You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Tradition. Innovation. Between these two poles runs a continuum underlying many controversies and conflicts in churches. And corporations. And non-profits. And healthcare and politics and the arts.
Where we find ourselves on that spectrum says much about how we approach life. No surprise that Jesus comes at this tension with a both/and: And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
Training for the kingdom of heaven means ongoing learning. The phrase suggests that understanding the ways of the kingdom, the ways of God-Life, requires training; it does not come naturally to us. This is why churches stress “faith formation” activities and spiritual practices in addition to urging regular attendance at worship. It is not possible to imbibe the values and ways of the Kingdom in one or two hours a week at worship.
It also appears that living the kingdom life, the “God-Life” the way Jesus revealed it, involves exercising generosity, like the master of a household sharing of his treasure. Yet what he is to share is interesting, “what is new and what is old.” A complete orientation toward innovation can be as toxic as leaning entirely on the tradition. Yes, “Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8), AND “Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5) In the truth of both these statements we find our life.
What are some of the “old” gifts that you carry and offer? Things from your tradition, from your own history and upbringing, things that will never go out of style? Who wants the old and lovely treasures you offer?
And what is in your store of new treasure? New insights, patterns, relationships, gifts, ministries, life? Are you as generous sharing the new as the old?
As Christ followers, we are called to live, even thrive in this tension between the old and the new. God is rarely in the last place we encountered him. The Spirit is always moving around the neighborhood, activating the servants of God who are open to participating in what God is up to. And what God is up to is bringing new life to tired things and people – even to tired churches.
Today I commend a prayer from the U.S. Episcopal Church's Book of Common Prayer (just to prove I am capable of bringing out of the storehouse something old… !). This is from the ordination service:
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favourably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were being cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
‘Have you understood all this?’ Jesus asked. They answered, ‘Yes.’
© Kate Heichler, 2026. 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 hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
8-28-23 - When the Future Looks Dark
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
If Jesus were around in our day, saying the things attributed to him in next Sunday's gospel, would someone have gotten him a prescription for Wellbutrin? Suggested he take a little time off, see somebody for that paranoid streak?
From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
Peter certainly thought ill of this dark turn. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, "God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you."
When things seem to be on a roll – which they did for Jesus’ disciples – it’s hard to envision it all going wrong. Jesus is drawing huge crowds, performing amazing miracles, and Peter has just correctly ID’d him as the long-awaited Messiah. This is no time to talk of suffering and death, is it?
The hindsight of faith tells us that Jesus was not being neurotically morose – he was telling truth to the people to whom he was closest in this world, truth he was going to have to tell them more than once and finally live through before they actually received it. But those listening to him that day didn’t know that – how could they tell a mood swing from a prediction? How can we, when our news alerts and social media feeds serve up fresh horrors by the hour?
I don’t think we can. We are called to live in hopeful balance, no matter what the circumstances. That means using the benefit of hindsight, which invites us to trust in the God who brings Life out of death, while we look forward to the gifts of God coming to us from our future. The dire events Jesus predicted came to pass – as did the blessed one about his resurrection. We have been set free because of all those events. Can that perspective help us with the feelings of foreboding that world events and our own lives can generate?
Are you anxious today about painful things that might be ahead? Can you invite God into conversation about them, seeking a holy perspective? Where do you see blessing?
Might you recall God’s faithfulness to you in your life thus far? Does that help?
When driving, I recognize the need to keep my eyes on the road ahead while frequently checking the rear view mirror. Somehow, that's the balance we are invited to live in faith.
If Jesus were around in our day, saying the things attributed to him in next Sunday's gospel, would someone have gotten him a prescription for Wellbutrin? Suggested he take a little time off, see somebody for that paranoid streak?
From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
Peter certainly thought ill of this dark turn. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, "God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you."
When things seem to be on a roll – which they did for Jesus’ disciples – it’s hard to envision it all going wrong. Jesus is drawing huge crowds, performing amazing miracles, and Peter has just correctly ID’d him as the long-awaited Messiah. This is no time to talk of suffering and death, is it?
The hindsight of faith tells us that Jesus was not being neurotically morose – he was telling truth to the people to whom he was closest in this world, truth he was going to have to tell them more than once and finally live through before they actually received it. But those listening to him that day didn’t know that – how could they tell a mood swing from a prediction? How can we, when our news alerts and social media feeds serve up fresh horrors by the hour?
I don’t think we can. We are called to live in hopeful balance, no matter what the circumstances. That means using the benefit of hindsight, which invites us to trust in the God who brings Life out of death, while we look forward to the gifts of God coming to us from our future. The dire events Jesus predicted came to pass – as did the blessed one about his resurrection. We have been set free because of all those events. Can that perspective help us with the feelings of foreboding that world events and our own lives can generate?
