You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
This Sunday’s gospel passage begins, "Now large crowds were travelling with him…" I wonder how large the crowds were when Jesus was done talking. Was he trying to cull out the faddists and thrill-seekers with his talk of “hating your mother and father,” and “carrying your cross?”
“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Talking about “carrying your cross” to subjects in a Roman colony might just cause many to turn away – the cross was a brutal and terrifying instrument of imperial execution. I can imagine a few people in that crowd paused, let themselves fall back to the margins, and slunk off home.
I might have been one of them. If we interpret “carry the cross” as “embrace your suffering,” as some have done, I won’t rush forward to sign up. But I don’t believe God desires suffering for his beloved, despite passages in the bible that suggest it can be part of God’s plan. I believe God shows up in the midst of suffering that comes our way from other sources; that God’s power and love can redeem and transform it into an opportunity for healing and growth.
How else might we interpret “carry your cross?” One way might be, "Take up your ministry, commit yourself to your part within the whole of God’s mission of restoration and reconciliation." The way each of us is called to participate in God’s mission is a product of our gifts, our passions and our circumstances – and the leading of the Holy Spirit. It is not something we undertake alone. We undertake it with the second half of that imperative, “and follow me.” As we become people of purpose following Christ, using our gifts, filled and guided by the Holy Spirit, we find ourselves more focused and peaceful.
The fullness of Jesus’ ministry involved suffering on the cross. Because he did, we don’t have to. We may be asked to sacrifice our resources, our prerogatives, our agendas; we might even encounter resistance and suffering, but not because suffering is redemptive – because passionate engagement in God’s mission transforms us and the world.
What do you see as one of your ministries as a Christ-follower? Where do your gifts, passions and circumstances intersect? List some of your gifts and passions, and think through your circumstances: where do you live, what do you do, who do you live with, who do you live around? That's important data.
Do you feel asked to sacrifice, “lay down” any of your privileges, preferences or resources to make space for others? To alleviate suffering for other people? Have a conversation with Jesus about the answers you come up with.
Finding our way into God’s mission is a lifetime vocation. At different times in our lives we’re called to live out our mission in different ways. Where will you “carry the cross” today?
© 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 ministry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ministry. Show all posts
8-29-25 - The "No Rewards" Card
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
“You’ll get your reward in heaven.” That’s a line I heard a lot growing up. But most of the marketing we encounter (and generate…) is geared toward letting us know the rewards we will get the moment we begin using the product. "Credit cards” are now often called “reward cards.”
I frequently encourage people to get involved in helping other people, often those who fall into the category Jesus names in this story, “the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind,” those who, due to circumstance of birth or disability, are not fully equipped to provide for themselves. I always stress the rewards – the satisfaction of using your gifts to make a difference, the expansion of personal experience, the chance to make new friends, the opportunity to participate in God’s mission of restoration and wholeness.
Jesus had no such gambits. He just said, “You’re not going to be rewarded in this life. You’ll see your pay-off way down the line. Do it anyway.” "But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
I have a little quibble with this, because there is something disempowering about only receiving “services,” not having a chance to give back. But Jesus is not talking about works of charity. He is challenging us to forge relationships with people who have nothing to offer us in this world. And notice he doesn’t say anything about dropping off sandwiches – he’s talking about banquets to which we invite those who have nothing to offer us back.
Or do they have more to offer than we realize? Something changes when we stop seeing those who frighten or annoy us as “those people,” or view those who are in need or debilitated as “victims” or “needy,” and rather as people with assets and talents and gifts to offer. It becomes a lot easier to think about having “them” in “our” space. We enlarge our space to accommodate them. Our reading from Hebrews on Sunday reminds us, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”
I once welcomed a big, multiply tatted, leather-clad, "motorcycle mama," somewhat scary looking woman to church. I wasn't sure what I was doing.... but it turned out she'd been a cook in restaurants. She ended up helping me prepare a parish dinner, teaching me to chop onions the way chefs do. She joined that church, and a few years later went to seminary. Angels.
The realm of God is one of radical social equality (maybe that’s why so many decline to dwell there). “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, woman nor man, slave nor free,” Paul wrote into the future. Our superficial differences melt away as we become part of the family of God. And you do meet the most amazing people hanging out with this family.
This “no rewards” card has a surprising number of rewards to offer, right here and now.
