Jan 30 2022Day 280  Luke 19:1–47

For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.



Zacchaeus was the head tax collector. At that time, tax collectors were Israelites who were seen as traitors, two-fold. Not only did they do the Roman occupiers’ bidding in collecting taxes from their friends and family, but they routinely asked for more than Rome sought, and pocketed the rest. This is why they are frequently found in the phrase, “sinners and tax collectors”. One can only imagine that Zacchaeus, as the head tax collector was even more scheming and sinning than the other tax collectors; he led them.

Jesus is passing by, and Zacchaeus wants to see but cannot because he’s short. So this conniving and sinning head tax collector climbs a tree, just to see Jesus. Jesus spots him, and tells him to hurry down because Jesus needs to stay with him. With Zacchaeus, the head tax collector. Many people grumbled, as Jesus picked the least expected to stay with; many probably thought Zacchaeus didn’t deserve that, while they did.

There is nothing that we’re told about between this exchange and Zacchaeus having a full repentance, or a full 180 degree turn back towards good. Zacchaeus says he’ll pay anyone back he’s cheated four-fold, and give half his possessions to the poor. So by merely being seen by Jesus, and with Jesus offering to stay with him, Zacchaeus is a changed person. Hmm.

We are given the opportunity to see Jesus all the time, although not in earthly flesh. In my tradition, we believe Jesus is genuinely present in the bread and wine of Eucharist. Even without Eucharist, Christians believe that God-the-Son is found in people we meet, so we’re always able to see Christ, if we remember to look.

Additionally, when Jesus returned to God-the-Father at his ascension, Jesus sent us God-the-Spirit to abide with us always.

We are all a lot like Zacchaeus. We have sinned, by acts and omissions. We have taken advantage of others. We have slighted others. When given the chance, we have not shown love. And like Zacchaeus, we see Jesus, if we look. And like Zacchaeus, Jesus has asked if he can stay with us. Like Zacchaeus, Jesus came to seek out and save the lost. This morning, I’m thinking about whether I’d respond the same way as Zacchaeus.

Jan 29 2022 Day 279 Luke 17:1–18:43

“Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”



Jesus has met the ten lepers. He told them all to go show themselves to the priest, and on the way, they were made clean. One, realizing he was made clean, turned back, praised God and laid down at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. Jesus questions that ten were healed but only one returned to give thanksgiving, and that one was a Samaritan, a foreigner. To this one healed man he says, “get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

For the past few years, I’ve struggled with healing prayer, and healing stories in scripture. I have a loved one who is unlikely to ever be miraculously healed of their significant brain disease, despite prayers and petitions. As a result, I get a little testy with all of the healing stories, which abound in Luke’s gospel. Surely Jesus did not heal every person in his community. What about all the poor people who missed out? We don’t hear much about them, although in modern times, I hear from those people much more frequently than those who’ve been healed.

The healing of the ten lepers provides me some new insight. All ten were healed of their malady. All ten were made clean from their leprosy. But it’s only the one who returned that Jesus says his faith has made him well.

There’s something about this I find very comforting, because as I read it, there’s a difference between being healed, which happened to ten, and being made well, which I understand as only happening to one.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but I get a sense that healing is a repair of the broken body. Being made well is a repair of the whole person, body, mind and soul. It’s because of the Samaritan’s faith that he’s made well. The Samaritan had something to do to receive the complete wellness that Jesus gifts. It seems you can have healing without wellness. I would bet you also can have wellness without healing.

I don’t know what will happen with my loved one’s healing. Their medication is certainly helping maintain a new level of normal (clearly not their original normal, but better than the past few years). But I wouldn’t suggest they’ve been healed; we’ll have additional crises, I suspect. I’m not sure they’re aware enough to be able to asses their wellness, but from an outsider’s observation, they seem more whole and content, despite not being healed. And certainly for me, I have a much greater sense of wellness now than I did two years ago. There’s a way to be well, without being healed. I am thankful for slowly learning this lesson and being able to grow in my wellness, despite my or my loved ones’ health.

Jan 28 2022 Day 278 Luke 15:1–16:31



And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”



How dare he! The Pharisees were very concerned with doing the right thing. Jesus is welcoming the very people who flaunt the fact that they do the wrong thing. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, the Pharisees were legitimately concerned that Jesus was defiling himself, by his mere proximity to the sinners. I’m generally supportive of giving folks the benefit of the doubt. However..