Are you anxious today about painful things that might be ahead? Can you invite God into conversation about them, seeking a holy perspective? Where do you see blessing?
Might you recall God’s faithfulness to you in your life thus far? Does that help?
When driving, I recognize the need to keep my eyes on the road ahead while frequently checking the rear view mirror. Somehow, that's the balance we are invited to live in faith.
4-18-23 - Dashed Hopes
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Every so often I have an “under a rock” moment; I get too busy to check the news or even social media, and am unaware of major events, celebrities, social moments and movements. The stranger whom the two disciples encounter on the road to Emmaus seems like that, shockingly ignorant of the big news in Jerusalem. Surely even those beyond Jesus’ circle had heard the weekend’s big story, the holy man condemned by the temple leaders, crucified by the Romans – and mysteriously missing from the tomb into which his body had been placed just 36 hours earlier. But here he is, asking,
"What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?’" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?’" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.”
Maybe something about this stranger invites them deeper, for they go beyond the facts to the feelings they are wrestling with: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” There it is. “We had hoped…” In addition to the trauma of the past week, they are face to face with their own lost hopes. It was hard enough to put their trust in someone of such simple origins, from Galilee; a rabbi, teacher. Oh yes, there were the miracles, but also the upside-down teachings… Were they just plain wrong?
Are we? Be honest – have you never felt disappointed by God? I don't think it’s possible to be a person of faith and not be disappointed by God. We are invited to put our trust, our weight on someone we cannot see, touch or feel, except in indirect and inward ways. Anyone who’s ever gone out on a limb in prayer and not seen it answered in any positive way, or faced a heartbreak in life, can have a beef with God. Our Scriptures are full of people who have a beef with God – and often express it in eloquent and poetic ways. That’s the key – to express it, have it out with God in prayer, the way we do in any relationship we hope will be lasting and life-giving.
Those men did not know they were confessing their disappointment to the Lord himself – but we do. Tell God the big life stuff, and the little, niggling things. If you feel like you’re at a wall in your faith, say so. The very act of expressing it creates space for the Holy Spirit’s healing, restoring love to work in us.
And, while we're at it, let’s give thanks for the times we have not been disappointed. It’s all part of the picture. The more complete the picture is, the stronger our faith can be.
Those men on the road had more to say, crazy stuff: “Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”
We don’t always know what God is up to when our hopes are dashed. Sometimes we find out later that God has moved heaven and earth on our behalf. Sometimes we discover that Jesus is right in front of us, even if we don’t see him.
Every so often I have an “under a rock” moment; I get too busy to check the news or even social media, and am unaware of major events, celebrities, social moments and movements. The stranger whom the two disciples encounter on the road to Emmaus seems like that, shockingly ignorant of the big news in Jerusalem. Surely even those beyond Jesus’ circle had heard the weekend’s big story, the holy man condemned by the temple leaders, crucified by the Romans – and mysteriously missing from the tomb into which his body had been placed just 36 hours earlier. But here he is, asking,
"What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?’" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?’" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.”
Maybe something about this stranger invites them deeper, for they go beyond the facts to the feelings they are wrestling with: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” There it is. “We had hoped…” In addition to the trauma of the past week, they are face to face with their own lost hopes. It was hard enough to put their trust in someone of such simple origins, from Galilee; a rabbi, teacher. Oh yes, there were the miracles, but also the upside-down teachings… Were they just plain wrong?
Are we? Be honest – have you never felt disappointed by God? I don't think it’s possible to be a person of faith and not be disappointed by God. We are invited to put our trust, our weight on someone we cannot see, touch or feel, except in indirect and inward ways. Anyone who’s ever gone out on a limb in prayer and not seen it answered in any positive way, or faced a heartbreak in life, can have a beef with God. Our Scriptures are full of people who have a beef with God – and often express it in eloquent and poetic ways. That’s the key – to express it, have it out with God in prayer, the way we do in any relationship we hope will be lasting and life-giving.
Those men did not know they were confessing their disappointment to the Lord himself – but we do. Tell God the big life stuff, and the little, niggling things. If you feel like you’re at a wall in your faith, say so. The very act of expressing it creates space for the Holy Spirit’s healing, restoring love to work in us.
And, while we're at it, let’s give thanks for the times we have not been disappointed. It’s all part of the picture. The more complete the picture is, the stronger our faith can be.
Those men on the road had more to say, crazy stuff: “Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”
We don’t always know what God is up to when our hopes are dashed. Sometimes we find out later that God has moved heaven and earth on our behalf. Sometimes we discover that Jesus is right in front of us, even if we don’t see him.
