Easter Sunday: The Day of Resurrection

Acts of the Apostles 10: 34a, 37-43, Psalm 118, Colossians 3: 1-4, 1 Corinthians 5: 6-8,
John 20: 1-9

On this Easter Day, the Day of the Resurrection of Our Lord, how will Jesus appear to you?

In John’s gospel, the beloved disciple believed when he saw the spice-laden strips of linen lying scattered about in the tomb where Jesus’ body had been laid. Mary Magdalene recognized him and believed when she heard him speak her name, “Mary.” Other disciples believed when they saw Jesus’ hands and side, recognizing the scars of the crucifixion. Thomas believed when Jesus allowed him to touch and feel the scars.

Sight, sound, and touch – human senses encountering evidence of a divinely transformed life. These are the very same senses we bring to the worship of God in the Eucharist on this Easter Day. We gaze at the sunlit altar linen, hear the familiar words of the prayers and hymns, smell the burning candles, and hold and taste the bread and the wine – all human experiences of a divine event.

Jesus comes to us in the Eucharist to offer his loving reconciliation in the midst of brokenness – a brokenness he has shared intimately with us in his life on earth. This is his triumph over the powers of death: that Love prevails and Creation is restored.

Look around, you will see the face of Christ everywhere, and recognize him in the simplest gestures – eating bread, drinking wine, a familiar name spoken, a handclasp with a stranger speaking the words “Peace be with you.” And Jesus will be known to others through your own places of hurt and healing, when you allow them to see and touch these scars.

Rejoice! He is indeed risen, as he said! How will Jesus appear to you today?

The Rev. Dr. Ann Willms

Holy Saturday

Isaiah 42: 5-7, Psalm 16: 8-11 , 1 Peter 3: 18-20, Matthew 27: 50-53

When I was a small child in church I got chills whenever we would recite the part of the Apostles’ Creed that proclaimed Jesus went to Hell. Stop and listen to those words: “He descended into hell."

Did the adults know what they were saying?

It was not until the fifth decade of my life that I began to understand the line. And when I did it was one of those amazing moments of clarity. I had arrived at Holy Saturday, a day that is crucial to understanding the relationship that all of humanity – indeed, all of creation – has with the Risen Christ of Easter.

On Good Friday, the first day of Easter, Jesus dies on the Cross. Holy Saturday, the second day, is when Jesus opens the gates of Hell to let everyone out. On Holy Saturday, Jesus has robbed Hell of its power. Death is the enemy, and death is vanquished.

Without Holy Saturday, the resurrection of Jesus has very little to do with us. With Holy Saturday, we go with him. Holy Saturday is the fulcrum between the Cross and Easter.

Holy Saturday is a proclamation that no one, not even those who are already dead, is beyond Grace. The concept of Holy Saturday pushes us to reconsider the all-too-human urge to put limits on God’s mercy. On Holy Saturday, Jesus comes to find us in our deadest moments not just in the next world but also in this world.

Because of Holy Saturday, Jesus not only dies for us; Jesus dies with us, and he reveals himself as God-become-human, showing us a way to live without fear. Easter becomes not just about the One, but about all of us.

The Rev. James Richardson

Good Friday

Isaiah 52: 13-53, 12 , Psalm 31, Hebrews 4: 14-16; 15: 7-9, John 18: 1-19, 42

In my Norwegian-American hometown, we learned to use the word “uffda.” The word has been uttered for years and years, passed down generations. It’s a semantic gift that gives expression to an array of feelings, from alarm to frustration. When no other word seems to suffice, we rely on “uffda” as an audible outlet for feelings hard to articulate. A stuck salsa jar top, “uffda.” Slick roads, “uffda.” Someone diagnosed with a serious disease, “uffda.”

Psalm 31 helps articulate feelings dark with despair and dread. The psalm provides the people of God with a means to express their discontent. It is a song of deep suffering, a hymn of desolation that Jesus learned in Nazareth. His community used it in dark times.

At the moment of his greatest despair, Jesus uttered the words of Psalm 31 to articulate his torment: “I am the scorn of my adversaries, a horror to my neighbors ... For I hear the whispering of many – terror all around! – as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.” On Good Friday, on the cross, when all seemed lost, when there was little hope, Jesus cried out, “Into your hand I commit my spirit.” In the midst of suffering, Jesus gave himself to God, the “rock of refuge.”

