Nobody wants to miss a big event. Like when you’re in line for hot dogs at the stadium and you hear the crowd go wild at a homer with the bases loaded. That you didn’t see. Or you leave a party just before Brad and Angelina show up (happens to me all the time… not you?) Or you relinquish your front row place at a parade and then hear that the President’s motorcade is in sight.
Perhaps the biggest “miss” in human history was Thomas’, who ducked out for a smoke or some errand, and missed the risen Lord of heaven and earth suddenly showing up for supper with his bereaved and confused disciples! And despite the fact that they all told him the same story – “Jesus was here! He really was!,” Thomas refused to buy it.
“But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’” [Sunday's Gospel passage is here.]
Did he think they were prey to a shared hallucination born of wishful thinking? Were his credulity muscles worn out by the roller-coaster of the past few days? Or is it that Thomas was always a fast decider, and thus quickly evaluated the data available to him, and deemed it insufficient?
Is Thomas the patron saint of doubters? Or is he the patron saint of “trust but verify?” There was nothing wrong with Thomas’ faith, nor his courage. He was quick to follow Jesus into situations of danger if called for, including during the incident with Lazarus. But for some reason, despite having witnessed that miracle, he found it too far a stretch to believe that Jesus was risen from the dead on faith alone. He wanted to see, he wanted to touch.
He is not alone. How many people do you know who are drawn to the Jesus story, drawn to the life of the church, even inclined to believe – if only they could see some proof. Some people are wired that way, others formed that way by past experiences or disappointments. As this story continues, we see that Jesus was willing to indulge Thomas’ desire to see with his physical eyes – and he commends those who are able to believe on faith-sight alone.
Does Jesus indulge those who want proof in the same way? Not quite in the same way – after the Ascension, nobody got to see Jesus’ resurrection body or touch his wounds. But in many ways, I believe God does allow us to “see” the reality of God-Life around us. We might use the same criteria that Jesus did when John’s disciples asked if really was the Anointed One they’d been expecting. “Go and tell John what you see,” he replied, “The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.” (Luke 7:22).
We can see – and experience – amazing healing, transforming love, injustice addressed, chains of addiction and destructive patterns broken. In some Christian communities people even witness the (recently) dead raised. One message that Easter shouts to us is “Nothing is impossible with God!” The more we believe and live out that truth, the more evidence our senses and minds receive.
Christ is visible now through us, his body in the world. His wounds are visible in ours, and as our wounds become healed ones, as his were, healing can flow through them to others. Then everyone can see and touch and believe.
4-8-15 - Sent With Peace
When Jesus showed up in a locked room with his disciples on Easter evening, he gave them more than a good fright. He gave them his peace, and he gave them a mission. And then he gave them the only resource they would need on that mission, the Holy Spirit.
“When it was evening on that day... Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
That very peace of Christ has been passed along, person to person, generation to generation, all the way from that room on Easter night to us. It is the peace that “defies understanding,” that comes to us by prayer in the most unpeaceful circumstances. It is a peace that can help us move through the hardest of times, so that others remark on our serenity. It is that peace we share during The Peace in our Eucharistic services – at least, it is what we are meant to be sharing, when it doesn’t devolve into a chat-fest.
That peace of Christ comes with a mission. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” Jesus said. Jesus’ statement may be general, but the actual sending is always to a specific place and people. Where are we sent? Wherever we feel the Spirit of God beckoning, enlivening us, getting our attention. Wherever we sense the Spirit of Christ already at work. We don’t have to start things. We just have to come along and participate in what God is already doing. What freedom and joy that can be.
When we think of “mission” as something we are supposed to discern, prepare, and go out and “do,” it can feel daunting. I think that’s why many Christians think it’s a big hurdle and stay in their pews. We think we’re supposed to be on top of it, ready, equipped, holy, have all the answers.