12-23-21 - Made Children of God
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
People often say that Christmas is for children. It may be more accurate to say that it is a holiday best enjoyed by those whose capacity for wonder and enchantment is untarnished, who still believe in what cannot be seen, who love the anticipation of wrapped gifts and visiting family.
I confess my capacity for wonder is a little tarnished these days. A spate of funerals on top of Advent and Christmas planning has kept me busy the past eight weeks - and that was before Omicron started its spread. I only put my crèche up yesterday and haven’t had time to shop for gifts. No lights or ornaments yet bedeck my halls, which pretty well describes my engagement in the whole Yuletide thing this year. So what good news it is to hear that I have received power to become a child again!
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
Not everyone accepts the Light of the World; some have grown too accustomed to the familiarity of shadows. Not everyone wants light shined in dark places. And by our own strength, we cannot always turn ourselves toward the Light. The way John puts it is that Jesus gives us power to become children of God. We become God’s children not by virtue of lineage or procreation or our own will, but by the power of God which comes from outside us and takes root inside us.
How do we claim – or reclaim – our identity as children of God? How might that reawaken our sense of wonder and delight? Remember, children do not generally feel responsible for everything the way adults tend to. Can we remind each other that we’re not actually in charge of making Christmas, or the world, right for everyone?
And children don’t generally let life’s disappointments diminish their ability to expect good things. Remember when there was one gift you were so hoping would be there under the tree? What would that be for you now? Let yourself hope.
Maybe I need to sit under my undecorated Christmas tree for a little while and remember the gift I am, the gifts I have been given, the Gift of Love whose birth we are about to celebrate. Maybe that will help me rediscover the joy of being claimed as beloved by that Love, and let my inner child of God come out to play.
People often say that Christmas is for children. It may be more accurate to say that it is a holiday best enjoyed by those whose capacity for wonder and enchantment is untarnished, who still believe in what cannot be seen, who love the anticipation of wrapped gifts and visiting family.
I confess my capacity for wonder is a little tarnished these days. A spate of funerals on top of Advent and Christmas planning has kept me busy the past eight weeks - and that was before Omicron started its spread. I only put my crèche up yesterday and haven’t had time to shop for gifts. No lights or ornaments yet bedeck my halls, which pretty well describes my engagement in the whole Yuletide thing this year. So what good news it is to hear that I have received power to become a child again!
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
Not everyone accepts the Light of the World; some have grown too accustomed to the familiarity of shadows. Not everyone wants light shined in dark places. And by our own strength, we cannot always turn ourselves toward the Light. The way John puts it is that Jesus gives us power to become children of God. We become God’s children not by virtue of lineage or procreation or our own will, but by the power of God which comes from outside us and takes root inside us.
How do we claim – or reclaim – our identity as children of God? How might that reawaken our sense of wonder and delight? Remember, children do not generally feel responsible for everything the way adults tend to. Can we remind each other that we’re not actually in charge of making Christmas, or the world, right for everyone?
And children don’t generally let life’s disappointments diminish their ability to expect good things. Remember when there was one gift you were so hoping would be there under the tree? What would that be for you now? Let yourself hope.
Maybe I need to sit under my undecorated Christmas tree for a little while and remember the gift I am, the gifts I have been given, the Gift of Love whose birth we are about to celebrate. Maybe that will help me rediscover the joy of being claimed as beloved by that Love, and let my inner child of God come out to play.
12-22-21 - Witness To the Light
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Many people are busy bearing witness to darkness lately, often in destructive ways, seeming to delight in pointing out just how awful this situation or that person is. And there are many who bear witness to pain and injustice and oppression – which is important to remedying such conditions. Often that is part of our calling as followers of Christ. But not without the even more important calling: to bear witness to the light. That was the vocation of John the Baptist, a holy man who came to bear witness to the coming light:
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
The world badly needs more of us to testify to the light – the light that came into the world in the embodied Christ, and is ever coming in through his Body now, the church.
Where do you find yourself called to testify to the light, to proclaim in the face of poverty or evil, illness or lies the triumph of God’s light – even if things still look pretty dark? If we want to be effective at offering that counter-testimony to so much of what passes for truth in our world, we have to be aware of where we experience the light of Christ, what darkness we have seen enlightened by the presence and love of God.
Today the light will last a little longer than yesterday now that we’re past the winter solstice; tomorrow, a little longer still. As Christ followers we are always living on this side of the longest night, as we participate in bringing more light each day than the last. In the midst of preparations for Christmas Eve, take a little time to reflect on where the light of Christ is most visible to you. And then find someone and bear witness to that hope.