Jesus tells the Pharisees a little later in this section that they “justify yourselves in the eyes of others”. Jesus knows that Pharisees use right actions as a yardstick to judge humanity; those who do the right things, like the Pharisees, are good, and those who do not, like the sinners, are not. It’s not that the Pharisees are concerned with Jesus being defiled, they are pointing out that he’s hanging out with people who are relatively not good, or at least not as good as the right-acting Pharisees.

To the Pharisees, it’s all relative. Their goodness is inherently defined by someone else’s badness, it has to. I’m good because I’ve drawn this circle around me and my buddies, and we’re good, and you who are outside the circle are bad.

I saw a great quote yesterday that I can’t attribute but it went something like this: “Every time you draw a circle around your group to exclude the others, Jesus will go to the others, and invite you to join him. Every time.”

That’s what the Pharisees and scribes are concerned about, creating the insiders vs. outsiders, and making sure they’re considered insiders. Jesus is going to the outsiders, and inviting the Pharisees to join him. But if they were to do that, their entire value structure would crumble, so they cannot.

This morning, I’m thinking about any circles I’ve drawn, or more insidious, circles I’m content with staying inside. Are there any parts of my life where I assess my value based on someone else’s devaluation? I’d like to believe not. And I suspect it’s true, somewhere in my life. Today, I’m going to think about all the ways I consider myself good, or of value, and to try to figure out if it’s at someone else’s expense. I want to join Jesus on the other side; I just need to figure out where I’ve done that.

Jan 27 2022 Day 277 Luke 13:1–14:35

Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem?



Why have I never read this, or understood this before? I’m guessing I actually have read it, but perhaps I didn’t need to hear it like I do now, so the meaning passed over me. Jesus asked the people around him about some people who’d died: some Galileans who’d died and whose blood Pilate mingled with other blood for sacrifices or the eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell. Jesus rhetorically asks the people if the people killed were worse sinners because of what happened to them. NO, he responds.

Doesn’t this singularly refute the whole notion that bad things happen to bad people? Or that if bad things happen, you haven’t prayed hard enough? That there’s some sort of cosmic quid pro quo?

To be fair, Jesus continues with the idea that if the listening audience doesn’t repent, they’ll meet a similar fate. But I still don’t think that means that the unfortunate souls who perished in his examples had done something wrong.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard the well intentioned but misguided theological arguments for the significant brain disorder of my loved one. Was this because of something they did? Of what their mother did? Is it because they don’t attend church? Perhaps you should just pray harder, and this will all go away. I’ve always known in my core that their illness was not something that should be blamed on them or their mother. I’ve known that my prayers aren’t the key to their immediate recovery. That didn’t make sense, but I came up short on the scriptural defense.

Jesus is saying that the people who perished weren’t greater sinners than everyone else. I definitely needed to hear that today.

This morning, I’m thinking about the fact that somethings things happen that inexplainable. We humans want to ascribe relationship and causality, because it helps us explain our otherwise chaotic world. But explaining that bad things happen because of the action of unfortunate victim is misguided.

Jan 25 2022 Day 276 Luke 11:37–12:59

Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.



We all have things that we’d like not to be uncovered, or at least I do. I’ve always read this verse as if it suggests that my secrets will be shared for all the world to know, these days on social media. Horrors. But the accompanying reflection from Bernard of Clairvaux shed a new insight for me. God already has uncovered what’s hidden, and knows my secrets.

It’s not for some eventual future time that I need to fret about what’s become known. It was even before the secret occurred. God knows my heart and my intentions, so everything was uncovered probably long before I even imagined the secret.

If God knows all, sees all, and still loves me, why would I worry about my ‘secrets’ becoming known in this world? I’m already and still loved by God, regardless of what I’ve done or contemplated or not done.

Instead of this being a frightening notion, that God knows all my dark bits, I find it oddly comforting. I know that God is the greatest power, has the most influence in my life, and has infinite love and mercy. And despite my dark bits, God loves me unconditionally.

When I’ve heard this passage in the past, I think I worried about dark bits becoming exposed because I’d forgotten about the ultimate secret knower. God already knows, and God’s love means that I shouldn’t care about anyone else finding out about my dark bits. When I fear exposure, it’s because I forget I’m already exposed to the only one that really matters.

