did not know that Jesus had had all authority in heaven and earth, that he had voluntarily given it up in order to enter into human nature and submit himself to our condition? He wasn’t interested in that kind of glory, especially not at the price of worshipping the enemy of human nature. Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”
Does this suggest that when we stray from the presence of God, when we go against God’s will and choose our own gratification, that we are worshiping the devil? No – but it does mean we have turned our worship away from the Living God. Whatever it is that tempts us away from the Lord – whether a behavior, or a commodity, or letting a feeling run riot in us – in that moment that becomes the object of our worship. We don’t think of it as worship, but that’s what it is. We have placed that thing or person or condition at the center of our life and oriented ourselves around it. If it’s a big temptation, it becomes all we can see.
Thanks be to God, it’s not difficult to turn back. We need only become aware that we’ve turned our attention to an unworthy object, and redirect our gaze back toward the God who loves us. The Greek word for repentance is metanoia, which suggests turning, turning away from what is less than life-giving and turning back to the Source of our life. Worship means worth-ship – ascribing worth to someone or something. When we turn back to God, we once again ascribe all worth to God.
If you go to church today for the Liturgy for Ash Wednesday, you will be invited into a lengthy and thorough confession of sin and repentance. No one can avoid being snagged by at least one part of that litany. So let’s go through it aware of how we have turned toward some of these things we confess, and see how they've become central.
And let’s enact this repentance with joyful hearts, for God delights in seeing us turn back toward him, which we do, over, and over, and over again, until at last we are Home and there is no more turning to be done, for we are in God. A blessed Ash Wednesday to you.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-4-25 - Hunger
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
It is ironic to talk about hunger on a day when many of us will stuff ourselves with pancakes and all the fixings at our Shrove Tuesday suppers. I confess I'm not big on fasting or deprivation of any kind. I never knew anyone who fasted regularly until I got to know more Muslims. I am amazed at how many of my Muslim friends fast during Ramadan, even those who aren’t particularly observant or active the rest of the year. For thirty days, from sun-up to sundown, they refrain from eating, drinking, even water, having sex, gossiping. They are more attentive to prayer and hospitality and charity and the needs of people around them. It’s extraordinary how normative it is for many Muslims.
The fast Jesus took on during his forty days in the wilderness was even more stringent. We’re told he his fast was total, 24/7, as he prayed and did spiritual battle with the devil: He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”
Why did Jesus refrain from eating? People who fast regularly find it focuses them spiritually. Yes, the hunger can be distracting, but after a while it fades and one becomes more aware of what’s happening around us and inside us. Those who fast for spiritual reasons find they become more attuned to what God is saying or doing as their focus on feeding their appetites recedes.
After forty days, though, Jesus is ravenous, and this is when the devil tries to tempt him to misuse his spiritual power to create food for himself. He approaches when he thinks Jesus is vulnerable, and starts by tempting Jesus to doubt his identity as Son of God. “If you are…” Guess what? The Tempter hasn’t changed his tactics. He still approaches us in those areas where we feel depleted or deprived, where we’re vulnerable to scarcity-thinking, where we can be more easily convinced that we deserve to be full. After all, isn't God the source of abundance and blessing? Why should we want for anything?
Yes, God is – and that is exactly what we need to remember in those times when we’re tempted to take what has not been given us, or more than is good for us, or manipulate others to give us what we want. It is God who gives in abundance, and we need not look elsewhere.
We don’t have to stay hungry, but we thrive best when we look to God for blessing. Sometimes being hungry is the best way to remind ourselves that God is God and we are not.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
It is ironic to talk about hunger on a day when many of us will stuff ourselves with pancakes and all the fixings at our Shrove Tuesday suppers. I confess I'm not big on fasting or deprivation of any kind. I never knew anyone who fasted regularly until I got to know more Muslims. I am amazed at how many of my Muslim friends fast during Ramadan, even those who aren’t particularly observant or active the rest of the year. For thirty days, from sun-up to sundown, they refrain from eating, drinking, even water, having sex, gossiping. They are more attentive to prayer and hospitality and charity and the needs of people around them. It’s extraordinary how normative it is for many Muslims.