© 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’ll get your reward in heaven.” That’s a line I heard a lot growing up. But most of the marketing we encounter (and generate…) is geared toward letting us know the rewards we will get the moment we begin using the product. "Credit cards” are now often called “reward cards.”
I frequently encourage people to get involved in helping other people, often those who fall into the category Jesus names in this story, “the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind,” those who, due to circumstance of birth or disability, are not fully equipped to provide for themselves. I always stress the rewards – the satisfaction of using your gifts to make a difference, the expansion of personal experience, the chance to make new friends, the opportunity to participate in God’s mission of restoration and wholeness.
Jesus had no such gambits. He just said, “You’re not going to be rewarded in this life. You’ll see your pay-off way down the line. Do it anyway.” "But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
I have a little quibble with this, because there is something disempowering about only receiving “services,” not having a chance to give back. But Jesus is not talking about works of charity. He is challenging us to forge relationships with people who have nothing to offer us in this world. And notice he doesn’t say anything about dropping off sandwiches – he’s talking about banquets to which we invite those who have nothing to offer us back.
Or do they have more to offer than we realize? Something changes when we stop seeing those who frighten or annoy us as “those people,” or view those who are in need or debilitated as “victims” or “needy,” and rather as people with assets and talents and gifts to offer. It becomes a lot easier to think about having “them” in “our” space. We enlarge our space to accommodate them. Our reading from Hebrews on Sunday reminds us, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”
I once welcomed a big, multiply tatted, leather-clad, "motorcycle mama," somewhat scary looking woman to church. I wasn't sure what I was doing.... but it turned out she'd been a cook in restaurants. She ended up helping me prepare a parish dinner, teaching me to chop onions the way chefs do. She joined that church, and a few years later went to seminary. Angels.
The realm of God is one of radical social equality (maybe that’s why so many decline to dwell there). “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, woman nor man, slave nor free,” Paul wrote into the future. Our superficial differences melt away as we become part of the family of God. And you do meet the most amazing people hanging out with this family.
This “no rewards” card has a surprising number of rewards to offer, right here and now.
© 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.
7-10-25 - The Extra Mile
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
"Who is my neighbor?" That’s the question that launches Jesus’ story about a man beaten, robbed and nearly killed on the Jerusalem-Jericho road, and the person who helped him. The lawyer asking the question wondered what neighbors he was supposed to help. In his answer, Jesus delivered a twist: it’s not so much who you are to be neighbor to, as what kind of neighbor you are. “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The neighbor is the one who sees, stops, investigates, helps, and ensures restoration.
I believe the mission of God is to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation to wholeness in Christ. This is what we see the Samaritan man do in Jesus’ story: But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.”
Being a neighbor goes beyond taking in the mail or watering the plants, beyond visiting the sick or texting a donation in times of natural disasters, beyond meeting needs to effecting transformation. Being a neighbor means being there for the long haul, arranging for restoration of health, status and dignity. The Samaritan, most likely a merchant traveling to Jericho to market his goods, used his own oil and wine to heal the wounds (oil can be a symbol of the Holy Spirit; wine the healing blood of Jesus…). He gave up his ride to the wounded man and walked next to his donkey, his slower pace now putting him at greater risk of bandits. He brought the man to a place of hospitality for rest and recovery, paid for his care and arranged for the future. In so doing, he expanded the circle of healing and assured recompense for his collaborators.
When have you experienced someone giving you that gift of unstinting love and care, going deep and long? When have you been moved to do that for someone else, maybe someone going through a loss or chemotherapy or a protracted life crisis? One of my previous parishioners began to visit a homeless man in a downtown park several times a week, developing a relationship, listening to his stories, providing when he allowed her to. She was being a neighbor the way Jesus meant it.
I don’t think God wants us to go the extra mile with gritted teeth – God wants us to feel moved to offer it freely when we do. None of us can give like that to everyone – yet if more of us approached the world as this Samaritan man did, maybe everyone would be helped and everyone would be helping.
I wish we could hear this story in the words of this man who was victimized and then restored through the love of a perfect stranger. I wonder who he went on to help into wholeness? I pray that you and I will encounter many – and be – perfect strangers of healing love.
© 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.