Wrong! The only thing we need to be is willing to let the Holy Spirit work through us. The minute Jesus told his followers they were sent on on a mission like his, "...he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
It’s not a light thing to receive the Holy Spirit, but neither need it be heavy. It’s the gas that makes our cars run when we’re about the Mission of God to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation to wholeness.
Where do you feel sent? To whom? Do you have a nagging desire to address some need or injustice? Are you excited about certain kinds of ministry? That’s how you’ll know the who and the when and the what and the where of it.
And do you feel you are carrying the Peace of Christ? Have you claimed the gift of Holy Spirit passed along to you?
I’m kind of relieved that we adopted the ritual practice of sharing Christ’s peace with each other in worship rather than breathing upon one another; that could get a little gross. But we can be sure we have already received the Spirit with Christ's peace.
“When it was evening on that day... Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
That very peace of Christ has been passed along, person to person, generation to generation, all the way from that room on Easter night to us. It is the peace that “defies understanding,” that comes to us by prayer in the most unpeaceful circumstances. It is a peace that can help us move through the hardest of times, so that others remark on our serenity. It is that peace we share during The Peace in our Eucharistic services – at least, it is what we are meant to be sharing, when it doesn’t devolve into a chat-fest.
That peace of Christ comes with a mission. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” Jesus said. Jesus’ statement may be general, but the actual sending is always to a specific place and people. Where are we sent? Wherever we feel the Spirit of God beckoning, enlivening us, getting our attention. Wherever we sense the Spirit of Christ already at work. We don’t have to start things. We just have to come along and participate in what God is already doing. What freedom and joy that can be.
When we think of “mission” as something we are supposed to discern, prepare, and go out and “do,” it can feel daunting. I think that’s why many Christians think it’s a big hurdle and stay in their pews. We think we’re supposed to be on top of it, ready, equipped, holy, have all the answers.
Wrong! The only thing we need to be is willing to let the Holy Spirit work through us. The minute Jesus told his followers they were sent on on a mission like his, "...he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
It’s not a light thing to receive the Holy Spirit, but neither need it be heavy. It’s the gas that makes our cars run when we’re about the Mission of God to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation to wholeness.
Where do you feel sent? To whom? Do you have a nagging desire to address some need or injustice? Are you excited about certain kinds of ministry? That’s how you’ll know the who and the when and the what and the where of it.
And do you feel you are carrying the Peace of Christ? Have you claimed the gift of Holy Spirit passed along to you?
I’m kind of relieved that we adopted the ritual practice of sharing Christ’s peace with each other in worship rather than breathing upon one another; that could get a little gross. But we can be sure we have already received the Spirit with Christ's peace.
4-7-15 - April Fools
I wonder how often Easter has fallen on April Fools Day? It’s hard to think of a better April Fools twist than the Resurrection! And it kept happening to Jesus’ friends and followers, that Easter day, and in the weeks to come. And they fell for it every time. Jesus just kept showing up in places he would never be expected – often unrecognized.
On the second Sunday of Easter (Easter being so great a mystery, it takes us seven weeks to fully explore it each year…), we always eavesdrop on one of these unexpected appearances by Jesus. This time he shows up right in the very room (or so we think) where the disciples last broke bread with him the previous Thursday – what must have seemed a hundred years earlier. So much had happened since that Passover meal; Jesus’ arrest, his sham trials, mocking and torture, execution. They’d endured all the shock and sorrow and fear that they’d be next, as his followers.
And then another kind of shock in finding his tomb empty – with several indicators that this was not a case of body snatching, but that the very laws of death and life had been overturned. And then – reports. More reports. A sighting in the garden. A sighting in Galilee. What must they have been feeling?
And now he appears among them, just materializing, for he did not come through the locked doors or windows. “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side.”
He is suddenly just there among them, inviting them to the impossible: “Peace be with you.” Peace would be the last thing I can imagine anyone in that room feeling. But when Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” it is more than a suggestion – it is a declarative action, one that accomplishes what it proposes. They were at peace.