The fast Jesus took on during his forty days in the wilderness was even more stringent. We’re told he his fast was total, 24/7, as he prayed and did spiritual battle with the devil: He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”
Why did Jesus refrain from eating? People who fast regularly find it focuses them spiritually. Yes, the hunger can be distracting, but after a while it fades and one becomes more aware of what’s happening around us and inside us. Those who fast for spiritual reasons find they become more attuned to what God is saying or doing as their focus on feeding their appetites recedes.
After forty days, though, Jesus is ravenous, and this is when the devil tries to tempt him to misuse his spiritual power to create food for himself. He approaches when he thinks Jesus is vulnerable, and starts by tempting Jesus to doubt his identity as Son of God. “If you are…” Guess what? The Tempter hasn’t changed his tactics. He still approaches us in those areas where we feel depleted or deprived, where we’re vulnerable to scarcity-thinking, where we can be more easily convinced that we deserve to be full. After all, isn't God the source of abundance and blessing? Why should we want for anything?
Yes, God is – and that is exactly what we need to remember in those times when we’re tempted to take what has not been given us, or more than is good for us, or manipulate others to give us what we want. It is God who gives in abundance, and we need not look elsewhere.
We don’t have to stay hungry, but we thrive best when we look to God for blessing. Sometimes being hungry is the best way to remind ourselves that God is God and we are not.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
3-3-25 - From River To Desert
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
On the first Sunday in Lent, we skip back to where we were the first Sunday in Epiphany, back to that Jordan River where Jesus is baptized, anointed by the Holy Spirit and affirmed by the voice of God proclaiming, “This is my Son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus is filled with the Holy Spirit in that moment, but he doesn’t get to dwell for long in the water or the delight of his heavenly father. No, the Spirit who fills him immediately hurries him on to the next step in his mission: a period of trial. 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.
It so often seems that really fruitful, beautiful times in our lives are followed by seasons of trial and testing. Is this a pattern of God’s design? Are there things we can only learn in the wilderness times? Certainly the dry times aren’t as joy-filled as those seasons when we feel ourselves to be in the flow of the Living Water flowing from the throne of God. But maybe they’re as important.
Later this week we will enter the season of Lent, a season when we often voluntarily choose desert over river, seeking to strip away some of the clutter and chatter that fill our lives and can keep us from learning to depend wholly on God. Sometimes we give things up in order to listen better or focus more; sometimes we take things on. I am inviting my congregations to take on the spiritual practice of Sabbath-keeping – enjoying one unproductive day of rest and peace out of the seven we get each week. You might consider joining us, or ask, “Holy Spirit, where are you leading me this Lent? What comfort zones or avoidance activities are you leading me away from? What practices and patterns are you leading me into?”
Of course, the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness for a specific purpose, to be tested and tried and tempted and strengthened for the mission ahead. I can’t be sure where the Spirit would have us go, but I do believe s/he wants us ready for action. So let’s be open to how the Spirit will prepare us for our part in God’s great mission of wholeness and reconciliation.
The river is lovely, and we'll get to come back. Now maybe it's wilderness time.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
On the first Sunday in Lent, we skip back to where we were the first Sunday in Epiphany, back to that Jordan River where Jesus is baptized, anointed by the Holy Spirit and affirmed by the voice of God proclaiming, “This is my Son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus is filled with the Holy Spirit in that moment, but he doesn’t get to dwell for long in the water or the delight of his heavenly father. No, the Spirit who fills him immediately hurries him on to the next step in his mission: a period of trial. 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.
It so often seems that really fruitful, beautiful times in our lives are followed by seasons of trial and testing. Is this a pattern of God’s design? Are there things we can only learn in the wilderness times? Certainly the dry times aren’t as joy-filled as those seasons when we feel ourselves to be in the flow of the Living Water flowing from the throne of God. But maybe they’re as important.