Drawing on my time in city governance, there’s a term they use called day-lighting. For years, street maintenance folks put street water runoff in underground stormwater pipes that carried the water to somewhere it could be treated. Now, where space allows, they’re frequently taking out those pipes and putting the water in open air ditches. The pipes, it turns out, created a habitat that was great for mold and ick, but not very good for biodiversity, and the water when it got to its treatment site was skanky. Some of the water that runs through day-lighted ditches is reabsorbed into the ground. So the water that arrives at the treatment site is cleaner and lessened. Our secrets are like that. In an underground culvert, they get skanky and grow in force and volume. 

 This morning, I’m thinking about how God has already day-lighted my dark bits, so who cares about social media!

Jan 24 2022 Day 275 Luke 10:1–11:36

But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”



I have always struggled with this, perhaps because I’m such a Martha! The accompanying reflection is from the Cloud of Unknowing, clearly written by a Mary. The author offers an interesting take on this dichotomy. S/he writes that there are two kinds of lives in the church, the active and the contemplative. There are two kinds of each type, higher and lower. The author suggests that neither can fully lived without some of the other. A contemplative needs some activity, and active types need some contemplation in order to live fully. The author continues with suggesting that the lower level contemplative is the same as the higher level active person, each with a healthy dose of their non-dominant trait. This all makes sense to me, and it supports my understanding of Jesus’ words to Mary and Martha.

Mary clearly is the contemplative, sitting at Jesus’ feet listening to him. Martha is making preparations, clearly the active. I’d like to believe that Jesus is not chastising Martha for her active choices, or suggesting that Mary’s contemplative nature is better, although on quick read, that’s clearly what it could mean. Rather, I’d like to believe the key to this whole passage is the first part of what Jesus says. “You are worried and distracted by many things”.

Martha is active, but she’s lost her way in the ability to be active with a contemplative spirit. Instead, she worries about the tasks themselves. To be clear, I have not mastered this notion of all actions being opportunities to worship and pray, but occasionally I have glimpses of how it works.

I’m currently refinishing a built-in cabinet in the kitchen. It was covered with at least three colors of paint, and a faux grain stain. It took multiple applications of stripping solvent, and multiple pads of sand paper on my new fancy sander (thanks Kristina) to get it back to bare wood. I’ve easily spent 40+ hours on the four cabinet doors and two drawers. Now I’m applying a new stain and topcoat. Next I’ll attach new hinges and hardware and put the whole thing back together.

It is definitely active time, but it’s also oddly contemplative. While I’m running the sander back and forth, my mind empties. I don’t frequently actively pray, but I do get a sense that I’m more in union with God. When I don’t know what to say, the Spirit prays within me. I get the same sense when I prepare a good dinner, or if I take a leisurely walk. Action, with some contemplation thrown in.

I think the problem with Martha is that she started focusing on the tasks themselves, and worried about the productivity. Sometimes I knit, and I’m most content knitting when I stop worrying about the end product and instead enjoy the journey. That means sometimes I end up with a sweater with arms of two different lengths (true story), but I’ve definitely enjoyed its production much more.

Action isn’t the problem and isn’t inherently less than contemplation. It can be when it becomes what we worry about, like Martha fretting about housecleaning. I’m reminded of Brother Lawrence, an 17th century monk. In his book, The Practice of the Presence of God, he describes how his menial work in the kitchen became a great opportunity to be in God’s presence. He suggests that all labor is worthy and important to God; the laborer is as valuable to God as the priest.

Martha needed to remain focused on God, rather than fretting about many things. It is definitely through activity that I find a contemplative quiet. This morning, I’m thinking about ways to increase the likelihood of finding that contemplative quiet during my many activities, instead of fretting about many things.

Jan 22 2022 Day 274 Luke 8:40–9:62

And all were astounded at the greatness of God.



A man has come to Jesus to ask him to heal his son. His son is seized by a spirit, thrown on the ground, and convulses him until he foams from the mouth. The disciples had been unable to heal the boy, so the father sought out Jesus. Jesus rebuked the spirit, and the healed boy was given back to his father. After this, all were astounded at the greatness of God.

If this scene were to play out today, we too would all be astounded. This teacher and healer cured a boy. Amazing! What I wonder, though, is would we be astounded at the greatness of God.

How many times have I been astounded by human acts of greatness? I’m especially awed by the acts of deeply faithful people, whether it’s Desmond Tutu, the Dalai Lama, Thit Nhat Han, Hafiz or Herschel or Mother Theresa. I’m astounded at their wisdom, compassion, love, action. And when I see them I don’t frequently feel astounded at the greatness of God, even though each of them would attribute their goodness to a higher power, deflecting attention from themselves.

