You can listen to this reflection here. Each day this Holy Week we will use the gospel appointed for the day, and hear from one of the main characters in the story, as I imagine they might speak. I hope this will help engage our imaginations as we walk this story with Jesus. Today we look at John 19:25-37, sitting with those who watched Jesus be crucified and die an agonizing death. We hear from:
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, my sister, the two Marys. They keep trying to take me home, to get me away from here, from watching him… But I can’t go. I guess I must feel some need to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not yet. It wasn’t like I was ever allowed to forget that there would be an end like this. I just never knew how or when it would be. He was always a gift with strings attached. From the beginning, what that angel, or whatever he was, said to me, “He will be great, and will be called the son of the Most High… his kingdom will never end.” And the whole way he… just suddenly… was there, in me… And his birth, those crazed shepherds running, finding us, telling of choirs of angels on the hills…
I always knew he was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep. But this – this was not a day I ever imagined, to see my own first son, flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned… suffocating… In agony. And yet I can’t leave.
A little while before he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me, he wanted me. And there was nothing I could do for him! They took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I felt I could have touched him – could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that were once so small they fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel… And there they were, and a spike… Oh God, what have you done?
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me.
“Dear woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!”
Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop, it hurt so much. To be given away, even for my own care… like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me. He said those who followed him, his disciples, those were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… he was never mine to keep. But what was it all for? The crowds, the miracles, the healings? All those amazing stories that he told, about forgiveness and the Kingdom of God? Where is all that now?
That’s what I want to know. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away – I’ve been waiting to see what he does now! God, where are you now? Your moment to intervene just passed, it seems. Are you going to finish what you started?
This is the question of Good Friday – are you there, God? Where is your power, your presence, your peace? Are your promises any good? And as much as we want the resolution, to see the story turn out the way we know it will – this is an important space in which to rest, these three days before the promise is revealed. Sit with your questions, and doubts, and faith, and love. Share them with Jesus. He knows…
You are welcome to join me tonight at 7:30 pm EDT for an online service of the Liturgy for Good Friday - link is here.
© 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.
Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts
4-14-25 - Mary of Bethany
You can listen to this reflection here. Each day this Holy Week we will use the gospel appointed for the day, and hear from one of the main characters in the story, as I imagine they might speak. I hope this will help engage our imaginations as we walk this story with Jesus. Today we reflect on John 12:1-11, returning again to that dinner party in Bethany where Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with a whole jar of perfumed ointment.
Mary of Bethany:
I know it was an intimate thing to do, even scandalous. You should have seen my sister Martha’s face when I poured a whole pound of pure nard on Jesus’ feet! But Jesus was like my brother. Yes, he was my Lord, but I also loved him like I loved Lazarus. It seemed the most natural and full way to honor him before he… before... you know…
How did I know he was going to leave us soon? It wasn’t just because he had said so, several times. I just felt it. After Lazarus’ death, when Jesus raised him… I stood at that tomb and was filled with a knowing: “Before too long we will have to bury the Teacher.” It was like I could see into his spirit; I knew he would be taken from us.
This might be the last time he was in our home. I had bought the nard to anoint him after his death; I didn’t want them using anything cheap on him. I used all the money I’d gotten from the clothes I made and sold. I wanted the best for him. But that night I looked at him in the flickering light, as we all sat at the table after the meal, talking and talking, as we always did… and I thought, “Why waste this on him after his death. He should be honored like this in life.” And that was it; I just got up and took the jar and broke it and poured it all over his feet, the whole thing, everything for him.
“Oh the waste!” they cried, Judas leading the charge. “This could have been sold and given to the poor!” Well, of course it could have. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to honor Jesus, to give him comfort and love and protection because we would not be able to protect him from what was ahead. This was one way I could show love to him.
It was shocking to hear him say it so bluntly, that we wouldn’t always have him with us. I still don’t think they really heard him, or understood. But he let me know I had done the right thing, as wrong as it seemed to everyone else there. He was going to lay down his life for us. I didn’t know what would happen after that. He had talked about being raised on the third day. He had said something to Martha at the tomb about being the resurrection and the life, and “Do you believe this?” But how could we know what would be?
Now I do know, and I ask you: was my action any more “wasteful” than the Son of God pouring out his life for the likes of me? For those who wouldn’t even recognize the gift?
Mary’s act of devotion and worship is unbelievably extravagant, seemingly wasteful. She held nothing back. Do you ever feel that toward Jesus… maybe toward someone else in your life?
Mary of Bethany:
I know it was an intimate thing to do, even scandalous. You should have seen my sister Martha’s face when I poured a whole pound of pure nard on Jesus’ feet! But Jesus was like my brother. Yes, he was my Lord, but I also loved him like I loved Lazarus. It seemed the most natural and full way to honor him before he… before... you know…
How did I know he was going to leave us soon? It wasn’t just because he had said so, several times. I just felt it. After Lazarus’ death, when Jesus raised him… I stood at that tomb and was filled with a knowing: “Before too long we will have to bury the Teacher.” It was like I could see into his spirit; I knew he would be taken from us.
This might be the last time he was in our home. I had bought the nard to anoint him after his death; I didn’t want them using anything cheap on him. I used all the money I’d gotten from the clothes I made and sold. I wanted the best for him. But that night I looked at him in the flickering light, as we all sat at the table after the meal, talking and talking, as we always did… and I thought, “Why waste this on him after his death. He should be honored like this in life.” And that was it; I just got up and took the jar and broke it and poured it all over his feet, the whole thing, everything for him.
“Oh the waste!” they cried, Judas leading the charge. “This could have been sold and given to the poor!” Well, of course it could have. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to honor Jesus, to give him comfort and love and protection because we would not be able to protect him from what was ahead. This was one way I could show love to him.
It was shocking to hear him say it so bluntly, that we wouldn’t always have him with us. I still don’t think they really heard him, or understood. But he let me know I had done the right thing, as wrong as it seemed to everyone else there. He was going to lay down his life for us. I didn’t know what would happen after that. He had talked about being raised on the third day. He had said something to Martha at the tomb about being the resurrection and the life, and “Do you believe this?” But how could we know what would be?
Now I do know, and I ask you: was my action any more “wasteful” than the Son of God pouring out his life for the likes of me? For those who wouldn’t even recognize the gift?