Many people are busy bearing witness to darkness lately, often in destructive ways, seeming to delight in pointing out just how awful this situation or that person is. And there are many who bear witness to pain and injustice and oppression – which is important to remedying such conditions. Often that is part of our calling as followers of Christ. But not without the even more important calling: to bear witness to the light. That was the vocation of John the Baptist, a holy man who came to bear witness to the coming light:
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
The world badly needs more of us to testify to the light – the light that came into the world in the embodied Christ, and is ever coming in through his Body now, the church.
Where do you find yourself called to testify to the light, to proclaim in the face of poverty or evil, illness or lies the triumph of God’s light – even if things still look pretty dark? If we want to be effective at offering that counter-testimony to so much of what passes for truth in our world, we have to be aware of where we experience the light of Christ, what darkness we have seen enlightened by the presence and love of God.
Today the light will last a little longer than yesterday now that we’re past the winter solstice; tomorrow, a little longer still. As Christ followers we are always living on this side of the longest night, as we participate in bringing more light each day than the last. In the midst of preparations for Christmas Eve, take a little time to reflect on where the light of Christ is most visible to you. And then find someone and bear witness to that hope.
11-12-21 - Releasing What Is Most Precious
You can listen to this reflection here.
Earlier this week we reflected on birthing and hope. These themes are prominent in a story from the Hebrew Bible appointed for Sunday, the beautiful story of Hannah and her longing for a baby. In this multi-layered account we find acute observations of marital dynamics, rivalry between women, and the often failed communication between loving partners. But chiefly we see a women desperate for the one thing that would validate her in that time and culture – bearing a child into the world.
Hannah is the favorite wife of Elkanah, but she is infertile – the way the writer of her story understands that is, “the Lord had closed her womb.” Elkanah’s other wife is very fecund – and mean.
On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”
There is something touching, if appallingly out of touch, about Elkanah’s belief that his love should alleviate Hannah’s heartbreak at her childlessness. And there is much that is familiar in the bitter interactions between Hannah and Penninah. What stands out for me is the picture of a family locked into bitter patterns “year by year,” and a woman sliding deeper and deeper into depression.
And then she decides to take action. Her action is prayer. Her action is offering to return to God the gift she craves if only God will grant it in the first place.
She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: “O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death.
Though I don’t encourage bargaining with God, and wonder if Hannah wanted a child more to remove her shame than for love, I see in her prayer the basis for our life as stewards of God’s gifts: they are not ours to keep. Everything we have is on loan to us, to use, to enjoy, to nurture for growth, but not to keep as our own. That includes our children and spouses as well as our material goods and resources.
Hannah was willing to offer the male child she would bear to be raised in God’s temple, setting him apart for an ascetic life of service – he becomes the great prophet Samuel. God did not ask that sacrifice of Hannah, and he does not ask it of us. Yet God does want us to be willing to release our gifts into her service, be they people or resources. As you reflect on what is most precious to you today, where and how might you release that gift to bless the community around you?
Earlier this week we reflected on birthing and hope. These themes are prominent in a story from the Hebrew Bible appointed for Sunday, the beautiful story of Hannah and her longing for a baby. In this multi-layered account we find acute observations of marital dynamics, rivalry between women, and the often failed communication between loving partners. But chiefly we see a women desperate for the one thing that would validate her in that time and culture – bearing a child into the world.
Hannah is the favorite wife of Elkanah, but she is infertile – the way the writer of her story understands that is, “the Lord had closed her womb.” Elkanah’s other wife is very fecund – and mean.
On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”
There is something touching, if appallingly out of touch, about Elkanah’s belief that his love should alleviate Hannah’s heartbreak at her childlessness. And there is much that is familiar in the bitter interactions between Hannah and Penninah. What stands out for me is the picture of a family locked into bitter patterns “year by year,” and a woman sliding deeper and deeper into depression.
And then she decides to take action. Her action is prayer. Her action is offering to return to God the gift she craves if only God will grant it in the first place.
She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: “O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death.
Though I don’t encourage bargaining with God, and wonder if Hannah wanted a child more to remove her shame than for love, I see in her prayer the basis for our life as stewards of God’s gifts: they are not ours to keep. Everything we have is on loan to us, to use, to enjoy, to nurture for growth, but not to keep as our own. That includes our children and spouses as well as our material goods and resources.
Hannah was willing to offer the male child she would bear to be raised in God’s temple, setting him apart for an ascetic life of service – he becomes the great prophet Samuel. God did not ask that sacrifice of Hannah, and he does not ask it of us. Yet God does want us to be willing to release our gifts into her service, be they people or resources. As you reflect on what is most precious to you today, where and how might you release that gift to bless the community around you?
11-10-21 - Birthpangs
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Our origin story tells us that pain in childbirth is a consequence of human disobedience (Genesis 3:16). Whatever the reason, rare is the birth that occurs without pain or mess. It seems this is also true on a cosmic level, as Jesus describes the end of all familiar things:
“Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs."