For me personally, I’m very likely to deflect attention from me and give credit to others. But I fear that has more to do with an unhealthy humility. I do credit God for much of my life’s accomplishments, but I’m not sure I’d say I’m astounded.

But again, when I see others do things that are amazing, rarely do I find myself astounded by God. Perhaps that’s because we’re such a recognition seeking culture. I want to acknowledge the good deeds of others, without redirecting the attention on them towards God. Besides, I’ve known plenty of good-hearted people of faith who want the personal accolades, at least in their weaker moments.

This morning, I’m thinking about why I don’t attribute to God all the goodness I see in others. And why it’s easier to be astounded at the greatness of others than the greatness of God. Today, I will try to remember that God is the source of all goodness, even the astounding acts of my fellow mortals.

Jan 21 2022 Day 273 Luke 7:1–8:39

Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.



Jesus is dining with a Pharisee, and a great sinning woman enters the home and begins to anoint Jesus’ feet with ointment, shedding tears on his feet, and drying his feet with her hair. The Pharisee announces that if Jesus were really a prophet, he’d know what kind of sinning woman she was. Jesus’ response is that the Pharisee didn’t offer water for his feet, kiss him in greeting, or anoint him. But this woman has not ceased doing these things.

Jesus sees the holy in this sinning woman, where all the Pharisee sees is the sinning woman. Jesus asks us to see the holy in the people around us, regardless of how they present. This is normally my take away from this story, and it’s a good one.

But today, I’m struck by the other notion Jesus leaves the Pharisee with. The woman had a great number of sins which were forgiven, and as a result loved greatly. He continues that those who are forgiven only a little, love only a little.

I have seen this in both instances. I’ve worked with people experiencing homelessness, who’ve had really rough lives. They feel extremely blessed, because of their conviction that they’ve been forgiven. Their sense of worthiness that comes from God’s grace spills out into their own acts of mercy and kindness towards others, similar to the woman anointing Jesus’ feet.

In contrast, I’ve seen people of faith who have a sense of righteousness, and right-living. They too have a sense of worthiness, but it comes from themselves, not from God. They have not bared their sinful souls to God. They have not received God’s amazing blessing. Their self-created sense of worthiness is not sufficient to spill into actions of love and mercy for others. Their worthiness light does not shine as brightly as the folks who gain their sense of worthiness from God, not from their own actions.

I have never been homeless. I would consider that my life has been pretty blessed. I fear that I would be in the category Jesus describes as ‘to those whom little is forgiven’, because I don’t generally sense that I have many sins to be forgiven. That is a scary sentiment, given Jesus’ warning to the Pharisee.

This morning, I’m thinking about my life and my blessings and the parts of me that need to be forgiven. I want to be someone who has much to be forgiven, so I have a great sense of God-given worthiness.

This isn’t about fabricating sins. Or looking back 50 years to the penny candy I MIGHT have stolen. Rather this is an honest and regular inventory of my life. I have a colleague who keeps an index card in his pocket and through the week, he writes down things he’s done that would be considered sinful. The unkind word, the apathy towards the hurting, the small slights to loved ones. During his daily prayer practice, he refers to that card when he confesses his sins, and also keeps it for the collective confession of sin on Sunday morning. He is steeped in his weekly sins, big and small, and he genuinely seeks forgiveness for these sins.

That’s what I need to do. I need to do a better job keeping track of the things that I do that are sinful, big and small. I need to have these in my consciousness, so that I can genuinely ask for forgiveness for them. I’m only a person without much to be forgiven because I don’t see all of the things that need forgiveness. That sense of God-given worthiness comes in direct relationship to the amount of God-given mercy I seek and receive. I need to be more attentive to my actions, so I can strive to be like the sinful woman, to whom much is forgiven.

Jan 20 2022 Day 272 Luke 6:1–49



But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.



I’m reading a fascinating book, Paper Daughters of Chinatown. It’s a true story, with some fictional details added for interest about the slave and prostitution trade of young Chinese women, and it takes place around 1900. At that time, there was a ban on any Chinese coming to the US, except if they were coming to meet family. And so a huge business started where girls were listed on paper as the daughters of US resident slave traders. In China, they were either sold by their impoverished parents, or worse, they were promised a US husband, if only they came. And come they did.