They must have been, for John tells us, “Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.”
I don't always feel joyful on Easter, or more joyful than I would any other day. Perhaps it’s because I’m often stressed and exhausted from Holy Week and the weeks of preparation before. Perhaps peace is a precondition for joy. This year, I found that taking the time for our short Holy Saturday retreat morning really did help me get to a place of peace, and I experienced much more Easter joy than usual. Funny how that works...
What kind of turmoil are you in the midst of? If none, give thanks!
If there is some, can you imagine Jesus showing up in the middle of it? In the middle of your life, uninvited and yet very much there? Can you hear him say to your spirit, “Peace be with you?”And receive it as a declarative action with power to accomplish what it purposes? That is what the Word of God always does.
What happens next?
On the second Sunday of Easter (Easter being so great a mystery, it takes us seven weeks to fully explore it each year…), we always eavesdrop on one of these unexpected appearances by Jesus. This time he shows up right in the very room (or so we think) where the disciples last broke bread with him the previous Thursday – what must have seemed a hundred years earlier. So much had happened since that Passover meal; Jesus’ arrest, his sham trials, mocking and torture, execution. They’d endured all the shock and sorrow and fear that they’d be next, as his followers.
And then another kind of shock in finding his tomb empty – with several indicators that this was not a case of body snatching, but that the very laws of death and life had been overturned. And then – reports. More reports. A sighting in the garden. A sighting in Galilee. What must they have been feeling?
And now he appears among them, just materializing, for he did not come through the locked doors or windows. “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side.”
He is suddenly just there among them, inviting them to the impossible: “Peace be with you.” Peace would be the last thing I can imagine anyone in that room feeling. But when Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” it is more than a suggestion – it is a declarative action, one that accomplishes what it proposes. They were at peace.
They must have been, for John tells us, “Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.”
I don't always feel joyful on Easter, or more joyful than I would any other day. Perhaps it’s because I’m often stressed and exhausted from Holy Week and the weeks of preparation before. Perhaps peace is a precondition for joy. This year, I found that taking the time for our short Holy Saturday retreat morning really did help me get to a place of peace, and I experienced much more Easter joy than usual. Funny how that works...
What kind of turmoil are you in the midst of? If none, give thanks!
If there is some, can you imagine Jesus showing up in the middle of it? In the middle of your life, uninvited and yet very much there? Can you hear him say to your spirit, “Peace be with you?”And receive it as a declarative action with power to accomplish what it purposes? That is what the Word of God always does.
What happens next?
4-6-15 - He is Risen! Me? Not so much...
He is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Man, am I exhausted after the many services and activities of Holy Week and Easter!
"How tired are you, Kate?"
"I am so tired, I forgot to post a Water Daily saying I was too tired to post a Water Daily."
But here it is:
A man was very, very dead, and very, very buried.
And then he showed up, resurrected, very much alive, though not in quite the same way as he had been alive before he died.
What more need we say?
If you want to ponder, imagine what Jesus' followers woke up feeling that Monday morning. Joy? Terror?
All of the above? (here is the Easter Gospel...)
Back tomorrow with news from the Upper Room.
He is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Here's a news story on our Great Vigil of Easter at Christ the Healer...
Man, am I exhausted after the many services and activities of Holy Week and Easter!
"How tired are you, Kate?"
"I am so tired, I forgot to post a Water Daily saying I was too tired to post a Water Daily."
But here it is:
A man was very, very dead, and very, very buried.
And then he showed up, resurrected, very much alive, though not in quite the same way as he had been alive before he died.
What more need we say?
If you want to ponder, imagine what Jesus' followers woke up feeling that Monday morning. Joy? Terror?
All of the above? (here is the Easter Gospel...)
Back tomorrow with news from the Upper Room.
He is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Here's a news story on our Great Vigil of Easter at Christ the Healer...