We might look at the state of our world and see these signs – they are all there. But they are always there, in every age. Nation is ever rising against nation; the earth is ever heaving, and famines persist, preventable as they are, had we the will to evenly distribute the food produced globally. And unfortunately, people bearing the name of Christ and misrepresenting his power and message are also common.
So, why bother with these cryptic words of Jesus? They reveal how he interprets such suffering – that it is an inevitable element in the birth of the new age, the new age God is bringing into being, the new age of grace Jesus came to usher in, the new age we are to be revealing in our lives and words and actions. Paul wrote to the church in Rome:
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us…We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. Who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
As followers of Jesus, we are called to proclaim hope no matter what the circumstances; hope in the midst of fear and pain and cruelty and suffering; hope in the face of death and destruction of all we hold sacred. Thanks be to God, we don’t live at this precipice most of the time, but we need ever be honing our capacity for hope. That is what the spiritual practices of worship and prayer, study and justice lead us to, hope amid all that we cannot see.
One of the most astonishing claims of our gospels and creeds is that the Son of God himself came into this world through the birth pangs of a young Galilean woman, not in a sanitized hospital room but in the bacteria-filled muck of a stable. You don’t get messier than that. But with that birth, the world turned upside down, and as that baby grew into a man, he proclaimed and demonstrated what this upside down world of God-Life looked like. And he invites us into it.
Hope is where we dwell, midwives to the Realm of God that is being birthed, its head crowning, about to take its first breath and let loose a cry to awaken the dead.
Our origin story tells us that pain in childbirth is a consequence of human disobedience (Genesis 3:16). Whatever the reason, rare is the birth that occurs without pain or mess. It seems this is also true on a cosmic level, as Jesus describes the end of all familiar things:
“Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs."
We might look at the state of our world and see these signs – they are all there. But they are always there, in every age. Nation is ever rising against nation; the earth is ever heaving, and famines persist, preventable as they are, had we the will to evenly distribute the food produced globally. And unfortunately, people bearing the name of Christ and misrepresenting his power and message are also common.
So, why bother with these cryptic words of Jesus? They reveal how he interprets such suffering – that it is an inevitable element in the birth of the new age, the new age God is bringing into being, the new age of grace Jesus came to usher in, the new age we are to be revealing in our lives and words and actions. Paul wrote to the church in Rome:
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us…We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. Who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
As followers of Jesus, we are called to proclaim hope no matter what the circumstances; hope in the midst of fear and pain and cruelty and suffering; hope in the face of death and destruction of all we hold sacred. Thanks be to God, we don’t live at this precipice most of the time, but we need ever be honing our capacity for hope. That is what the spiritual practices of worship and prayer, study and justice lead us to, hope amid all that we cannot see.
One of the most astonishing claims of our gospels and creeds is that the Son of God himself came into this world through the birth pangs of a young Galilean woman, not in a sanitized hospital room but in the bacteria-filled muck of a stable. You don’t get messier than that. But with that birth, the world turned upside down, and as that baby grew into a man, he proclaimed and demonstrated what this upside down world of God-Life looked like. And he invites us into it.
Hope is where we dwell, midwives to the Realm of God that is being birthed, its head crowning, about to take its first breath and let loose a cry to awaken the dead.
8-13-20 - Even the Dogs
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Is there a greater example of humility in our scriptures than this unnamed woman, persistently asking Jesus to heal her daughter? In the face of his rejection, in the face of his insinuation that giving her the gifts of God’s kingdom would be like throwing food to dogs, she does not flinch, she does not protest, she does not argue. She simply comes back with a statement that shows she is not about to put her pride before getting what she needs from Jesus: But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
“Even the dogs get fed. If you’re going to compare me to dogs, fine – let me tell you about dogs. They eat too, maybe on crumbs and scraps, but they get fed. Surely your power is so great that even a crumb of it can heal my poor little girl?” Is there a greater example of faith in our scriptures than this? Clearly Jesus was impressed, for with this comment she finally got his attention. Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”
In her gentle refusal to be thwarted, this woman models faith for us. How often do we think Jesus isn’t paying attention to our prayers? How quickly do we turn away – and sometimes walk away – because we don’t sense a response? How frequently do we conclude that “God must not really care about me," when we don’t perceive an answer?
This mother held nothing back. She was willing to beg, to cross religious and ethnic lines, to compare herself to a dog cadging crumbs under a table, to get the help her daughter needed. And how did she know Jesus had the power to help? Without knowing him, she believed whole-heartedly in what was said of him – that he was the Holy One, the Messiah, the Son of David. She knew no one else could help. She gave it her all, not only her best shot, but every shot she had.