"Who is my neighbor?" That’s the question that launches Jesus’ story about a man beaten, robbed and nearly killed on the Jerusalem-Jericho road, and the person who helped him. The lawyer asking the question wondered what neighbors he was supposed to help. In his answer, Jesus delivered a twist: it’s not so much who you are to be neighbor to, as what kind of neighbor you are. “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The neighbor is the one who sees, stops, investigates, helps, and ensures restoration.
I believe the mission of God is to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation to wholeness in Christ. This is what we see the Samaritan man do in Jesus’ story: But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.”
Being a neighbor goes beyond taking in the mail or watering the plants, beyond visiting the sick or texting a donation in times of natural disasters, beyond meeting needs to effecting transformation. Being a neighbor means being there for the long haul, arranging for restoration of health, status and dignity. The Samaritan, most likely a merchant traveling to Jericho to market his goods, used his own oil and wine to heal the wounds (oil can be a symbol of the Holy Spirit; wine the healing blood of Jesus…). He gave up his ride to the wounded man and walked next to his donkey, his slower pace now putting him at greater risk of bandits. He brought the man to a place of hospitality for rest and recovery, paid for his care and arranged for the future. In so doing, he expanded the circle of healing and assured recompense for his collaborators.
When have you experienced someone giving you that gift of unstinting love and care, going deep and long? When have you been moved to do that for someone else, maybe someone going through a loss or chemotherapy or a protracted life crisis? One of my previous parishioners began to visit a homeless man in a downtown park several times a week, developing a relationship, listening to his stories, providing when he allowed her to. She was being a neighbor the way Jesus meant it.
I don’t think God wants us to go the extra mile with gritted teeth – God wants us to feel moved to offer it freely when we do. None of us can give like that to everyone – yet if more of us approached the world as this Samaritan man did, maybe everyone would be helped and everyone would be helping.
I wish we could hear this story in the words of this man who was victimized and then restored through the love of a perfect stranger. I wonder who he went on to help into wholeness? I pray that you and I will encounter many – and be – perfect strangers of healing love.
© 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.
7-1-22 - Exulting
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
There is no joy quite like the joy we get when we're filled to the brim with the Holy Spirt as we engage in some ministry and the outcomes are strong and good. Anytime I’ve dared to go out in public with a sign reading, “Want a Prayer?” I’ve experienced that. We think living by faith, walking in radical trust is difficult. But so often when we actually do it, we are blitzed by such euphoria, it’s a wonder we don’t make more of a habit of it. That seems to have been the experience of the seventy disciples Jesus sent out:
The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”
The disciples exulted not only because they’d had human success – it was that they had felt the spiritual power Jesus had promised would be theirs. They had been able to exercise authority over demons and diseases, to navigate the welcome and unwelcome of different towns and households. And Jesus affirmed their sense. “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning” might have been his statement about a cosmic past event, or his recognition that his power was now working through his followers, and that spelled the end for the reign of evil and its master.
But he is also quick to say that such power and euphoria should not be the root of their joy – their inclusion in God’s realm for all eternity is where their sense of well-being should rest. When we are rooted in that identity, as God’s chosen, delighted-in daughters and sons, we are paradoxically better able to take those leaps of faith in ministry that bring about more euphoria. It’s a wonderful cycle.
We do not have to undertake risky ministries to be loved by God; that gift is already ours. But as we step out from that belovedness to walk in Jesus’ name into places we cannot yet know, relying on resources we cannot yet see, we receive more gifts that God wants to give us. We receive the Spirit in such measure, so much peace and love and joy and purpose, we can’t wait to do more.
And when we all live like that, evil is done for good.
There is no joy quite like the joy we get when we're filled to the brim with the Holy Spirt as we engage in some ministry and the outcomes are strong and good. Anytime I’ve dared to go out in public with a sign reading, “Want a Prayer?” I’ve experienced that. We think living by faith, walking in radical trust is difficult. But so often when we actually do it, we are blitzed by such euphoria, it’s a wonder we don’t make more of a habit of it. That seems to have been the experience of the seventy disciples Jesus sent out:
The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”
The disciples exulted not only because they’d had human success – it was that they had felt the spiritual power Jesus had promised would be theirs. They had been able to exercise authority over demons and diseases, to navigate the welcome and unwelcome of different towns and households. And Jesus affirmed their sense. “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning” might have been his statement about a cosmic past event, or his recognition that his power was now working through his followers, and that spelled the end for the reign of evil and its master.