4-3-15 - Mary of Nazareth
Today we hear about Jesus' crucifixion from the perspective of a more central character, who found herself on the edges. We too are on the fringes of this story – and are invited to come into its heart this week.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, the two Marys. They keep trying to get me away from here, from watching him… But I don’t want to go. I don’t know why. There’s some need in me to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or at least, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not just yet. It’s not like I ever forgot that there would be an end like this. I always knew that this gift had strings attached – from the beginning, what that old man in the temple said, “And a sword will pierce your heart also.” And the whole way Jesus… just suddenly… was there, in my womb… And his birth, those rough shepherds running to find us, telling us about choirs of angels on the hills… I always knew this was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep.
But this… this was not a day I ever thought of, to see my own first son, the flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned…. In agony. And yet I don’t want to leave.
And little while ago he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me. He wanted his mother, and there was nothing I could do for him! But they took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I could have touched him – I could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that once could fit into my hand, whose toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel…
But there they were, and a spike… I could have touched him, but I was afraid. Of what? The soldiers? What on earth could they do to me now? But still, I didn’t touch.
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. Such pain, to be given away, even for my own care… like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me, when we tried to visit him. 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.
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 in my room, 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 waiting till they take him down. They have promised to take care of the body, these women, his friends, my friends, these Marys. 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 are you being called to let go of today?
What are you being invited to entrust to God?
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, the two Marys. They keep trying to get me away from here, from watching him… But I don’t want to go. I don’t know why. There’s some need in me to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or at least, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him. His voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not just yet. It’s not like I ever forgot that there would be an end like this. I always knew that this gift had strings attached – from the beginning, what that old man in the temple said, “And a sword will pierce your heart also.” And the whole way Jesus… just suddenly… was there, in my womb… And his birth, those rough shepherds running to find us, telling us about choirs of angels on the hills… I always knew this was no ordinary child; I always knew he was never mine to keep.
But this… this was not a day I ever thought of, to see my own first son, the flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned…. In agony. And yet I don’t want to leave.
And little while ago he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me. He wanted his mother, and there was nothing I could do for him! But they took me by the arm, Joanna and Mary, they led me closer. I could have touched him – I could have reached out and touched his feet, those feet that once could fit into my hand, whose toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel…
But there they were, and a spike… I could have touched him, but I was afraid. Of what? The soldiers? What on earth could they do to me now? But still, I didn’t touch.
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. Such pain, to be given away, even for my own care… like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me, when we tried to visit him. 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.
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 in my room, 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 waiting till they take him down. They have promised to take care of the body, these women, his friends, my friends, these Marys. 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 are you being called to let go of today?
What are you being invited to entrust to God?
4-2-15 - Andrew of Capernaum
This Holy Week, Water Daily looks at the readings appointed for each day and reflect from the perspective of someone on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer. Today's passage is here.
Andrew of Capernaum: My brother! Jesus sure nailed it with the nickname he gave him, Petros. The rock. Never met anyone so hard-headed. And lovable, ornery, faithful, cowardly – all rolled into one ball of leap-before-you-look, speak-before-you-think energy. He’s been like that since we were kids – got me into trouble more times than I care to remember, and usually all I was doing was watching.
So tonight, when Jesus got up from the table, tied a towel around himself and began to wash our feet, and we’re all looking at each other, mortified – it’s Peter who put into words what a lot of us were probably thinking. “Lord, you’re gonna wash my feet? Think again!” Jesus just looked at him with that mixture of irritation and love he so often had for Peter, and said, “If you don’t let me wash you, you have no part with me.” But Peter doesn’t let it rest – he has to argue. Argue with our Master! On this night, above all nights. “Okay, wash all of me, then! Why stop with my feet?”
Jesus had an answer for him, of course. He always did. It was part of the game – Peter pushing as hard as he could, Jesus coming right back at him. Oh, how they loved each other. Love each other.