I don’t want us to respond to this story by thinking, “Oh, I didn’t beg enough, I didn’t pray hard enough.” We don’t always receive what we pray for; there is still mystery. I do want us to know that we can approach Jesus the way she did, no holds barred, and to keep arguing our case until we are satisfied we have been heard, or we have received the grace to release it into God. I want us to go back and forth with Jesus in prayer, not walk away empty-handed and disheartened. As Wayne Gretzky famously said, "You miss 100% of the shots you never take."
What do you want Jesus to do for you? Don’t dredge up all the things you’ve wanted before; what do you want now? Tell him – in as personal way as you can. Either imagine talking with him, or speak aloud in a private space, or write him – but listen to what he says. Talk back if you need to. Jesus never issued a “no talk-back” rule.
It is a delicate balance – to pray boldly, because we know God is generous and powerful beyond our imagining, and yet to pray humbly, without feeling entitled. Let’s try to match the Canaanite woman in both the passion of her asking and the depth of her willingness to humble herself before God. Maybe we should think of ourselves as many dogs we know – loved and pampered, and willing to feast under the table as well as at it.
Is there a greater example of humility in our scriptures than this unnamed woman, persistently asking Jesus to heal her daughter? In the face of his rejection, in the face of his insinuation that giving her the gifts of God’s kingdom would be like throwing food to dogs, she does not flinch, she does not protest, she does not argue. She simply comes back with a statement that shows she is not about to put her pride before getting what she needs from Jesus: But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
“Even the dogs get fed. If you’re going to compare me to dogs, fine – let me tell you about dogs. They eat too, maybe on crumbs and scraps, but they get fed. Surely your power is so great that even a crumb of it can heal my poor little girl?” Is there a greater example of faith in our scriptures than this? Clearly Jesus was impressed, for with this comment she finally got his attention. Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”
In her gentle refusal to be thwarted, this woman models faith for us. How often do we think Jesus isn’t paying attention to our prayers? How quickly do we turn away – and sometimes walk away – because we don’t sense a response? How frequently do we conclude that “God must not really care about me," when we don’t perceive an answer?
This mother held nothing back. She was willing to beg, to cross religious and ethnic lines, to compare herself to a dog cadging crumbs under a table, to get the help her daughter needed. And how did she know Jesus had the power to help? Without knowing him, she believed whole-heartedly in what was said of him – that he was the Holy One, the Messiah, the Son of David. She knew no one else could help. She gave it her all, not only her best shot, but every shot she had.
I don’t want us to respond to this story by thinking, “Oh, I didn’t beg enough, I didn’t pray hard enough.” We don’t always receive what we pray for; there is still mystery. I do want us to know that we can approach Jesus the way she did, no holds barred, and to keep arguing our case until we are satisfied we have been heard, or we have received the grace to release it into God. I want us to go back and forth with Jesus in prayer, not walk away empty-handed and disheartened. As Wayne Gretzky famously said, "You miss 100% of the shots you never take."
What do you want Jesus to do for you? Don’t dredge up all the things you’ve wanted before; what do you want now? Tell him – in as personal way as you can. Either imagine talking with him, or speak aloud in a private space, or write him – but listen to what he says. Talk back if you need to. Jesus never issued a “no talk-back” rule.
It is a delicate balance – to pray boldly, because we know God is generous and powerful beyond our imagining, and yet to pray humbly, without feeling entitled. Let’s try to match the Canaanite woman in both the passion of her asking and the depth of her willingness to humble herself before God. Maybe we should think of ourselves as many dogs we know – loved and pampered, and willing to feast under the table as well as at it.
12-17-13 - Best Laid Plans
Here in North America, it is winter – which means plans we make are always subject to change due to weather. This past Saturday, the Interfaith Council and my congregation had planned a large-scale service of hope and healing on the anniversary of the Newtown tragedy. The plans included many musicians, choirs, clergy, a senator or two, even satellite parking provisions. We’d worked on it for weeks. And then it snowed. Hard. With ice. We had to reschedule for the next night. We carried it off, with fewer participants and a smaller crowd (and still the mayor and a senator…). It was beautiful. But not quite what we had planned.
This trivial example pales in comparison to the change of plans Joseph and Mary experienced in our faith story. Their future was set – they were engaged, would soon be married; Joseph had a good living as a carpenter, Mary was young and healthy. The plan looked good.
Except God had a different plan – a way, way bigger plan. A plan that required an unbelievable amount of faith, to believe in something that could not possibly be proven in any empirical way. A plan that demanded an inconceivable amount of courage, to defend a “conceiving” that looked an awful lot like sin and betrayal. A plan that would bring some joy, yes, and also a great deal of heartache and uncertainty.