Mary’s act of devotion and worship is unbelievably extravagant, seemingly wasteful. She held nothing back. Do you ever feel that toward Jesus… maybe toward someone else in your life?
The time you are spending now is precious to God… and as we give this, we can begin to look at what we’re holding back and release that too.
You are welcome to join me tonight at 7:30 pm EDT for an online service for Monday in Holy Week - link is here. Our Holy Week schedule of services, most of which can be accessed online, is here.
© 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.
You are welcome to join me tonight at 7:30 pm EDT for an online service for Monday in Holy Week - link is here. Our Holy Week schedule of services, most of which can be accessed online, is here.
© 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.
12-20-24 - Mary the Revolutionary
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Mary of Nazareth is often depicted in art as quiet and pensive, her gaze downcast. Perhaps some artists thought that conveyed her deep devotion, and then it became a convention, like associating her with the color blue. If I were to draw a picture of Mary, her face would be upturned, her gaze focused toward heaven, and her expression fierce and energized.
This Mary portrayed in the Gospels is not “round yon virgin tender and mild.” (I know, I’m butchering the lyrics – it’s the holy infant who’s tender and mild, and love’s pure light that’s “round” her... but this was my impression as a child.) She is quick and tough, brave and prophetic, alive to the cosmic implications of what God is doing in her as well as the personal ones.
Mary’s Magnificat is not the song of a meek young woman – it is the cry of a revolutionary who sees in her own choseness God’s redemption of all the little people, and the bringing low of those who wield power. It foresees equitable distribution of wealth, of power, of justice. This is Occupy Jerusalem, circa Year O, Common Era:
God’s mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
It is impossible to take economics and politics out of the Christmas story – indeed, out of any of the Christian story. This Advent those themes continue to ring loudly, as we face such crises and divisions in the world and at home.
It is also impossible to take women out of the story. Over and over in the Bible, we see God work through strong, faithful, opinionated, courageous women to accomplish God’s purposes. Mary of Nazareth, like Mary of Magdala and Mary and Martha of Bethany, is the recipient of God’s revelation in Christ, and is able to connect the dots between Jesus and cosmic redemption.
Mary’s willingness to say yes, in faith and obedience, are part of what make her holy. But there’s so much more to her, as Luke’s gospel shows us. Can we take the time to get to know her more fully, not just a stained glass saint but a flesh and blood girl, who shed her blood and shared her flesh so that the Redeemer might be born? Who bore that “sword piercing her heart” as she watched her precious firstborn court danger and ultimately face a brutal death? Who must have returned again and again to these words of prophecy when it looked like power and evil were winning and the hungry continued to lose out to the well-fed?
I’ve never thought of Mary as a heroine – but I’m seeing her anew. I’m heeding her call to justice, only partially achieved 2000 years later. Every time we stand with her and bring justice into being, we join her song and make it truer. (Here is a rousing hymnic version of the Magnificat). In the fullness of time, this is the song all the universe will sing, as God's justice comes to all at last.
© Kate Heichler, 2024. 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.
Mary of Nazareth is often depicted in art as quiet and pensive, her gaze downcast. Perhaps some artists thought that conveyed her deep devotion, and then it became a convention, like associating her with the color blue. If I were to draw a picture of Mary, her face would be upturned, her gaze focused toward heaven, and her expression fierce and energized.
This Mary portrayed in the Gospels is not “round yon virgin tender and mild.” (I know, I’m butchering the lyrics – it’s the holy infant who’s tender and mild, and love’s pure light that’s “round” her... but this was my impression as a child.) She is quick and tough, brave and prophetic, alive to the cosmic implications of what God is doing in her as well as the personal ones.
Mary’s Magnificat is not the song of a meek young woman – it is the cry of a revolutionary who sees in her own choseness God’s redemption of all the little people, and the bringing low of those who wield power. It foresees equitable distribution of wealth, of power, of justice. This is Occupy Jerusalem, circa Year O, Common Era:
God’s mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
It is impossible to take economics and politics out of the Christmas story – indeed, out of any of the Christian story. This Advent those themes continue to ring loudly, as we face such crises and divisions in the world and at home.
It is also impossible to take women out of the story. Over and over in the Bible, we see God work through strong, faithful, opinionated, courageous women to accomplish God’s purposes. Mary of Nazareth, like Mary of Magdala and Mary and Martha of Bethany, is the recipient of God’s revelation in Christ, and is able to connect the dots between Jesus and cosmic redemption.
Mary’s willingness to say yes, in faith and obedience, are part of what make her holy. But there’s so much more to her, as Luke’s gospel shows us. Can we take the time to get to know her more fully, not just a stained glass saint but a flesh and blood girl, who shed her blood and shared her flesh so that the Redeemer might be born? Who bore that “sword piercing her heart” as she watched her precious firstborn court danger and ultimately face a brutal death? Who must have returned again and again to these words of prophecy when it looked like power and evil were winning and the hungry continued to lose out to the well-fed?
I’ve never thought of Mary as a heroine – but I’m seeing her anew. I’m heeding her call to justice, only partially achieved 2000 years later. Every time we stand with her and bring justice into being, we join her song and make it truer. (Here is a rousing hymnic version of the Magnificat). In the fullness of time, this is the song all the universe will sing, as God's justice comes to all at last.
© Kate Heichler, 2024. 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.
3-29-24 - Good Friday: Mary of Nazareth
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Each day this week we hear from one of the main characters in the gospel reading appointed for the day, as I imagine they might speak. I hope this will help engage your own imagination as you walk this story with Jesus.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, my sister, the two Marys. They keep trying to take me home, to get me away from here, from watching him… But I can’t go. I must feel some need to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not yet. It wasn’t like I could ever forget that there would be an end like this. I just didn’t ever know how or when it would be. I always knew that he was a gift with strings attached. From the beginning, what that angel, or whatever he was, said to me, “He will be great, and will be called the son of the Most High… his kingdom will never end.” And the whole way he just suddenly... was there, in me… And his birth, those crazed shepherds running, finding us, yelling about choirs of angels on the hills…
I always knew he was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep. But this – this was not a day I ever imagined, to see my own first son, flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned… suffocating… In agony. And yet I can’t leave.