To show what it was like, the book chronicles one young woman who was promised a US husband, and so she left her mother in Canton. When she arrived, she was put on the selling block, and sold to the highest bidder. Eventually she ended up in a home with a very cruel woman slave owner, and they fed the girl doses of opium to get her addicted, make her more dependent on the owners, and more compliant. She was asked to ‘entertain’ various men. Not surprisingly, a large part of the industry was controlled by the Tong, or Chinese mafia at the time.

Eventually, the real-life director of a real-life rescue mission house goes on a rescue mission to retrieve her. Accompanied by a few sympathetic police officers, they find her, and carry her abused and drug infused body out of the house and to safety.

If you’re likely to read the book and don’t like spoilers, stop reading. Otherwise, here goes.

The director gets a call to save another girl from the house, and they’re a little worried it’s a trap. But they go. They find the cruel slave owner alone in the house which is now empty. It turns out, she was once a traded sex slave, and her previous owners wanted her back, or for her to pay off some huge debt. She also owed the opium dealers. As a result, she sold everything in the house and called the rescue mission to save her, to protect her. The director wasn’t sure whether this was just a ploy to get to the abused women who’d been rescued from her, so they ended up putting the slave owner effectively into a locked separate building, but they did take care of her. Eventually, it became clear she really was no different than their other rescued girls; she’d been abused, addicted, and was used as a sex slave for years. Instead of it breaking her, it made her hardened.

After a year of separate care, the woman wanted to apologize to the girl who’d she’d abused. The girl was asked, and initially she refused to meet the woman. How could they even ask, when this woman had been so cruel? But eventually the girl agreed to see her. There was a genuine apology, and forgiveness, and heart-felt tears from everyone. The girl realized that in forgiving her abuser she was unburdened by the rage that held her captive.

Thankfully, I have never had to contemplate forgiveness of someone who hurt me that badly, so I was grateful to read this story, just last night. I’ve often seen people who were shown mercy and forgiveness, but then found it very difficult to forgive those who’d hurt them. After reading this story, I had a visceral reaction of not wanting to forgive the slave owner, despite knowing that was what should be done.

To be clear, I’m not suggesting that forgiveness is about condoning or forgetting about past harms done. Rather, it’s more about letting the beast of anger and hurt go, to not allow past actions control today’s outlook or tomorrow’s promise. This morning, I’m thinking about how very hard it is to love the abuser, but how liberating it is for the abused. I’m also thinking about how I might champion for modern-day sex-slaves.

Day 271 Luke 4:14–5:39

Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee…



Jesus has just been tempted in the wilderness, and eventually the devil left him only to return at an opportune time. Hmm.. In any case, Jesus has been alone in the wilderness for 40 days, other than a visit from the pesky devil. Right after this exhausting retreat, we read that Jesus, filled with the sprit, returned to Galilee where he began to teach. So many questions.

I’m intrigued that Jesus, God-made-man, was reliant on the power of the Spirit, or at least the gospel writer felt it was important to qualify Jesus’ return with mention of that Spirit.

Perhaps this is pointing to a truth about God-made-man. He was fully human, and as such, was probably exhausted and entirely spent after 40 days. Even God-made-man needs to rely on God-made-spirit.

If Jesus needs the Spirit or at least acknowledged the Spirit’s role in his return to Galilee, so do I. I want to remember and use this clause any time I’m thinking about doing something hard. Carter, filled with the power of the Spirit…. How empowering that would be, to remember that always I’m filled with the power of the Spirit.

This morning I’m thinking about all the ways my day will be infinitely better if I just add that clause to my day’s narrative.

Day 270 Luke 3:1–4:13 

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. 


The devil, evil and temptation. This section of scripture talks a lot about these three. The devil is something I don’t tend to spend much time pondering, or even acknowledging. I’m certain I don’t believe in a little red horned devil. I’m less certain about an evil force and whether it’s waiting for me behind every corner.

I have more familiarity or comfort in the concept of evil. There are people who have more evil in their hearts, despite God’s best attempts at holding on to those souls. I believe evil happens between people, when people hurt or control others for their personal benefit.

And temptation? I know a great deal about temptation, as I think we all do. I am tempted by big and little things I’ve tried to avoid doing, or not doing. Scarcely a day passes when I haven’t given in to one temptation or another. Some of these temptations are small and I’d like to believe they only affect me. But as a person in a marriage, in a family, in a community – I doubt my actions ever only affect me. There are also the temptations that I know will affect others, and still I cave. Ugh. As familiar as I feel with temptation, I feel unfamiliar with the devil. And yet, I think that’s false.