Today, the Holy Spirit leads us to the distress of the cross. We dive into the depths of Jesus’ misery and meet human misery face to face. There is no ignoring the suffering of the world; we see it now as the torment of God. But we have been given words to articulate our pain and a savior who suffers it. Confronting our planet’s violence and degradation, we can speak the language of the cross. And with its words, we articulate the world’s redemption

The Rev. Neal Halvorson-Taylor

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12: 1-8, 11-14, Psalm 116, 1 Corinthians 11: 23-26, John 13: 1-15

The word “Maundy” has the same root as command, mandatory, mandate. In Exodus, the Lord commands Moses and Aaron to order the people to prepare the Seder meal. It is mandatory that the meal be prepared a certain way and they are mandated to dress as for a journey.

In the gospel of John, Jesus takes the role of a servant, and washes the feet of his disciples. Then he orders them to do the same: “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.”

Washing, bathing, eating, drinking - thoughtlessly we daily perform these actions. Our attention is directed to the radio, the TV, the internet, a myriad of distractions.

The scriptures call us to stop; to pay attention to these ordinary functions; to make them sacred; to make them into sacraments. Dinner becomes a holy meal: “…share the lamb with their nearest neighbor…it is the Lord’s Passover.” Mindfulness and attention to detail put us into God’s presence and protection.

We wash our feet daily. We wash the feet and whole body of our children, our elderly parents, even our pets. But on this day we stop—pay attention to washing as an act of love and an act of service. The ordinary again is made sacred by our careful attention, our intention to be of service to others.

From today’s Psalm 116:

I love the Lord, for he has heard my voice…The Lord protects the simple hearted…be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you…How can I repay the Lord for all his goodness to me? I will lift the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord. I will fulfill my vows in the presence of all his people.

David Slezak

Wednesday of Holy Week

Isaiah 50: 4-9a, Psalm 69, Matthew 26: 14-25

Judas was of two minds – that is clear. He loved Jesus and shared his ministry with him, but for 30 pieces of silver, he betrayed him. Peter also was of two minds. He promised never to desert Jesus, but he denied him three times. It’s easy to do – want one thing and do another.

You want to spend more time with your family, but actually you spend more time at work. You want to be kind to your spouse or child or colleague, but you can’t resist making that one corrective comment. You want to keep clear priorities around eating or spending or simplicity; but you forget. You want to remain committed, but those 30 pieces of silver just look so good. Often, if I am honest with myself, I must admit I am of two minds. Something prevents me from living as fully committed a life as I would like.

What stands out to me about Jesus each Holy Week, is his ability to remain single-minded. His focus is unwavering. Even in the face of betrayal and death, he is honest, compassionate, and faithful. Jesus is of one mind. He is of one mind with God and with the people he touches.

That is what I seek this Holy Week – the mind of Christ.

Lord Jesus Christ, come into my mind and heart and set me free, that I may live as you would have me live, and love with your abundance. Amen.

The Rev. Janet Hatfield Legro

Tuesday of Holy Week

Isaiah 4: 1-6, Psalm 71, John 13: 21-33, 36-38

We are a brief time into 2010. How blessed those of us are who believe in God and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and have received Him into our lives. God came in human form to provide for our salvation. Christ and His disciples carried the message to all so that it could be known to the ends of the earth. We know the joy, the blessing of His peace, His love. We have the assurance of His constant care if we but ask in prayer according to His will. He hears our prayers as we pray, but often His Holy Spirit is guiding us ahead of our prayers to Him. We are given Godly wisdom and strength. We can know His comfort in situations when we can find no earthly comfort.

When we have all these blessings because of our lives in Christ, we should talk about them. We, like the disciples with Christ, are to spread this light not only to encourage the disheartened, but to help bring others to receive Christ. It would be a betrayal to Him not to share His wonders, mercy, and grace. We need also not to be shy about witnessing before others we know have become Christians. It is true that depression and discouragement can strike believers; we can encourage them, as well as ourselves, as we witness.

Currently, the daily news can offer enough negatives to be knock-out blows to one’s morale. But, knowing that God is in charge and never forsakes us, His children, can be the light of optimism and, never forget, hope.

Always trust, keep faith, pray unceasingly, and love the Lord with all your heart, soul and mind.

Betty McLernon

Monday of Holy Week

Isaiah 42: 1-7 , Psalm 27, John 12, 1 – 11

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair.”