A little while ago he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me, he wanted me. And there was nothing I could do for him! They took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I felt I could have touched him – could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that were once so small they fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel… And there they were, and a spike… Oh God, what have you done?
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me. “Woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!” Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop. To be given away, even for my own care? Like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me. He said those who followed him, his disciples, those were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… he was never mine to keep.
But what was it all for? The crowds, the miracles, the healings? All those amazing stories that he told, about forgiveness and the Kingdom of God? Where is all that now? That’s what I want to know. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away – I’ve been waiting to see what he does now! God, where are you now? Your moment to intervene just passed, it seems. Are you going to finish what you started?
A soldier spoke a moment ago, a Roman. He said, “I am sure this man was the Son of God.” That’s what that angel said, so long ago, the words are seared into my memory: “The Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God.” So how did this Roman know? Did God tell him too? Maybe it is all true! I believed once and said yes; can I believe again? Maybe God hasn’t finished? Maybe the story isn’t over…
Ah, now John wants to usher me away, already taking up his duties. I am staying till they take him down. They have promised to take care of the body, these women, these Marys, his friends, my friends. And some important men – Joseph, who gave us the tomb; Nicodemus, another one of the Sanhedrin. They brought the ointments and cloths – 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes, Mary said.
I will help. I will anoint my son’s body with oil and touch his bruised skin one more time, look at his face, now just an empty space, before they put him away in that tomb in the garden. Then I will go home.
What has been your greatest loss? Have you let God into that heartache? Let God fill that space with something that brings life? We can't rush it - but in time, our greatest pain will be overshadowed by the Life of God that cannot be quenched, even in death... Wait for it. Wait with Mary.
You are welcome to join our Good Friday service online tonight at 7 pm here.
© Kate Heichler, 2024. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for Good Friday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Each day this week we hear from one of the main characters in the gospel reading appointed for the day, as I imagine they might speak. I hope this will help engage your own imagination as you walk this story with Jesus.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, my sister, the two Marys. They keep trying to take me home, to get me away from here, from watching him… But I can’t go. I must feel some need to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not yet. It wasn’t like I could ever forget that there would be an end like this. I just didn’t ever know how or when it would be. I always knew that he was a gift with strings attached. From the beginning, what that angel, or whatever he was, said to me, “He will be great, and will be called the son of the Most High… his kingdom will never end.” And the whole way he just suddenly... was there, in me… And his birth, those crazed shepherds running, finding us, yelling about choirs of angels on the hills…
I always knew he was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep. But this – this was not a day I ever imagined, to see my own first son, flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned… suffocating… In agony. And yet I can’t leave.
A little while ago he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me, he wanted me. And there was nothing I could do for him! They took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I felt I could have touched him – could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that were once so small they fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel… And there they were, and a spike… Oh God, what have you done?
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me. “Woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!” Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop. To be given away, even for my own care? Like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me. He said those who followed him, his disciples, those were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… he was never mine to keep.
But what was it all for? The crowds, the miracles, the healings? All those amazing stories that he told, about forgiveness and the Kingdom of God? Where is all that now? That’s what I want to know. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away – I’ve been waiting to see what he does now! God, where are you now? Your moment to intervene just passed, it seems. Are you going to finish what you started?
A soldier spoke a moment ago, a Roman. He said, “I am sure this man was the Son of God.” That’s what that angel said, so long ago, the words are seared into my memory: “The Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God.” So how did this Roman know? Did God tell him too? Maybe it is all true! I believed once and said yes; can I believe again? Maybe God hasn’t finished? Maybe the story isn’t over…
Ah, now John wants to usher me away, already taking up his duties. I am staying till they take him down. They have promised to take care of the body, these women, these Marys, his friends, my friends. And some important men – Joseph, who gave us the tomb; Nicodemus, another one of the Sanhedrin. They brought the ointments and cloths – 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes, Mary said.
I will help. I will anoint my son’s body with oil and touch his bruised skin one more time, look at his face, now just an empty space, before they put him away in that tomb in the garden. Then I will go home.
What has been your greatest loss? Have you let God into that heartache? Let God fill that space with something that brings life? We can't rush it - but in time, our greatest pain will be overshadowed by the Life of God that cannot be quenched, even in death... Wait for it. Wait with Mary.
You are welcome to join our Good Friday service online tonight at 7 pm here.
© Kate Heichler, 2024. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for Good Friday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
12-22-23 - God of the Impossible
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Did Mary have a choice to decline the mission conferred upon her by God? The Angel Gabriel didn’t really ask; he just announced what was to happen. And yet they did have a conversation, and the angel gave her information which might have helped her get to that grace-filled “yes”: “And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”
Elizabeth, John the Baptist's mother, became pregnant with him long after she was “in the way of women,” and after a lifetime of infertility and its stigma. Though her conception was “normal," the timing was miraculous enough to comfort Mary that the angel's strange message truly came from God.
We need to be reminded there are no limits to what God can do, because we spend so much time in the realm of limits. And because we see so many situations in which we yearn to see the unlimited power of God break out, and it doesn’t seem to. If all things are possible with God, why can tyrants invade small countries and devastate the lives of civilians? Why are corporations given tax breaks (handouts) while benefits to the poor and vulnerable are gutted? If all things are possible with God, why have so many sweet children and their teachers died in mass shootings in schools, and an average 33 more killed with guns daily in America? If God can do all things, why don’t we always see the healing we yearn for?
Those are all good questions – yet they lead nowhere but to a diminished faith. We are invited to believe in infinite possibilities despite the limits we perceive. We are invited to pray to the God for whom all things are possible… and then to ask how we are to be part of God's response.
I don't know what to do about tyrants but pray for them and give aid to their victims. I certainly don’t know what to do about Congress but pray for profound conversion of heart for those who pass unjust laws. I do know that gun violence can be reduced through sensible laws as well as culture change, and I can be part of that solution. And praying for healing within the overall confines of life and death means accepting that the outcomes of our prayers exist on that continuum as well. That isn’t meant to sound facile; that our prayers are not always answered in the way we desire doesn’t mean they aren’t sometimes answered that way. Each of those “sometimes” is an occasion to strengthen our faith.
What “impossibility” are you facing right now? Are you willing to invite God to work with it, turn it over, squish and mold it like clay, bend it like time and perhaps reveal a deeper mystery of “yes” in it? Are you willing to have your boundaries of the possible stretched? Pray in that today. Ask God to show you where God has placed limits, and where you’re just assuming they exist.