I give in to temptation despite my best intentions. Despite prayer, despite resolutions. There is something insidious about the things that tempt me, something not of God. Perhaps that’s the force of evil in the world. Most of the temptations I face take me further from God, and that feels like evil. And if I believe that there is a force outside me that helps me do right, I suppose I need to believe that there is a force outside me that tempts me to do evil. Ugh. Ugh.

The insidious nature of the devil is that it cloaks itself in seemingly innocent temptations, which then lead me further from God, which then make bigger temptations more tempting, which leads me further from God.

Jesus could have easily taken the devil up on any one of his temptations, turning stones into bread, worshipping the devil, throwing himself off a mountain. But Jesus knew that to be tempted to do wrong is evil. In my world, when I succumb to temptation, I initially feel like it was no big deal; it didn’t matter. But I also quickly assume that my sense of right or wrong, or my personal desires are more important than any external God-ordained code of right and wrong. Once I take that slippery slide step, it’s a quick journey to thinking I’m God, and my sense of order is what really matters. All the time, I’m walking further away from the loving God who’s waiting for me to return. Somewhere, sometime, I realize the direction I’m heading and turn back to God. As my tradition’s baptismal covenant says, “will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin repent and return to the Lord?”

Temptation is evil. And evil comes from the devil. All of it leads us away from God. This morning, I’m thinking about the distance between the hurtful word and the devil. It’s closer than we think.

Jan 17 2022 Day 269 Luke 2:1–51

But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.



In the second chapter of Luke, we hear of Jesus’ birth, his presentation at the Temple, and him returning to the Temple unbeknownst to his parents. I have lots of thoughts on each of these; it’s hard to know where to drop in to this rich text. So I’ll rely on the accompanying reflection for some direction. This morning’s reflection is written by Sister Joan Chittister, and focuses on God’s word.

Chittister says we can hear God’s word directly, and we can hear it through others. Yes! The words of the baptismal covenant that are made when someone is baptized in my tradition and repeated several times a year to reaffirm include the line “Will you seek and serve Christ in all people?” Yes!!

But Chittister goes on to say that it’s easy to hear God in our language. But, she writes “What takes sanctity is to be able to hear in the tongue of the other..” We need to listen to, seek counsel and take advice from others. This, too, is the word of God. God’s truth comes in a mosaic of all of the voices and people around us. “The voice of God comes often from where we would least expect it”, she writes.

Mary heard words about Jesus from all sorts of unexpected places: from angels, ancient prophets in the temple, shepherds. Her understanding was exactly a mosaic, as Chittister suggests. And Mary treasured the words in her heart.

This morning, I’m thinking about all of the different voices I hear in the world, and how easy it is to dismiss those that don’t align with my image of God. But isn’t that precisely what we aren’t supposed to do, to create images of God? Don’t those become idols we create and then worship, and which reflect only a small fraction of God’s true self?

I’m sure Mary heard things she’d like to excise from her understanding of her son, to dismiss as inconsistent with what she conjured up. But twice in this chapter, we hear that she took things and pondered them in her heart. She was receptive to the unexpected places where God’s word would come.

People who disagree with me or with my image of God certainly are God’s beloved, and also speak God’s word. I need to take their words into my heart and ponder them, just like Mary.

Jan 15 2022 Day 268  Luke 1

Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”



I have always held a special place in my heart for Luke’s Gospel. His stories are so rich with all of the things I can easily understand – details about places, sights, relationships, sensory details and human emotions. It’s always felt accessible to me, more accessible than perhaps all of scripture. And I have a new insight as to another reason.

To me, Luke’s storytelling is more humanly compelling. I can absolutely put myself in these stories, imagining how I’d respond. Jesus is placed in a very mundane, human world. Jesus is grounded in his fully-human nature. In other sections of scripture Jesus is shown as his fully-divine self.

I can more easily connect to the fully human stories. I get fully rooted in the humanness of Jesus, and Mary and then, WHAMO, they do something that’s spectacularly grace- and love-filled. It’s the relationship between our mundane humanity and God’s grace that makes me weepy.

Take this morning’s stories. Among other things, we hear about Gabriel visiting Mary and Mary visiting Elizabeth. Mary is frightened at the appearance of an archangel. Who wouldn’t be? She questions how this pregnancy will occur. I’m sure she worried about what it would mean to her betrothal. And as young as she was, sorting all of this out would have been hard.