What plans of yours have been disrupted – by God, or by the choices of others, or by circumstances beyond your control? Have you grieved those lost plans? It’s worth naming them, if only to better let them go.
Looking back, sometimes we can see blessing in what happened instead of our plans, though not always. (Today's country song link is Garth Brooks’ Unanswered Prayers – not a profound song, but somewhat apt...)
How creative and resilient were you in adapting to the new circumstances? Have you adjusted yet?
Maybe you’re in the midst of a life-long “plan change.” I, for instance, thought I’d be married. I’m not…. Yet. Some of us thought we’d have careers that we don’t, or illness or other choices have resulted in a change of direction.
What is your prayer in response to your plan changes? Where do you sense the Holy Spirit’s involvement in your life? Can you glimpse a bigger plan in what has happened? Name it.
The big movie statement on this is It’s a Wonderful Life, as George Bailey discovers that his continually setting aside his life plans has made him not in failure, but a blessing to countless people, including himself. It is considered a holiday film because of its big Christmas climax – but it also echoes the challenges facing Mary and Joseph in our nativity story.
I surely hope they were blessed by the new trajectory of their lives as they embraced God’s plan.I believe with all my heart that the world has been blessed by them. I have.
This trivial example pales in comparison to the change of plans Joseph and Mary experienced in our faith story. Their future was set – they were engaged, would soon be married; Joseph had a good living as a carpenter, Mary was young and healthy. The plan looked good.
Except God had a different plan – a way, way bigger plan. A plan that required an unbelievable amount of faith, to believe in something that could not possibly be proven in any empirical way. A plan that demanded an inconceivable amount of courage, to defend a “conceiving” that looked an awful lot like sin and betrayal. A plan that would bring some joy, yes, and also a great deal of heartache and uncertainty.
What plans of yours have been disrupted – by God, or by the choices of others, or by circumstances beyond your control? Have you grieved those lost plans? It’s worth naming them, if only to better let them go.
Looking back, sometimes we can see blessing in what happened instead of our plans, though not always. (Today's country song link is Garth Brooks’ Unanswered Prayers – not a profound song, but somewhat apt...)
How creative and resilient were you in adapting to the new circumstances? Have you adjusted yet?
Maybe you’re in the midst of a life-long “plan change.” I, for instance, thought I’d be married. I’m not…. Yet. Some of us thought we’d have careers that we don’t, or illness or other choices have resulted in a change of direction.
What is your prayer in response to your plan changes? Where do you sense the Holy Spirit’s involvement in your life? Can you glimpse a bigger plan in what has happened? Name it.
The big movie statement on this is It’s a Wonderful Life, as George Bailey discovers that his continually setting aside his life plans has made him not in failure, but a blessing to countless people, including himself. It is considered a holiday film because of its big Christmas climax – but it also echoes the challenges facing Mary and Joseph in our nativity story.
I surely hope they were blessed by the new trajectory of their lives as they embraced God’s plan.I believe with all my heart that the world has been blessed by them. I have.
11-6-13 - Miracle Plant
Once upon a time a man encountered a miracle plant in a desert place. It was on fire, but not burned up. His attention secured, God spoke to him from the bush and called him to service. Moses, who once killed a man, and lived for himself, became one of God’s great prophets. And Jesus uses this story to support his argument about resurrection: “And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”
“And the fact that the dead are raised.” We spoke yesterday about the resurrection life running through us. So why do so many people appear so deadened? Why is it so hard to hope? Why do we give death so much power to set our agendas?
Last Sunday morning my radio came on at 5:05. I hit the snooze button, and drifted in and out of sleep. I woke again to Mountain Stage, a live folk music show, and a singer* doing a long intro about a time he paid for a gorgeous plant in Mexico and was handed a shriveled, dried up ball. Too embarrassed to protest, he and his wife slunk away, as he whispered, “We just paid $5 for a dead plant!” Somehow, in their car, a cup of ice melted and in some random way the plant ended up in that cup. Later that day, they came back to the car to discover a completely vital and beautiful plant. “Wow!” he said. “We just paid $5 for a miracle plant!”
That miraculous desert plant, they learned, is called a Resurrection Plant, for obvious reasons; also known as Rose of Jericho. It is a lycopod that grows in desert regions in the Southwest and Latin America, usually surrounded by cacti and such. It shouldn’t be able to survive such dry conditions, but the Resurrection Plant has an adaptive trick:
When the soil is moist after infrequent rains, a Resurrection Plant absorbs water and grows rapidly, producing a flat rosette of scaly stems up to one foot across. As the soil dries, it cannot store water like its succulent neighbors, so it folds up its stems into a tight ball as it desiccates and goes into a state of dormancy. The folded plant has a limited surface area, and what little internal moisture is present is conserved. All metabolic functions are reduced to a bare minimum and it appears to be dead. The plant can remain in this dormant condition for years. When the rains return, the plant's cells rehydrate. The stems unfold, metabolism increases, and growth resumes. Even dead Resurrection plants will unfold if given water, since rehydrated cells expand even if there is no living protoplasm in them.