The story of Jesus’ incarnation through Mary of Nazareth is beautiful in so many ways, not the least for how decisively God overturns the “laws” of nature to bring about the overturning of death and sin and disease and injustice, ending the enslavement of this world to darkness. All that happens because Mary joined in the mission of God in the way she could, in the way she was asked. Jesus would continue to overturn those laws in his adult ministry. And, of course, on Easter morning, the God of the impossible demonstrated once again just how infinite his power is.
Nothing is impossible with God. The more we believe it, the further our boundaries of “possibility” will be stretched, and the deeper we will join in God's mission of restoration. And the deeper we go, the more impossible things we see.
Did Mary have a choice to decline the mission conferred upon her by God? The Angel Gabriel didn’t really ask; he just announced what was to happen. And yet they did have a conversation, and the angel gave her information which might have helped her get to that grace-filled “yes”: “And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”
Elizabeth, John the Baptist's mother, became pregnant with him long after she was “in the way of women,” and after a lifetime of infertility and its stigma. Though her conception was “normal," the timing was miraculous enough to comfort Mary that the angel's strange message truly came from God.
We need to be reminded there are no limits to what God can do, because we spend so much time in the realm of limits. And because we see so many situations in which we yearn to see the unlimited power of God break out, and it doesn’t seem to. If all things are possible with God, why can tyrants invade small countries and devastate the lives of civilians? Why are corporations given tax breaks (handouts) while benefits to the poor and vulnerable are gutted? If all things are possible with God, why have so many sweet children and their teachers died in mass shootings in schools, and an average 33 more killed with guns daily in America? If God can do all things, why don’t we always see the healing we yearn for?
Those are all good questions – yet they lead nowhere but to a diminished faith. We are invited to believe in infinite possibilities despite the limits we perceive. We are invited to pray to the God for whom all things are possible… and then to ask how we are to be part of God's response.
I don't know what to do about tyrants but pray for them and give aid to their victims. I certainly don’t know what to do about Congress but pray for profound conversion of heart for those who pass unjust laws. I do know that gun violence can be reduced through sensible laws as well as culture change, and I can be part of that solution. And praying for healing within the overall confines of life and death means accepting that the outcomes of our prayers exist on that continuum as well. That isn’t meant to sound facile; that our prayers are not always answered in the way we desire doesn’t mean they aren’t sometimes answered that way. Each of those “sometimes” is an occasion to strengthen our faith.
What “impossibility” are you facing right now? Are you willing to invite God to work with it, turn it over, squish and mold it like clay, bend it like time and perhaps reveal a deeper mystery of “yes” in it? Are you willing to have your boundaries of the possible stretched? Pray in that today. Ask God to show you where God has placed limits, and where you’re just assuming they exist.
The story of Jesus’ incarnation through Mary of Nazareth is beautiful in so many ways, not the least for how decisively God overturns the “laws” of nature to bring about the overturning of death and sin and disease and injustice, ending the enslavement of this world to darkness. All that happens because Mary joined in the mission of God in the way she could, in the way she was asked. Jesus would continue to overturn those laws in his adult ministry. And, of course, on Easter morning, the God of the impossible demonstrated once again just how infinite his power is.
Nothing is impossible with God. The more we believe it, the further our boundaries of “possibility” will be stretched, and the deeper we will join in God's mission of restoration. And the deeper we go, the more impossible things we see.
12-19-23 - An Angle on Angels
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Have you ever seen an angel? Some see them in childhood, and I've heard of people having what they believed were angelic encounters as adults. I was once praying in a chapel when it seemed filled with a presence that was distinctly “other,” and I was terrified. Was that an angel?
In the bible, angels show up with messages to deliver. The angel Gabriel (one of only two angels named in scripture) was busy in the months leading up to Jesus’ birth. First he appeared in the temple to tell Zechariah that he and his wife, long barren and now past childbearing age, will have a son whom they are to name John. And six months into Elizabeth’s unlikely pregnancy, he comes to Mary in Nazareth to announce a pregnancy that is downright impossible.
And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
Only an angel could deliver a message that bizarre and, if you’ll allow it, inconceivable. But that’s when angels seem to be deployed, when God has a specific message or charge for a particular person. Prophets are human messengers for God, usually with messages for a whole community. Angels are heavenly messengers tasked with things like announcing miraculous births – three angels tell Abram and Sarai about her impending and unlikely pregnancy.
What do we know about angels? The Old and New Testaments speak of them as heavenly creatures, neither divine nor human. They deliver difficult messages and occasionally do battle with the forces of evil. They are not cute or cuddly or necessarily looking out for us – they work for God. They are often fierce and, it appears, always fearsome, for every angelic encounter seems to begin with, “Be not afraid…”
Should we pay any attention to angels? I can’t imagine they want us to, nor to be worn on pins and or smile on us from posters. They certainly do not want to be prayed to. Their function is to point our attention to what God is up to.
The angelic realm is somewhat peripheral to being a Christ-follower, but it is good to consider where we are on the subject of angels. If we consider them intermediaries with God, we might forge a more direct connection. If we want protection, maybe we can invite the Holy Spirit to be more discernibly present in our lives. If we want a message, we can ask for it in prayer. If we want to be able to relate to God more personally – well, that’s why Jesus came in the first place. Let’s get to know him better. The one thing I feel reasonably sure of is this: If we should be “touched by an angel,” we’ll know it.
Have you ever seen an angel? Some see them in childhood, and I've heard of people having what they believed were angelic encounters as adults. I was once praying in a chapel when it seemed filled with a presence that was distinctly “other,” and I was terrified. Was that an angel?
In the bible, angels show up with messages to deliver. The angel Gabriel (one of only two angels named in scripture) was busy in the months leading up to Jesus’ birth. First he appeared in the temple to tell Zechariah that he and his wife, long barren and now past childbearing age, will have a son whom they are to name John. And six months into Elizabeth’s unlikely pregnancy, he comes to Mary in Nazareth to announce a pregnancy that is downright impossible.