And yet, Mary said yes. Here I am, a servant of the Lord. Let it be with me according to your word. It’s Mary’s frailty and humanity that make her response so powerful. I marvel at Jesus’ divinity; I can relate to Mary’s humanity. And I can relate to Jesus’ humanity. It’s only through their humanity that I can relate to God’s miraculous love and mercy. It’s only through my humanity that I can relate to God’s miraculous love and mercy.

Jan 14 2022 Day 267 Mark 15:1–16:20

“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?”

As we finish Mark we see Jesus asking why God has forsaken him. When we read this part of Scripture during the week before Easter, this sentence always chokes me up. Who is Jesus to doubt God? Who is God to allow Jesus to think he’s been forsaken? What chance do I have, if this is how Father and Son interact?

I’ve never known what to do with this. I’m not sure I do still, but I have another piece to chew on. The accompanying reflection for this section of scripture is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and opens by saying we need to recognize that we live in a world “Etsi deus non daretur”. Not having taken Latin, I looked it up. As though God doesn’t exist. Bonhoeffer continues that we absolutely need to understand that “before God and with God, we live without God.” As I was reading this, I was experiencing the same discomfort as Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani.

Bonhoeffer continues, “God lets the divine self be pushed out of the world onto the cross”. Ok, I understand this, but why?

“God is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which God is with us and helps us”. He concludes that “Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering.”

Jesus had to face the cross, wondering whether God was with him, with his own version of Etsi deus non daretur. Jesus, fully-human and fully-divine was killed on that cross, full of fear and doubt. If Jesus skipped the doubt and ‘why have you forsaken me’ part, it would be much harder for us to relate. We do need Jesus to show us resurrection life, despite the doubt. Jesus fully-human and fully-divine was raised from the dead.

I don’t particularly like the idea that God lets me trapse through this world without certainty or proof of God’s presence, providence and all-powerfulness. But Jesus didn’t get that assurance, and Jesus can be my savior, tortured and killed, and risen.

Jan 13 2022 Day 266 Mark 14:1–72

But he said vehemently, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.”



Peter, Peter, Peter. In this one chapter of Mark, we see Peter’s strength and weakness. Jesus tells Peter he’ll deny him. Peter responds strongly, even though I must die with you, I will not deny you. A little while later, Jesus asks Peter to stay awake while Jesus prays at Gethsemane. I can imagine Peter giving Jesus a thumbs-up. You betcha. Twice, Jesus returns to find Peter sleeping, after asking him to stay awake. A little later, Peter denies knowing Jesus three times, as predicted.

So what about Peter’s statement that he won’t deny Jesus, although he acknowledges he must die with Jesus? Is it hyperbole, bravado, or is he saying things he has no intention of doing? I don’t think so. I think Peter is deeply committed to Jesus, and would die with and for Jesus. In the end, it is believed he was martyred for his convictions.

If I’m anything like Peter, I think it has to do with the size of the commitment. Sometimes, I’m much better at keeping a big, hard commitment compared to the small ones. In my food world, I’m generally good at the ridiculous draconian diets. No carbs? Yes. No sugar? Yes. No eating except a 5 hour window? You betcha. Of course at some point, I fall off the very narrow path I’ve placed myself on. But I genuinely am better at holding these commitments than the more rational notion of moderation in all things. If I commit to simply eat heathier, or fewer empty calories, I find myself breaking down much sooner.

The same goes with moving my body, although that’s getting better. It has been easier for me to set up elaborate and extensive exercise plans, which I stick with for quite a while. Eventually I do not. I’m slowly getting better at moving more moderately, consistently, and forgivingly. I’ll go out for a walk when the mood strikes, or if I miss a morning at the gym, I catch it the next time. But to be clear, it’s taken me decades to get there.

I think Peter absolutely would have died for Jesus that night. But the small things? Falling asleep or just pretending not to know him? Those don’t matter so much. I’m not suggesting that this thinking is correct, but I think the same way; I understand it.

Of course, the little things aren’t really little. Committing to and following through with little things matter. With Peter, Jesus knew what Peter’s denial had done to Peter, how it ate at him and riddled him with guilt. Jesus was able to give Peter three chances to cosmically undo the three denials. Peter do you love me? Feed my sheep.

Jesus knows we struggle with the small commitments. Jesus saw his disciples struggle with the same things. Jesus will always ask us if we love him, and again and again, we’re given the chance to speak and show our love. This morning, I’m thinking about all of the opportunities Jesus asks me if I love him, to feed his sheep, as a way of undoing my small and big broken promises.

