Strange Final Words

Read again John 12:1-8.

"You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." (v. 8)

What a strange and sobering remark. How are we meant to take this statement from Jesus? I read the story to my husband whose lack of churchedness makes him a fabulous person to ask for first impressions. Before I could ask him what he thought, he said, "Huh," as in, that's interesting. I asked him to elaborate on the "huh," and he noted the oddity of the last remark by Jesus. "What do you hear him saying?" My husband responded, "I think he said that it's okay I want to get a porche and have a little self-indulgence once in awhile." I can't say I was convinced.

We spoke more about it and what really struck him as the central point was the depravity of Judas. Judas does what plenty of people do: he uses the poor for his own ends. But just what does that final remark mean; how are we to understand this statement? As a diminishment of the poor -- not likely even though it can read that way. As a reminder of reality to open our eyes to the invisible who accompany us? I don't really know. Maybe you do. I will say this however: this is not self-indulgence on Mary's part. It's hardly retail therapy or a mid-life crisis purchase. There is something else going on here around love of God and suffering and in the next few chapters, about footwashing as well.

Reflection

• What do you hear in this story? What do you make of this last line?
• What parts of you are like Judas? What parts are like Mary?

Prayer

Gracious God, receive our mourning and our outpouring of love. Know that we accompany you just as you do us through these trials. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen

The Big Story

Read John 12:1-8.

"Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. " (v. 3)

Here's what I notice this week...

1) I recommend reading this passage within the context of the whole Lazarus cycle and continuing to the gates of Jerusalem. The full force of Mary's act as well as the emotional tenor comes across in the wider context.

2) A pound of nard is an unbelievable amount of perfume. Think about the size of your pocket lip balm and imagine a pound of scented ointment. From the first miracle John describes when Jesus turned water into more wine imaginable for a wedding, this story reminds us of God's abundant gifts. Even on the eve of Jesus' ill-fated passage into Jerusalem, God's presence is marked by the experience of the overflowing, the more-than-enough, the filled.

3) This is the last meal before Jesus enters Jerusalem. It holds the foreshadow of death as well as the promise of resurrection. This is the delicate balance we carry into our own Holy Week travels.

4) The story reminds me of my first confirmation student. Many moon ago, I was a mentor to a student who didn't want to be confirmed in the church because already at fourteen years of age, she was highly suspect of institutional power. She was particularly wise to the ways of the church against women over the many centuries. Nonetheless, she agreed to go through with the program despite her skepticism. Funnily enough, she was one of the best proclaimers of the good news I have ever known. In the spring of her junior year, not long after Easter, her grandmother fell ill. On one of the family visits, her mother spent an afternoon washing her grandmother, tending to her infirmities, and beautifying the room where she was recovering. My student was there, helping her mother care for her grandmother. On the way home later that day, they received a phone call to say that her grandmother had passed. Her mother kept saying over and over again in her grief, "I can't believe I was just there, I just bathed her and brushed her hair an hour ago." My student remarked quietly from the back seat of the car, "Mom, you were anointing her." It was only a few weeks since we had heard this story of Mary and Jesus in church. With a few gentle words, she placed her mother's suffering in the big story. Her mother told me about it later, and how she suddenly saw so much beauty and a divine hand in the events of that sad and terrible day. She was at once stricken and utterly amazed.

Reflection

• When have you experienced the big story like my student did?
• Is there a Bible story you have found yourself playing out at one time or another?

Prayer

God of life and death, keeper of mysteries, you bless us in our passages. And you send us the Word sometimes from likely prophets, at other times, from unlikely proclaimers. We give thanks for the shape you give our lives. Amen

Patterns of New Life

Read Philippians 4b-11.

"I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings..." (v. 11)

Each week when I sit down with the appointed lectionary readings, my favorite bit of analysis is trying to imagine why the four readings (1st, psalm, 2nd, and gospel) are lumped together: what's the relationship between them? Sometimes it is obvious; other times, not so obvious. On our final Sunday before Palm Sunday when we reenact Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem to meet his death, we hear not just of his friend, Mary's tears and anointing, but of the resurrection. We heard of it first in Isaiah as God watered the deserts, then again as the tears of sorrow turned to joy as the harvest comes home. Again, we greet it in Philippians as St. Paul discerns between the old ways of empowering oneself to righteousness and the way of living in righteousness by belief in the resurrection. (Notice the willingness with which he accepts sufferings as a path to new life.) On Sunday we will hear of Jesus' death as he sits down to a meal beside Lazarus whom he raised from the dead. Amidst Mary's tears, on the eve of his arrest, the stories buoy us with the hope of resurrection.

Reflection

• What patterns do you discern between these readings? Do you listen for these kinds of inter-textual themes ever?
• How do you make sense out of verse 9?

Prayer

O Lord, hear our prayer: help us to keep our hearts hopeful through the final days of our travels and your passion. Keep us ever confident in the power of resurrection. These things we ask in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen

Openings

Read Psalm 126.