And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
Only an angel could deliver a message that bizarre and, if you’ll allow it, inconceivable. But that’s when angels seem to be deployed, when God has a specific message or charge for a particular person. Prophets are human messengers for God, usually with messages for a whole community. Angels are heavenly messengers tasked with things like announcing miraculous births – three angels tell Abram and Sarai about her impending and unlikely pregnancy.
What do we know about angels? The Old and New Testaments speak of them as heavenly creatures, neither divine nor human. They deliver difficult messages and occasionally do battle with the forces of evil. They are not cute or cuddly or necessarily looking out for us – they work for God. They are often fierce and, it appears, always fearsome, for every angelic encounter seems to begin with, “Be not afraid…”
Should we pay any attention to angels? I can’t imagine they want us to, nor to be worn on pins and or smile on us from posters. They certainly do not want to be prayed to. Their function is to point our attention to what God is up to.
The angelic realm is somewhat peripheral to being a Christ-follower, but it is good to consider where we are on the subject of angels. If we consider them intermediaries with God, we might forge a more direct connection. If we want protection, maybe we can invite the Holy Spirit to be more discernibly present in our lives. If we want a message, we can ask for it in prayer. If we want to be able to relate to God more personally – well, that’s why Jesus came in the first place. Let’s get to know him better. The one thing I feel reasonably sure of is this: If we should be “touched by an angel,” we’ll know it.
12-29-22 - Mary Pondered
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
How many times did she doubt during those months of pregnancy, wonder if she’d dreamt that story about the angel and his grand promises about the baby growing in her? But then, how did that baby get there? She would not have forgotten that.. And yes, there was confirmation when she visited her cousin Elizabeth and found the aged woman in the pink of pregnancy. But even that could be humanly possible… And then, to learn that Joseph had had dreams which matched what the angel had told her...
Even so, could this really be a movement of God, a movement to save the world, through her? That seemed too crazy to fathom. Until now. Until that gift came to pass, that deliverer delivered from her own body, swaddled and laid to sleep in a feeding trough, the hay keeping him warm. Then in burst a bunch of shepherds bearing tales of angelic visitations, with those words again, “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord."
A sign for the shepherds, yes, and also for Joseph and Mary. Luke tells us that, while the shepherds went out and spread the amazing story, “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”
What did Mary ponder? Once, in prayer, I sensed an encounter with her, a gracious older woman in a blue-green knit turtleneck dress. She said a few things as I asked her questions: “I was not all that good or all that brave. I was a bit of a flirt in my day – and had a sharp tongue. I was funny. Boy, that grew me up in a hurry (Jesus’ birth, etc.) Oh, you can believe what you like about all the stories. I’ll just say, it was hard. It was rough. I felt very, very alone – didn’t know Joseph enough to trust him yet."
And the sword that the elder Simeon spoke of, when they presented Jesus in the temple? “A sword pierces the heart of every mother,” she said. “From the moment your child is born, he is moving toward independence, which is a kind of death for you. He is moving toward his death."
She added, “I couldn’t worship him in life. How do you worship one whose diapers you’ve changed? No, he was always my son in this life. It wasn’t until after my death that I could worship him.” True for all of us, really...
Were Mary’s ponderings so different from those of any new mother? The stakes were higher, perhaps – but also the knowledge that, if this truly was a movement of God, then God would continue to be the mover. I hope she had that confidence, and that it bore her through the rough times.
I hope that for us, as well, as we bear Christ’s presence and light into this world. God sends signs for us, too.
How many times did she doubt during those months of pregnancy, wonder if she’d dreamt that story about the angel and his grand promises about the baby growing in her? But then, how did that baby get there? She would not have forgotten that.. And yes, there was confirmation when she visited her cousin Elizabeth and found the aged woman in the pink of pregnancy. But even that could be humanly possible… And then, to learn that Joseph had had dreams which matched what the angel had told her...
Even so, could this really be a movement of God, a movement to save the world, through her? That seemed too crazy to fathom. Until now. Until that gift came to pass, that deliverer delivered from her own body, swaddled and laid to sleep in a feeding trough, the hay keeping him warm. Then in burst a bunch of shepherds bearing tales of angelic visitations, with those words again, “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord."
A sign for the shepherds, yes, and also for Joseph and Mary. Luke tells us that, while the shepherds went out and spread the amazing story, “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”
What did Mary ponder? Once, in prayer, I sensed an encounter with her, a gracious older woman in a blue-green knit turtleneck dress. She said a few things as I asked her questions: “I was not all that good or all that brave. I was a bit of a flirt in my day – and had a sharp tongue. I was funny. Boy, that grew me up in a hurry (Jesus’ birth, etc.) Oh, you can believe what you like about all the stories. I’ll just say, it was hard. It was rough. I felt very, very alone – didn’t know Joseph enough to trust him yet."
And the sword that the elder Simeon spoke of, when they presented Jesus in the temple? “A sword pierces the heart of every mother,” she said. “From the moment your child is born, he is moving toward independence, which is a kind of death for you. He is moving toward his death."
She added, “I couldn’t worship him in life. How do you worship one whose diapers you’ve changed? No, he was always my son in this life. It wasn’t until after my death that I could worship him.” True for all of us, really...
Were Mary’s ponderings so different from those of any new mother? The stakes were higher, perhaps – but also the knowledge that, if this truly was a movement of God, then God would continue to be the mover. I hope she had that confidence, and that it bore her through the rough times.
I hope that for us, as well, as we bear Christ’s presence and light into this world. God sends signs for us, too.
4-15-22 - Good Friday: Mary of Nazareth
Each day this week we will use the gospel appointed for the day, and hear from one of the main characters in the story, as I imagine they might speak. I hope this will help engage your own imagination as you walk this story with Jesus.
You can listen to this reflection here.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, my sister, the two Marys. They keep trying to take me home, to get me away from here, from watching him… But I can’t go. I guess I must feel some need to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not yet. It wasn’t like I was ever allowed to forget that there would be an end like this. I just didn’t ever know how or when it would be. I always knew that he was a gift with strings attached. From the beginning, what that angel, or whatever he was, said to me, “He will be great, and will be called the son of the Most High… his kingdom will never end.” And the whole way he just suddenly... was there, in me… And his birth, those crazed shepherds running, finding us, telling of choirs of angels on the hills…
I always knew he was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep. But this – this was not a day I ever imagined, to see my own first son, flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned… suffocating… In agony. And yet I can’t leave.