It was hard for Peter to submit to being cared for. Hard for all of us, I guess. When Jesus got to me, I didn’t want him to touch my feet. They’re not pretty. And they were filthy, as feet are in our time and place. But he focused on that task like it was the only thing in the world he had to do. He got them clean, he rinsed and dried them, and I just had to sit there and receive that gift. I think that was the hardest of all the things Jesus has asked us to do in the three years since I met him along the banks of the Jordan.
Just sit and receive his gift. Helpless.
Little did I know that that’s all I would be doing for the next 24 hours – watching him give his life away for me, helpless to help him, nothing left for me but to receive his gift. And if I have trouble being this still and helpless, what on earth must my poor brother be going through?
How are you at receiving the gifts God wants to give to you? How are you at receiving care from others? It’s harder for most people to submit to having someone else wash their feet than it is to wash another’s (unless we’re paying for a pedicure…). Yet arguably our most important spiritual task is learning to receive the love and grace and power of God so we can share it freely with others.
Tonight, I hope you’re going to church (our service is at 6, if you’re around…).
I hope you’ll have a chance to receive the ministry of footwashing, and to offer it. In that order.
Don’t miss this opportunity to grow in grace.
Andrew of Capernaum: My brother! Jesus sure nailed it with the nickname he gave him, Petros. The rock. Never met anyone so hard-headed. And lovable, ornery, faithful, cowardly – all rolled into one ball of leap-before-you-look, speak-before-you-think energy. He’s been like that since we were kids – got me into trouble more times than I care to remember, and usually all I was doing was watching.
So tonight, when Jesus got up from the table, tied a towel around himself and began to wash our feet, and we’re all looking at each other, mortified – it’s Peter who put into words what a lot of us were probably thinking. “Lord, you’re gonna wash my feet? Think again!” Jesus just looked at him with that mixture of irritation and love he so often had for Peter, and said, “If you don’t let me wash you, you have no part with me.” But Peter doesn’t let it rest – he has to argue. Argue with our Master! On this night, above all nights. “Okay, wash all of me, then! Why stop with my feet?”
Jesus had an answer for him, of course. He always did. It was part of the game – Peter pushing as hard as he could, Jesus coming right back at him. Oh, how they loved each other. Love each other.
It was hard for Peter to submit to being cared for. Hard for all of us, I guess. When Jesus got to me, I didn’t want him to touch my feet. They’re not pretty. And they were filthy, as feet are in our time and place. But he focused on that task like it was the only thing in the world he had to do. He got them clean, he rinsed and dried them, and I just had to sit there and receive that gift. I think that was the hardest of all the things Jesus has asked us to do in the three years since I met him along the banks of the Jordan.
Just sit and receive his gift. Helpless.
Little did I know that that’s all I would be doing for the next 24 hours – watching him give his life away for me, helpless to help him, nothing left for me but to receive his gift. And if I have trouble being this still and helpless, what on earth must my poor brother be going through?
How are you at receiving the gifts God wants to give to you? How are you at receiving care from others? It’s harder for most people to submit to having someone else wash their feet than it is to wash another’s (unless we’re paying for a pedicure…). Yet arguably our most important spiritual task is learning to receive the love and grace and power of God so we can share it freely with others.
Tonight, I hope you’re going to church (our service is at 6, if you’re around…).
I hope you’ll have a chance to receive the ministry of footwashing, and to offer it. In that order.
Don’t miss this opportunity to grow in grace.
4-1-15 - The Other Judas
This Holy Week, Water Daily will look at the readings appointed for each day and reflect from the perspective of someone on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer. Here is today's Gospel reading.
Judas, son of James: Why is this night SO different from any other night! The tension at the Seder table was thick enough to cut. Even after the weirdness of the footwashing, it was clear the troubles were getting to him. Jesus can stand pressure better than most, but nobody can take weeks of death threats and rumors and not be affected. Nothing he said that evening made sense, not the washing, not the words about the bread and the wine, his body, his blood?