Later this week we will enter the season of Lent, a season when we often voluntarily choose desert over river, seeking to strip away some of the clutter and chatter that fill our lives and can keep us from learning to depend wholly on God. Sometimes we give things up in order to listen better or focus more; sometimes we take things on. I am inviting my congregations to take on the spiritual practice of Sabbath-keeping – enjoying one unproductive day of rest and peace out of the seven we get each week. You might consider joining us, or ask, “Holy Spirit, where are you leading me this Lent? What comfort zones or avoidance activities are you leading me away from? What practices and patterns are you leading me into?”
Of course, the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness for a specific purpose, to be tested and tried and tempted and strengthened for the mission ahead. I can’t be sure where the Spirit would have us go, but I do believe s/he wants us ready for action. So let’s be open to how the Spirit will prepare us for our part in God’s great mission of wholeness and reconciliation.
The river is lovely, and we'll get to come back. Now maybe it's wilderness time.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
2-28-25 - Down With a Bump
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
After a rich and nurturing spiritual experience, it’s nice to coast on that high. I once enjoyed a retreat whose “glow” and sense of focus lasted several months. Not so for Jesus, James, John and Peter… their spiritual high on the mountain was quickly obliterated as they descended into a scene of trauma, anxiety, failure and discord:
After a rich and nurturing spiritual experience, it’s nice to coast on that high. I once enjoyed a retreat whose “glow” and sense of focus lasted several months. Not so for Jesus, James, John and Peter… their spiritual high on the mountain was quickly obliterated as they descended into a scene of trauma, anxiety, failure and discord:
On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father.
The plight of the man and his son seems to have made Jesus cranky. Perhaps he was ticked off by the failure of his followers to act on the training they’d received and exercise the faith necessary to take authority over evil. Maybe that time on the mountain in the blessing of his Father, the sojourn with Moses and Elijah, made him anxious to be done with the messy business of saving humanity from itself. Maybe he was reacting to the pervasiveness of evil in the world.
It’s comforting to know that Jesus himself experienced the kind of letdown we so often do when “regular” life intrudes upon any spiritual serenity we’ve managed to find. But regular life is where we live, not up the mountain but at its base. Jesus did not lift himself above the mess, but plunged into it, to experience it and to redeem it. In bringing his spirit into it, he restored peace.
How can we find the balance between expecting blessing, expecting to dwell in the experience of God even in the midst of ordinary days, and not base our expectations upon our spiritual high points? How might we learn to cultivate the awareness of the Spirit in, with and through the human mess in which we live, both for our own wellbeing and so we can bring Christ’s restoring peace into all situations?
That, one might say, is the task of the spiritual life. It is why we develop and strengthen spiritual practices that keep our faith strong and our peace pervasive, even in the most challenging and unpeaceful circumstances. We celebrate the mountaintop experiences as tremendous gifts, the memories of which sustain us in difficult times. Yet the most amazing gift is learning how to live in God when it seems like our prayers are not effective and no one is listening.
As Mark tells this story, the father says to Jesus, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” Learning to live, even thrive in that tension - that’s how saints are made.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
The plight of the man and his son seems to have made Jesus cranky. Perhaps he was ticked off by the failure of his followers to act on the training they’d received and exercise the faith necessary to take authority over evil. Maybe that time on the mountain in the blessing of his Father, the sojourn with Moses and Elijah, made him anxious to be done with the messy business of saving humanity from itself. Maybe he was reacting to the pervasiveness of evil in the world.
It’s comforting to know that Jesus himself experienced the kind of letdown we so often do when “regular” life intrudes upon any spiritual serenity we’ve managed to find. But regular life is where we live, not up the mountain but at its base. Jesus did not lift himself above the mess, but plunged into it, to experience it and to redeem it. In bringing his spirit into it, he restored peace.
How can we find the balance between expecting blessing, expecting to dwell in the experience of God even in the midst of ordinary days, and not base our expectations upon our spiritual high points? How might we learn to cultivate the awareness of the Spirit in, with and through the human mess in which we live, both for our own wellbeing and so we can bring Christ’s restoring peace into all situations?
That, one might say, is the task of the spiritual life. It is why we develop and strengthen spiritual practices that keep our faith strong and our peace pervasive, even in the most challenging and unpeaceful circumstances. We celebrate the mountaintop experiences as tremendous gifts, the memories of which sustain us in difficult times. Yet the most amazing gift is learning how to live in God when it seems like our prayers are not effective and no one is listening.