A little while before he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me, he wanted me. And there was nothing I could do for him! They took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I felt I could have touched him – could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that were once so small they fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel… And there they were, and a spike… Oh God, what have you done?
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me. “Dear woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!”
Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop, it hurt so much. To be given away, even for my own care… like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me. He said those who followed him, his disciples, those were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… he was never mine to keep. But what was it all for? The crowds, the miracles, the healings? All those amazing stories that he told, about forgiveness and the Kingdom of God? Where is all that now?
That’s what I want to know. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away – I’ve been waiting to see what he does now! God, where are you now? Your moment to intervene just passed, it seems. Are you going to finish what you started?
This is the question of Good Friday – are you there, God? Where is your power, your presence, your peace? Are your promises any good? And as much as we want the resolution, to see the story turn out the way we know it will – this is an important space in which to rest, these three days before the promise is revealed. Sit with your questions, and doubts, and faith, and love. Share them with Jesus. He knows…
You are welcome to join our Good Friday service online tonight at 7 pm here, or in-person at Christ Church in La Plata, 112 Charles Street.
You can listen to this reflection here.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, my sister, the two Marys. They keep trying to take me home, to get me away from here, from watching him… But I can’t go. I guess I must feel some need to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not yet. It wasn’t like I was ever allowed to forget that there would be an end like this. I just didn’t ever know how or when it would be. I always knew that he was a gift with strings attached. From the beginning, what that angel, or whatever he was, said to me, “He will be great, and will be called the son of the Most High… his kingdom will never end.” And the whole way he just suddenly... was there, in me… And his birth, those crazed shepherds running, finding us, telling of choirs of angels on the hills…
I always knew he was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep. But this – this was not a day I ever imagined, to see my own first son, flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned… suffocating… In agony. And yet I can’t leave.
A little while before he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me, he wanted me. And there was nothing I could do for him! They took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I felt I could have touched him – could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that were once so small they fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel… And there they were, and a spike… Oh God, what have you done?
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me. “Dear woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!”
Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop, it hurt so much. To be given away, even for my own care… like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me. He said those who followed him, his disciples, those were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… he was never mine to keep. But what was it all for? The crowds, the miracles, the healings? All those amazing stories that he told, about forgiveness and the Kingdom of God? Where is all that now?
That’s what I want to know. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away – I’ve been waiting to see what he does now! God, where are you now? Your moment to intervene just passed, it seems. Are you going to finish what you started?
This is the question of Good Friday – are you there, God? Where is your power, your presence, your peace? Are your promises any good? And as much as we want the resolution, to see the story turn out the way we know it will – this is an important space in which to rest, these three days before the promise is revealed. Sit with your questions, and doubts, and faith, and love. Share them with Jesus. He knows…
12-17-21 - Mary the Revolutionary
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Mary of Nazareth is often depicted in art as quiet and pensive, her gaze downcast. Perhaps some artists thought that conveyed her deep devotion, and then it became a convention, like associating her with the color blue. If I were to draw a picture of Mary, her face would be upturned, her gaze focused toward heaven, and her expression fierce and energized.
This Mary portrayed in the Gospels is not “round yon virgin tender and mild.” (I know, I’m butchering the lyrics – it’s the holy infant who’s tender and mild, and love’s pure light that’s “round” her... but this was my impression as a child.) She is quick and tough, brave and prophetic, alive to the cosmic implications of what God is doing in her as well as the personal ones.
Mary’s Magnificat is not the song of a meek young woman – it is the cry of a revolutionary who sees in her own chosenness God’s redemption of all the little people, and the bringing low of those who wield power. It foresees equitable distribution of wealth, of power, of justice. This is Occupy Jerusalem, circa Year O, AD:
God’s mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
It is impossible to take economics and politics out of the Christmas story – indeed, I would assert, out of any of the Christian story. These Advent those themes continue to ring loudly, as we face such crises and divisions in the world and at home. It is also impossible to take women out of the story. Over and over in the Bible, we see God work through strong, faithful, opinionated, courageous women to accomplish God’s purposes. Mary of Nazareth, like Mary of Magdala and Mary and Martha of Bethany, is the recipient of God’s revelation in Christ, and is able to connect the dots between Jesus and cosmic redemption.
Mary’s willingness to say yes, in faith and obedience, are part of what make her holy. But there’s so much more to her, as Luke’s gospel shows us. Can we take the time to get to know her more fully, not just a stained glass saint but a flesh and blood girl, who shed her blood and shared her flesh so that the Redeemer might be born? Who bore that “sword piercing her heart”as she watched her precious firstborn court danger and ultimately face a brutal death? Who must have returned again and again to these words of prophecy when it looked like power and evil were winning and the hungry continued to lose out to the well-fed?
I’ve never thought of Mary as a heroine – but I’m seeing her anew. I’m heeding her call to justice, only partially achieved 2000 years later. Every time we stand with her and bring justice into being, we join her song and make it truer. (Here is a rousing hymnic version of the Magnificat).
In the fullness of time, this is the song all the universe will sing, as God's justice comes to all at last.
Mary of Nazareth is often depicted in art as quiet and pensive, her gaze downcast. Perhaps some artists thought that conveyed her deep devotion, and then it became a convention, like associating her with the color blue. If I were to draw a picture of Mary, her face would be upturned, her gaze focused toward heaven, and her expression fierce and energized.
This Mary portrayed in the Gospels is not “round yon virgin tender and mild.” (I know, I’m butchering the lyrics – it’s the holy infant who’s tender and mild, and love’s pure light that’s “round” her... but this was my impression as a child.) She is quick and tough, brave and prophetic, alive to the cosmic implications of what God is doing in her as well as the personal ones.
Mary’s Magnificat is not the song of a meek young woman – it is the cry of a revolutionary who sees in her own chosenness God’s redemption of all the little people, and the bringing low of those who wield power. It foresees equitable distribution of wealth, of power, of justice. This is Occupy Jerusalem, circa Year O, AD:
God’s mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
It is impossible to take economics and politics out of the Christmas story – indeed, I would assert, out of any of the Christian story. These Advent those themes continue to ring loudly, as we face such crises and divisions in the world and at home. It is also impossible to take women out of the story. Over and over in the Bible, we see God work through strong, faithful, opinionated, courageous women to accomplish God’s purposes. Mary of Nazareth, like Mary of Magdala and Mary and Martha of Bethany, is the recipient of God’s revelation in Christ, and is able to connect the dots between Jesus and cosmic redemption.