And then he said one of us was going to betray him. One of us? We loved him! We believed in him. We’d left everything to follow him. Why would one of us betray him to the authorities? We all looked at each other, at Jesus. Then Peter signaled John to ask him who. He wouldn’t give a name – he just said, ‘It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.’
I am so glad he didn’t say the name – because it was Judas! He handed the bread to Judas, son of Iscariot. The other Judas. Or is it me who is the other Judas?
Jesus had two disciples named Judas. You know a lot about the other one, Iscariot. Me – you only know by name, in a list of those disciples called by Jesus to be among his twelve closest followers. I don’t even make every list – I’m only mentioned in Luke’s story of Jesus’ life and death.
But I was there, day in, day out, traveling with him, helping to heal the sick, proclaim the Good News to those who would listen. I was with him in the rain, in the mud, in the sunshine, at the dinner parties. We never knew what was going to happen next. Only that he could transform the worst circumstances into something with life and hope.
The other Judas was with us through it all too, committed. What could have happened? I saw how upset he was a few nights ago at dinner, when Mary poured all this expensive ointment on Jesus’ feet. He looked like a walking thunder cloud. Would that be enough to cause him to sell Jesus out?
Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do,” and Judas left the room. Left our company. We thought maybe he'd gone to pick up some supplies before the Sabbath began tomorrow…
I still believe Jesus can transform the worst circumstances into something with life and hope. But even this?
You’ve probably been at some tense family meals in your life… you may even have known betrayal. How does it help our faith to know Jesus experienced those things?
Can we spare some sympathy for Judas Iscariot? Can we forgive those who have betrayed us?
Now’s a good time to start if we haven’t… we can start by asking God to give us the grace to see that person as God sees them, with compassion. And then allow God’s grace to take hold of us, gradually or all at once. New life...
Judas, son of James: Why is this night SO different from any other night! The tension at the Seder table was thick enough to cut. Even after the weirdness of the footwashing, it was clear the troubles were getting to him. Jesus can stand pressure better than most, but nobody can take weeks of death threats and rumors and not be affected. Nothing he said that evening made sense, not the washing, not the words about the bread and the wine, his body, his blood?
And then he said one of us was going to betray him. One of us? We loved him! We believed in him. We’d left everything to follow him. Why would one of us betray him to the authorities? We all looked at each other, at Jesus. Then Peter signaled John to ask him who. He wouldn’t give a name – he just said, ‘It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.’
I am so glad he didn’t say the name – because it was Judas! He handed the bread to Judas, son of Iscariot. The other Judas. Or is it me who is the other Judas?
Jesus had two disciples named Judas. You know a lot about the other one, Iscariot. Me – you only know by name, in a list of those disciples called by Jesus to be among his twelve closest followers. I don’t even make every list – I’m only mentioned in Luke’s story of Jesus’ life and death.
But I was there, day in, day out, traveling with him, helping to heal the sick, proclaim the Good News to those who would listen. I was with him in the rain, in the mud, in the sunshine, at the dinner parties. We never knew what was going to happen next. Only that he could transform the worst circumstances into something with life and hope.
The other Judas was with us through it all too, committed. What could have happened? I saw how upset he was a few nights ago at dinner, when Mary poured all this expensive ointment on Jesus’ feet. He looked like a walking thunder cloud. Would that be enough to cause him to sell Jesus out?
Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do,” and Judas left the room. Left our company. We thought maybe he'd gone to pick up some supplies before the Sabbath began tomorrow…
I still believe Jesus can transform the worst circumstances into something with life and hope. But even this?
You’ve probably been at some tense family meals in your life… you may even have known betrayal. How does it help our faith to know Jesus experienced those things?
Can we spare some sympathy for Judas Iscariot? Can we forgive those who have betrayed us?
Now’s a good time to start if we haven’t… we can start by asking God to give us the grace to see that person as God sees them, with compassion. And then allow God’s grace to take hold of us, gradually or all at once. New life...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)