As I come to scripture this week, it seems there can be no better words for us at Hope Lutheran. Our farewell worship on Sunday morning lived the thrust of this psalm: our tears of good-bye and loss might be turned into a harvest of joy as it is so named in my Harper Collins Study Bible. Our worship held this complexity of emotion. As in Isaiah, with this Psalm, we are steeped in the lush imagery of watercourses and desert growth. What will Hope harvest in the years to come? I hope it is a faithful people.

In Pastor Carl's absence, I have taken over the duties of teaching confirmation. I will stray from the specifics of Psalm 126 now, but not from the issue of learning how to listen to the Bible. When I sit down to think about my objectives for a particular teaching session, I always think in terms in of my agenda. And there are two kinds of teaching agendas: an obvious agenda, like learning the definition of church and exploring one's gifts, and a not-so-apparent latent agenda. In the case of confirmation (and everything I teach in church), my agenda is to teach how to listen to scripture, not just what is in scripture. So on Sunday night, I read 1 Corinthians 12 to the students and I invited them to notice words and phrases that stuck in them just like I've directed adults to listen for Wednesday night Lenten services. This was the funny thing -- before I read, I would say, "Okay, focus because I'm beginning right now..." And in that silent pause before I would begin, I could hear my own heartbeat for all the waiting for God's word. It was amazing. Maybe it seemed profound because it was a room of junior highers. Regardless, that was holy listening. May we bring that kind of spirit to all our devotions and receive the Word of life.

Reflection

• How do you read the Bible?
• What helps you to read scripture and really hear it?

Prayer

God of our consolation, thank you for the words of life that stir our souls brining life to what is stagnant, movement to what is stuck, joy to what is sorrowful, and peace to what is conflicted. Amen

The Here and Now

Reread Isaiah 43:16-21.

For such simple and beautiful exhortations, this passage is full of moments to dwell on. Today

I notice two more things among others.

1) Building on St. Paul's claim that in Christ there is a new creation, this week, we are again told that God is doing a new thing. As we approach Holy Week and Easter, our lectionary readings move from recounting ancestral promises to claims of new life. We are closer all the time to our destination in God. So close we can say the promises are being fulfilled here and now.

2) The prophet exhorts his exiled people to release their memory. Do not remember former things, he urges, for remembering the old can limit our perception of the new thing rising up in our midst. How do our memories and former ways of being stop us from becoming new? What can't we detect because we are caught up in the past? This was the point of Moses dieing before entering the promised land: no one with any bodily memory of bondage would enter Canaan for how quickly the oppressed can become revolutionary agents of slavery. From the most personal of relationships to the largest of worldly institutions, this is the rub: how to honor and learn from our history without it cutting off the shoots of new growth. Isaiah reminds us that God will use the living water to extinguish our memory of the Egyptian chariots and armies that pursue us out of the past and haunt our present.

If we simply move through the events of Holy Week as a remembrance, we will miss the new thing. If Good Friday is little more than a commemoration of the past, we will miss the new thing. Jesus' death is our permission and encouragement to allow ourselves to die and Easter is our rising. How might we live the events of Holy Week in the present?

Reflection

• How will you observe Holy Week this year? What will you bring to the Last Supper and to the Cross?
• What new thing do you perceive in your midst? What new thing do you pray for?

Prayer

God of living water, as ever, we offer up our deepest thanks for the newness your create. You release us from the troubles of the past. We pray for the ability to perceive or freedom. This we ask in your Holy Name, Amen

Disengagement

Read Isaiah 43:16-21.

Well if I was thirsty before I read this passage, I certainly am no longer. Just as Lenten lectionary readings are loaded with images of food to feed us in our fast, so also we receive the living waters of God in our desert sojourn. We are overwhelmed with historical images of seas and awash in the new watercourses that refresh the whole of creation including us, God's chosen people.

As I sit with these bold words, I am wondering what it means to be dry. We talk about that in faith-speak sometimes. There are desert times and there are times of lush growth. There are mountain peaks, valleys, and level plains. What does the dry, level plain look like for me?

When I look back on my life, I would have to say it's NOT been those times of tragedy or struggle or loss. Those times have been fruitful despite their challenges. When I've faced the suffering of other people, I again would say those times are awash in God's presence. That is after all the point of the Incarnation -- Christ in the suffering flesh. And there have been too obvious times of new life. I guess I would have to say then that to be dry is to be disengaged. I find myself thirsty when I am isolated from real life, the real life that is moving or hurting, or honest and charged. When daily living starts to look all the same, when I no longer really know people, when I think no new thoughts or miss the extraordinary details of each day, life is dry. And that's kind of inevitable. If it weren't, we wouldn't need Isaiah.

I know Lent is suppose to be a desert time full of fasting and discipline and simplicity and forgiveness. Desert is may be, but dry? I'm not so sure.

Reflection

• When do you feel spiritually dry?
• What helps to refresh you?

Prayer

Holy One, you renew us with fresh streams in the wilderness. You provide for our wandering souls and set the track toward our home, you Son, our God, Amen