Mary’s willingness to say yes, in faith and obedience, are part of what make her holy. But there’s so much more to her, as Luke’s gospel shows us. Can we take the time to get to know her more fully, not just a stained glass saint but a flesh and blood girl, who shed her blood and shared her flesh so that the Redeemer might be born? Who bore that “sword piercing her heart”as she watched her precious firstborn court danger and ultimately face a brutal death? Who must have returned again and again to these words of prophecy when it looked like power and evil were winning and the hungry continued to lose out to the well-fed?
I’ve never thought of Mary as a heroine – but I’m seeing her anew. I’m heeding her call to justice, only partially achieved 2000 years later. Every time we stand with her and bring justice into being, we join her song and make it truer. (Here is a rousing hymnic version of the Magnificat).
In the fullness of time, this is the song all the universe will sing, as God's justice comes to all at last.
12-16-21 - Magnified
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
There are moments when we are filled with gratitude and grace, aware that God is real and has acted in our lives. Those are the times when our spirits swell and words of praise burst forth from us. One of the biggest such moments in human history may have been Mary’s, when Elizabeth delivered confirmation that the baby she was carrying was indeed the Lord of heaven and earth.
Who knows what she actually said – Luke was not there, after all. But he gave beautiful shape to the words she may have said, words that are both humble and grand, personal and global, rooted in Israel’s past and the glorious promise of deliverance to come, proclaiming justice and mercy:
And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.
The word “magnified” here puzzles me. I think of magnifying as something you do to make something appear bigger than it is, and God needs no magnification. If anything, God needs to be brought down to a scale we can reckon with (one way of thinking about the Incarnation…). It’s not Mary’s soul that magnifies God, but the Spirit that magnified Mary’s spirit, expanded it, filled it.
Sometimes our spirits feel very small and pinched, like a tire without air. We need that breath of life that comes from realizing – again – how very great God is, and how very near God’s love is; to refill our spirits and make them bigger than they were. Not for nothing are the words "pneuma," or spirit, and "pneumatic" related.
Events can happen which magnify our spirits. At other times we need to rely on our memory of how God has acted in the past, and our faith in the promise of restoration to come. That’s why we pray, setting aside time to remember and claim God’s promises and allow that remembering and claiming to lead to proclaiming the Good News.
How about this for a spiritual exercise, today or this weekend: Write your own hymn of praise, your Magnificat. What would you say in praise? What great things has the Mighty One done for you? Where has God shown the strength of his arm? Where do you want to see justice break forth?
What a wonderful way to prepare to celebrate Jesus’ birth, and to honor the woman who bore him into the world, in whom God was truly magnified in every possible way.
There are moments when we are filled with gratitude and grace, aware that God is real and has acted in our lives. Those are the times when our spirits swell and words of praise burst forth from us. One of the biggest such moments in human history may have been Mary’s, when Elizabeth delivered confirmation that the baby she was carrying was indeed the Lord of heaven and earth.
Who knows what she actually said – Luke was not there, after all. But he gave beautiful shape to the words she may have said, words that are both humble and grand, personal and global, rooted in Israel’s past and the glorious promise of deliverance to come, proclaiming justice and mercy:
And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.
The word “magnified” here puzzles me. I think of magnifying as something you do to make something appear bigger than it is, and God needs no magnification. If anything, God needs to be brought down to a scale we can reckon with (one way of thinking about the Incarnation…). It’s not Mary’s soul that magnifies God, but the Spirit that magnified Mary’s spirit, expanded it, filled it.
Sometimes our spirits feel very small and pinched, like a tire without air. We need that breath of life that comes from realizing – again – how very great God is, and how very near God’s love is; to refill our spirits and make them bigger than they were. Not for nothing are the words "pneuma," or spirit, and "pneumatic" related.
Events can happen which magnify our spirits. At other times we need to rely on our memory of how God has acted in the past, and our faith in the promise of restoration to come. That’s why we pray, setting aside time to remember and claim God’s promises and allow that remembering and claiming to lead to proclaiming the Good News.
How about this for a spiritual exercise, today or this weekend: Write your own hymn of praise, your Magnificat. What would you say in praise? What great things has the Mighty One done for you? Where has God shown the strength of his arm? Where do you want to see justice break forth?
What a wonderful way to prepare to celebrate Jesus’ birth, and to honor the woman who bore him into the world, in whom God was truly magnified in every possible way.
12-15-21 - Believing
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from trying to “do ministry,” especially at this time of year. Getting Christmas together for two churches, not to mention myself. Writing sermons and press releases, posting events and hosting meetings. Seeking discernment. The list is endless.
And all God really wants from me, and from you, is that we believe. That we believe his promises. That we rely on her power. That we trust their presence and goodness and gifts.
One of the most powerful parts of the story of Mary and Elizabeth’s encounter that we explore this week is Elizabeth’s simple statement about what makes Mary blessed: “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
Simply taking God at God’s word is all we really need to do. That’s what garnered Abraham righteousness in God’s sight, according to St. Paul; not the things he did or said, but his believing God’s crazy promise about a son. Mary received a pretty crazy promise about a son too – even more outrageous than Abraham’s. But she said “Yes,” and she took action on that promise. Her coming to see Elizabeth was one of the ways she put believing into action.
What promises has God made to us? There are general promises we can find in Scripture – like the promise of peace in the midst of anxiety (Philippians 4), the promise of Christ’s presence always (Matthew 28), the promise of the Holy Spirit (Luke 11). Peace, presence, power – not a bad start.
And sometimes we discern specific promises. Perhaps you’ve sensed God inviting you into a particular ministry, with some clarity about what will unfold. If the Bible is any indication, these sorts of callings can often seem far-fetched. It might be easy to dismiss them, or try to ignore them, especially in an age when we are not surrounded by people of faith who can help us confirm them spiritually. If you do feel a nudging from the Spirit toward some ministry or expression of your gifts, start to explore that; ask others what they think; take one step and then another and see where you end up. As they say, it's easier to steer a car when it's moving.