Jan 12 2022 Day 265 Mark 12:35–13:37

When they bring you to trial and hand you over, do not worry beforehand about what you are to say; but say whatever is given you at that time, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit.



This section of Mark is full of end times predictions. Dark skies, wars and rumors of wars, brother betraying brother to death. I have an image of some apocalyptical movie scene, with death and destruction all around. I’m in the midst of all of that carnage. It would certainly be terrifying and I’d want to do something to protect myself and anyone else. I’d want a plan. I’d want to know what to do or say, to plan something great to get out of this mess.

But Jesus, in the midst of painting this desolate picture tells us to not be afraid. Don’t worry about what to say, even though we’re about to be handed over to the very forces that created the carnage. It is not me who speaks, but the Holy Spirit.

Wow. That would take some faith, if I were in the story Jesus is telling. Luckily, my woes rarely are as bad as what Jesus is foretelling. I haven’t been handed over, the skies haven’t darkened, the earthquake hasn’t split the earth, children haven’t raised up to put their parents to death. It really is a grim picture of these horrible times.

Perhaps I need to exercise that faith, practice having that faith so that if these super-terrible things happen, I’ve flexed those faith muscles. Maybe now with fewer problems, I should practice Jesus’ suggestion of not worrying about what to say or do, that the Holy Spirit will speak through me.

If I believed that, if I could practice having faith in that, what would change in me? Perhaps I wouldn’t fret. I wouldn’t spend as much time thinking about what I should be doing or saying. Perhaps I would spend more time in contemplative silence, listening to the Spirit within me. Perhaps I could build in more space, before I respond in any situation, space to allow the Holy Spirit to speak through me.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I might practice this faith, faith that I don’t need to worry about what to say because the Holy Spirit will speak through me. If Jesus asks the disciples to have that faith during the crash-and-burn scene he paints, I suspect I should have faith to do that in my world too.

Jan 10 2022 Day 264 Mark 10:46–12:34

Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” 

Whew. It’s been a nearly two weeks of not reading, not praying, not writing. Just napping and coughing. While I’m not back to normal, I’m heading in that direction. And I’m feeling well enough that I felt like reading, praying and writing. A great sign.

The Gospels pack so much in, it’s hard to know where to drop in. I haven’t fully appreciated the sequence of all of the individual stories; when there’s a section we hear or study on Sunday, they’re individual snippets, fully packed with enough to get us through. But these stories are all strung together, one after another. It’s only through this sequential reading that I’m beginning to get a sense of that larger arc, of stories being strung together for a bigger purpose. I might start at the Gospels again when I finally reach Revelation.

Early in this section of Mark, we learn of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar. He’s calling out to Jesus to heal him and the people surrounding Jesus try to stifle Bartimaeus, to keep him from Jesus. There’s so much here already. Bartimaeus is sitting at the side of the road, unable to meet his own needs without begging, entirely dependent upon those around him. He offers up a version of what has been referred to as the Jesus Prayer – Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me – a powerful, succinct, fully sufficient prayer. This from the blind beggar.

And the people around Jesus, who’ve been following him because presumably, they want to be more like him, or learn from him, what do they do? They shun this man, telling him to be quiet. You know, just like Jesus would do.

Of course Jesus calls over Bartimaeus. Of course he’s healed. What’s really great about the way it happens is that Jesus asks the very people who’ve shunned the man to go get him. He engages the very folks who wanted to follow but instead failed. Not only does he teach the followers with his words, he gives them a chance to act out his love and forgiveness and repentance, by getting them involved.

This morning, I’m thinking about how hard it is to learn from Jesus, and actually do what he says. It’s easier to just learn in words, and think nice thoughts about loving others, forgiveness, and mercy. It’s so much harder to actually love others, forgive others, and show the mercy I know Jesus asks of me. To be clear, there are people and circumstances where this kind of Jesus-following is easier. There are situations where I absolutely rise to the occasion, and can lead others into the loving action. But there are probably more circumstances where I hear Jesus’ words, and then like the people around Bartimaeus, I don’t actually love, or welcome or forgive.

This morning, I’m thinking about how great it is that Jesus gives me ample opportunities to get it right. After I’ve told the blind beggars to keep it down, I’m invited to go get them and bring them over. Hopefully, I occasionally see the irony in this and throw up a special prayer of thanks.