As Mark tells this story, the father says to Jesus, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” Learning to live, even thrive in that tension - that’s how saints are made.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
2-27-25 - In a Cloud
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Have you ever found yourself inside a cloud? A fog rolls in and you are completely enveloped in white, your visibility of anything beyond your own form completely obscured. It is a deeply disorienting experience. And what if that cloud began to speak? …a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
Of course, on the mount of Transfiguration, it was not the cloud speaking, it was God. But why in a cloud? Maybe the blocking of other senses allowed the disciples to hear more acutely the voice of God, and its message. And what a message, so similar to what some heard at Jesus’ baptism, "This is my Son," but with the added command, “Listen to him.” Their ears confirmed what they had seen with their eyes when Jesus was transfigured before them. Later, when tempted to doubt, they had another form of authority on which to rest. And when they were ready to talk – perhaps after Jesus’ resurrection? – they had quite a story to tell, supported by three witnesses.
How does God get our attention? We are often so enveloped in activities and media and dashing here and there, responding to so many stimuli, it can be hard for the voice of God to get through. Perhaps we should put ourselves in a cloud periodically, dramatically reduce the input. One might say that is what the practice of centering prayer or meditation achieves – we enter a cloud of soft quiet, where we see little and hear only silence.
That is also what happens on a sabbath day or a retreat, whether for a few hours or a few days: we slip into a simpler rhythm of meals, rest, walks, study, prayer, with fewer choices to make. As we give ourselves to the simplicity and the silence, eventually God’s voice begins to get through.
One of the great classics of Christian spirituality is a 14th century book called The Cloud of Unknowing (the link is to an edition I like), whose author suggests that God is to be found not in knowledge and evidence so much as in absence and mystery. It’s not the way we might think of seeking God in our take-charge, work-for-what-you-want culture. But that medieval mystic was on to something. Waiting, not chasing, may be more in line with God's ways.
Perhaps that’s what God does when we are in the clouds, reminds us that the deepest knowledge is not found in what we can see or figure out for ourselves. The deepest Truth can only come from God, who speaks in a sound of sheer silence, and invites us into relationship.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Have you ever found yourself inside a cloud? A fog rolls in and you are completely enveloped in white, your visibility of anything beyond your own form completely obscured. It is a deeply disorienting experience. And what if that cloud began to speak? …a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
Of course, on the mount of Transfiguration, it was not the cloud speaking, it was God. But why in a cloud? Maybe the blocking of other senses allowed the disciples to hear more acutely the voice of God, and its message. And what a message, so similar to what some heard at Jesus’ baptism, "This is my Son," but with the added command, “Listen to him.” Their ears confirmed what they had seen with their eyes when Jesus was transfigured before them. Later, when tempted to doubt, they had another form of authority on which to rest. And when they were ready to talk – perhaps after Jesus’ resurrection? – they had quite a story to tell, supported by three witnesses.
How does God get our attention? We are often so enveloped in activities and media and dashing here and there, responding to so many stimuli, it can be hard for the voice of God to get through. Perhaps we should put ourselves in a cloud periodically, dramatically reduce the input. One might say that is what the practice of centering prayer or meditation achieves – we enter a cloud of soft quiet, where we see little and hear only silence.
That is also what happens on a sabbath day or a retreat, whether for a few hours or a few days: we slip into a simpler rhythm of meals, rest, walks, study, prayer, with fewer choices to make. As we give ourselves to the simplicity and the silence, eventually God’s voice begins to get through.
One of the great classics of Christian spirituality is a 14th century book called The Cloud of Unknowing (the link is to an edition I like), whose author suggests that God is to be found not in knowledge and evidence so much as in absence and mystery. It’s not the way we might think of seeking God in our take-charge, work-for-what-you-want culture. But that medieval mystic was on to something. Waiting, not chasing, may be more in line with God's ways.
Perhaps that’s what God does when we are in the clouds, reminds us that the deepest knowledge is not found in what we can see or figure out for ourselves. The deepest Truth can only come from God, who speaks in a sound of sheer silence, and invites us into relationship.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
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