When we don’t really believe that God will do what God has promised, God cannot work through us. It’s tricky like that. Acting in faith in such a way that our lives and priorities actually begin to be transformed is a matter of believing that what the Lord has spoken, the Lord will bring into being.
And sometimes we become the means through which God brings his promises to fulfillment. Blessed are we.
I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from trying to “do ministry,” especially at this time of year. Getting Christmas together for two churches, not to mention myself. Writing sermons and press releases, posting events and hosting meetings. Seeking discernment. The list is endless.
And all God really wants from me, and from you, is that we believe. That we believe his promises. That we rely on her power. That we trust their presence and goodness and gifts.
One of the most powerful parts of the story of Mary and Elizabeth’s encounter that we explore this week is Elizabeth’s simple statement about what makes Mary blessed: “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
Simply taking God at God’s word is all we really need to do. That’s what garnered Abraham righteousness in God’s sight, according to St. Paul; not the things he did or said, but his believing God’s crazy promise about a son. Mary received a pretty crazy promise about a son too – even more outrageous than Abraham’s. But she said “Yes,” and she took action on that promise. Her coming to see Elizabeth was one of the ways she put believing into action.
What promises has God made to us? There are general promises we can find in Scripture – like the promise of peace in the midst of anxiety (Philippians 4), the promise of Christ’s presence always (Matthew 28), the promise of the Holy Spirit (Luke 11). Peace, presence, power – not a bad start.
And sometimes we discern specific promises. Perhaps you’ve sensed God inviting you into a particular ministry, with some clarity about what will unfold. If the Bible is any indication, these sorts of callings can often seem far-fetched. It might be easy to dismiss them, or try to ignore them, especially in an age when we are not surrounded by people of faith who can help us confirm them spiritually. If you do feel a nudging from the Spirit toward some ministry or expression of your gifts, start to explore that; ask others what they think; take one step and then another and see where you end up. As they say, it's easier to steer a car when it's moving.
When we don’t really believe that God will do what God has promised, God cannot work through us. It’s tricky like that. Acting in faith in such a way that our lives and priorities actually begin to be transformed is a matter of believing that what the Lord has spoken, the Lord will bring into being.
And sometimes we become the means through which God brings his promises to fulfillment. Blessed are we.
12-13-21 - Haste
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
In Sunday Gospel Land, we’re going backward. Having spent two weeks with John the Baptist (when Jesus was already a grown man), we zip back to both men’s pre-natal life. (My own churches have had the readings out of lectionary sequence, but more chronologically.) Back we go to Galilee, or rather to Judea, where young Mary has gone “with haste” to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Having received the rather alarming news of her impending pregnancy by the power of the Holy Spirit, Mary is told by that frightening angel that Elizabeth, “who is in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”
One piece of news or the other sent Mary quickly away from her native Nazareth:
In Sunday Gospel Land, we’re going backward. Having spent two weeks with John the Baptist (when Jesus was already a grown man), we zip back to both men’s pre-natal life. (My own churches have had the readings out of lectionary sequence, but more chronologically.) Back we go to Galilee, or rather to Judea, where young Mary has gone “with haste” to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Having received the rather alarming news of her impending pregnancy by the power of the Holy Spirit, Mary is told by that frightening angel that Elizabeth, “who is in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”
One piece of news or the other sent Mary quickly away from her native Nazareth:
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth.
What induced her haste? Was she anxious to verify the angel’s claims, to be reassured that she was not crazy, had not hallucinated the whole stupefying encounter? Was she eager to get away from prying eyes and nagging tongues, and gossip that could have exposed her to more than disgrace – were she found to have committed adultery while betrothed, she could have faced a penalty of death. Luke doesn’t tell us why she went “with haste,” but the phrase stands out in this season when we are invited to embrace waiting and watching. Mary didn’t wait – she just went. Perhaps guided by the Holy Spirit, perhaps by her own raging emotions, she high-tailed to the hill country.
There is a place and time for waiting in the life of faith. "Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength,” we read in Isaiah 40. “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage,” says Psalm 27. Certainly there is a lot of waiting during a pregnancy. Yet there is also a time and a place for action, for moving quickly to right a wrong, or to stand with someone under attack, or to discern what exactly God is doing when you feel the Spirit’s nudge.
Discernment is a tricky business. Often we need to wait for things to unfold in God’s time. But when we do get a word or prompt, even a hint of where God is inviting us to serve, we can seek confirmation right away.
What stirrings of the Spirit are animating you these days?
What activity of God are you drawn to participate in?
What injustice do you wish you could set right?
What person or people do you feel called to encourage and support?
What induced her haste? Was she anxious to verify the angel’s claims, to be reassured that she was not crazy, had not hallucinated the whole stupefying encounter? Was she eager to get away from prying eyes and nagging tongues, and gossip that could have exposed her to more than disgrace – were she found to have committed adultery while betrothed, she could have faced a penalty of death. Luke doesn’t tell us why she went “with haste,” but the phrase stands out in this season when we are invited to embrace waiting and watching. Mary didn’t wait – she just went. Perhaps guided by the Holy Spirit, perhaps by her own raging emotions, she high-tailed to the hill country.
There is a place and time for waiting in the life of faith. "Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength,” we read in Isaiah 40. “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage,” says Psalm 27. Certainly there is a lot of waiting during a pregnancy. Yet there is also a time and a place for action, for moving quickly to right a wrong, or to stand with someone under attack, or to discern what exactly God is doing when you feel the Spirit’s nudge.
Discernment is a tricky business. Often we need to wait for things to unfold in God’s time. But when we do get a word or prompt, even a hint of where God is inviting us to serve, we can seek confirmation right away.
What stirrings of the Spirit are animating you these days?
What activity of God are you drawn to participate in?
What injustice do you wish you could set right?
What person or people do you feel called to encourage and support?
Do you feel called into a new job or vocation? To pick up a new friend or pastime?
Whatever may be stirring, ask God to make it clear. That prayer doesn’t always get answered quickly, but we should not tire of asking it. And we should be ready to move with haste when we have a chance to find out just what it is God is up to now. For nothing will be impossible with God.
Whatever may be stirring, ask God to make it clear. That prayer doesn’t always get answered quickly, but we should not tire of asking it. And we should be ready to move with haste when we have a chance to find out just what it is God is up to now. For nothing will be impossible with God.
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