What if that were the case for all the people and things we think are walking dead? People and situations we’ve given up on because we see no life in them? What if that were true for parts of ourselves, our dead or dormant hopes, joys, dreams, gifts? What about the places we’ve been hurt and have allowed to close into a tight ball instead of heal?
Today in prayer I invite you to think about people or situations you think resemble that plant.
Read through the description above slowly and see where you connect with it. Does it inspire you to pray for anyone, or for yourself? Does it encourage you to believe? I sure feel I was led to hear that story this week.
We can wait a long time for water - and it's already been given to us, living, restoring water – signified in our baptisms, in the power of the Holy Spirit coursing through us. We can let that water reach the dead-seeming places in us. And we can consciously bear that water to the people and places around us. These plants look really, really dead! But death does not have the last word on them. Nor on us. Nor do disappointment, degradation, depression.
I call this writing “Water Daily.” I know daily is way too frequent for some plants, maybe some people. The Resurrection Plant reminds us that it’s never too late to pour on the water and watch someone come back to life.
*Extensive google research on the plant name and Mountain Stage schedule finally yielded the name of the folk singer… I’m pretty sure it was Drew Kennedy, and the song is “Rose of Jericho.” Iron and Wine also has a song called, “Resurrection Fern” – that plant is just too good a metaphor to pass up!
“And the fact that the dead are raised.” We spoke yesterday about the resurrection life running through us. So why do so many people appear so deadened? Why is it so hard to hope? Why do we give death so much power to set our agendas?
Last Sunday morning my radio came on at 5:05. I hit the snooze button, and drifted in and out of sleep. I woke again to Mountain Stage, a live folk music show, and a singer* doing a long intro about a time he paid for a gorgeous plant in Mexico and was handed a shriveled, dried up ball. Too embarrassed to protest, he and his wife slunk away, as he whispered, “We just paid $5 for a dead plant!” Somehow, in their car, a cup of ice melted and in some random way the plant ended up in that cup. Later that day, they came back to the car to discover a completely vital and beautiful plant. “Wow!” he said. “We just paid $5 for a miracle plant!”
That miraculous desert plant, they learned, is called a Resurrection Plant, for obvious reasons; also known as Rose of Jericho. It is a lycopod that grows in desert regions in the Southwest and Latin America, usually surrounded by cacti and such. It shouldn’t be able to survive such dry conditions, but the Resurrection Plant has an adaptive trick:
When the soil is moist after infrequent rains, a Resurrection Plant absorbs water and grows rapidly, producing a flat rosette of scaly stems up to one foot across. As the soil dries, it cannot store water like its succulent neighbors, so it folds up its stems into a tight ball as it desiccates and goes into a state of dormancy. The folded plant has a limited surface area, and what little internal moisture is present is conserved. All metabolic functions are reduced to a bare minimum and it appears to be dead. The plant can remain in this dormant condition for years. When the rains return, the plant's cells rehydrate. The stems unfold, metabolism increases, and growth resumes. Even dead Resurrection plants will unfold if given water, since rehydrated cells expand even if there is no living protoplasm in them.
What if that were the case for all the people and things we think are walking dead? People and situations we’ve given up on because we see no life in them? What if that were true for parts of ourselves, our dead or dormant hopes, joys, dreams, gifts? What about the places we’ve been hurt and have allowed to close into a tight ball instead of heal?
Today in prayer I invite you to think about people or situations you think resemble that plant.
Read through the description above slowly and see where you connect with it. Does it inspire you to pray for anyone, or for yourself? Does it encourage you to believe? I sure feel I was led to hear that story this week.
We can wait a long time for water - and it's already been given to us, living, restoring water – signified in our baptisms, in the power of the Holy Spirit coursing through us. We can let that water reach the dead-seeming places in us. And we can consciously bear that water to the people and places around us. These plants look really, really dead! But death does not have the last word on them. Nor on us. Nor do disappointment, degradation, depression.
I call this writing “Water Daily.” I know daily is way too frequent for some plants, maybe some people. The Resurrection Plant reminds us that it’s never too late to pour on the water and watch someone come back to life.
*Extensive google research on the plant name and Mountain Stage schedule finally yielded the name of the folk singer… I’m pretty sure it was Drew Kennedy, and the song is “Rose of Jericho.” Iron and Wine also has a song called, “Resurrection Fern” – that plant is just too good a metaphor to pass up!
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