But he is also quick to say that such power and euphoria should not be the root of their joy – their inclusion in God’s realm for all eternity is where their sense of well-being should rest. When we are rooted in that identity, as God’s chosen, delighted-in daughters and sons, we are paradoxically better able to take those leaps of faith in ministry that bring about more euphoria. It’s a wonderful cycle.
We do not have to undertake risky ministries to be loved by God; that gift is already ours. But as we step out from that belovedness to walk in Jesus’ name into places we cannot yet know, relying on resources we cannot yet see, we receive more gifts that God wants to give us. We receive the Spirit in such measure, so much peace and love and joy and purpose, we can’t wait to do more.
And when we all live like that, evil is done for good.
3-8-22 - The Day After Tomorrow
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
If the Pharisees’ warning to Jesus about escaping Herod’s clutches was meant to scare him, it didn’t work: He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.’”
We've been told that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem; the Pharisees seem to be trying to divert him. But he will be moved neither from his itinerary nor his agenda: the work of proclaiming and demonstrating the inbreaking Kingdom of God. His work of healing and deliverance is the work of the moment and the near future. And on the “third day” he must finish that work, showing the most complete revelation of God’s love to the world in what looks like complete defeat.
If they think he’s going to be swayed by threats of death, he makes it clear: the death he is to undergo – which, he says, could happen nowhere other than Jerusalem – is part of the work. I’m sure it made no sense to anyone listening to him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d said such things.
I’m intrigued by this repetition of “today, tomorrow and the third day,” “today, tomorrow and the next day.” It focuses our attention on time. For Christians the phrase “third day” always carries echoes of Easter Sunday. But here it may rather refer to living in the rhythm of God’s mission, which always has a future-bound momentum.
We are to be about the work of God today, the day in which we live, in which we trust for daily bread. We are to plan for tomorrow – we’re not just adrift in time. And the day after tomorrow – which we cannot really predict with any accuracy – we finish the work God has given us to do. But by that time, it’s today. The sense I get is of living in a wave which starts, builds and then dissipates, by which time the next one is already building.
This phrase suggests to me a constantly forward-rolling movement of present ministry, future planning and then release into God’s hands. Every ministry we undertake, small or large, must get “finished” and a new one entered, one which is already underway, because it comes from God and is completed in God.
This way of seeing our engagement in God's mission makes us less generators of work than surfers of God’s movement – and surfers know how to relax and ride the wave. The day after tomorrow maybe we'll see what God was doing through us today. Gnarly.
If the Pharisees’ warning to Jesus about escaping Herod’s clutches was meant to scare him, it didn’t work: He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.’”
We've been told that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem; the Pharisees seem to be trying to divert him. But he will be moved neither from his itinerary nor his agenda: the work of proclaiming and demonstrating the inbreaking Kingdom of God. His work of healing and deliverance is the work of the moment and the near future. And on the “third day” he must finish that work, showing the most complete revelation of God’s love to the world in what looks like complete defeat.
If they think he’s going to be swayed by threats of death, he makes it clear: the death he is to undergo – which, he says, could happen nowhere other than Jerusalem – is part of the work. I’m sure it made no sense to anyone listening to him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d said such things.
I’m intrigued by this repetition of “today, tomorrow and the third day,” “today, tomorrow and the next day.” It focuses our attention on time. For Christians the phrase “third day” always carries echoes of Easter Sunday. But here it may rather refer to living in the rhythm of God’s mission, which always has a future-bound momentum.
We are to be about the work of God today, the day in which we live, in which we trust for daily bread. We are to plan for tomorrow – we’re not just adrift in time. And the day after tomorrow – which we cannot really predict with any accuracy – we finish the work God has given us to do. But by that time, it’s today. The sense I get is of living in a wave which starts, builds and then dissipates, by which time the next one is already building.
This phrase suggests to me a constantly forward-rolling movement of present ministry, future planning and then release into God’s hands. Every ministry we undertake, small or large, must get “finished” and a new one entered, one which is already underway, because it comes from God and is completed in God.
This way of seeing our engagement in God's mission makes us less generators of work than surfers of God’s movement – and surfers know how to relax and ride the wave. The day after tomorrow maybe we'll see what God was doing through us today. Gnarly.
Scroll down for a link to register for an online Lenten retreat this Saturday.
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