John 12:3

At our baptism with the oil of Chrism we are sealed as Christ’s own, uniting us to Christ and marking the beginning of our relationship with Him. Here, in this passage from John, it is the week before Passover when Mary takes exorbitantly expensive perfumed oil and drenches Jesus' feet with it. Jesus comments on her act by referring to his coming death and burial. There is another way to view Mary's act.

I see this costly oil as symbolizing the most valuable thing each of us has – ourselves. Mary pours out herself at Jesus' feet. We, too, have the opportunity at any moment in our lives to pour out ourselves at the feet of Jesus; to let go of our self-centered, egotistical selves and to drench His feet with all of our mind, heart and soul.

Anointing Jesus' feet with the whole of our being marks growth in our relationship with Christ, further sealing the relationship that began at our baptism. This anointing with the “oil of ourselves” is an on-going, never-ending act on our part if we desire an ever-deepening relationship with Christ.

A relationship which Psalm 27 describes as one in which “The Lord is my light and my salvation.... the stronghold of my life.... He will hide me in his shelter.... My heart shall not fear.... I will be confident... live in the house of the Lord.... behold the beauty of the Lord.... see the Goodness of the Lord.”

The Psalmist exclaims, “ 'Come', my heart says, 'seek His face!' "

If we can anoint Jesus' feet with the whole of ourselves as Mary did, I have hope that one day He will show us His face.

Adrienne Carlee

Passion (Palm) Sunday: The Beginning of Holy Week

Luke 19:28-40, Isaiah 50: 4-7, Psalm 22, Philippians 2: 6-11, Luke 22: 14-23, 56

The Sovereign Lord has taught me what to say, so that I can strengthen the weary. Every morning he makes me eager to hear what he is going to teach me.

Isaiah 50:4

As a child, I would often hear my father declare every day a "beautiful day!" That was, of course, without regard to what the weather was actually doing. He almost invariably welcomed each day as a gift and met each with what struck me then as unseemly optimism and enthusiasm. I mean, what could be "beautiful" about another 100 degree day in South Carolina and how could anyone be optimistic while facing what seemed to my childish mind to be yet another day of drudgery filled with insurmountable obstacles?

Now, as an adult, I know that I have experienced and think that I am finally embracing what my father must surely have known: that God loves people through people. As one of God's beloveds, he recognized and attempted to live his commission. He sought to listen, encourage, teach, and bring hope whenever, however, and wherever he could.

I find it all too easy to exist solely in my personal space remaining pre-occupied with my own concerns. I struggle to remind myself that it is really not all about me. With each passing year I realize ever more keenly that each day is, indeed, a wonderful gift. That gift brings with it, I believe, the responsibility to try to make each day count in some positive way. I pray that I, too, will be able to greet each day with joy and hope and with a listening heart so that I may live out the myriad small ways -- and perhaps on occasion not so small ways -- in which I have an opportunity to show God's love.

Mildred W. Robinson

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Ezekiel 37: 21-28, Jeremiah 31: 10-13, John 11: 45-57

The hopeful prophesies of future restoration found in these passages, addressed to the Israelites in exile, seem like an oasis in the desert of Lent. Here is another oasis, from Kate McIlhagga, a Scottish poet:

Flower Fragrance

Green-hearted winter snowdrop,
symbol of God’s renewing love
turn your face to the sun,
as the days lengthen
and he sets his face to go to Jerusalem.

Pale yellow hosanna trumpet of spring,
accompany him on his journey,
and as your shining petals brighten our day,
help us to sense his presence in our darkness,
his suffering in the agony of the world.

Flower fragrance of anointed love,
Fill our house, our hearts, our world,
with the life-giving news of Easter.

Jane Rotch

Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Jeremiah 20: 10-13, Psalm 18, John 10: 31-42

A common modern practice during the forty days of Lent is to give up a vice or favorite indulgence, harking back to the tradition of fasting to bring one closer to God. But what if, instead of a physical sacrifice, we gave up a deep-seated attitude or habit of mind that is not serving us well?

I think that these are the “enemies” referred to in these passages – the things that keep us from our purest selves, like envy, self-pity, addiction, or greed. (Interestingly, Jeremiah also calls them “my familiar friends.”) While we all have them, we also have the power to slay them, and that power is God. In Jeremiah the Lord is a “dread warrior,” and in the Psalm he makes the writer strong and swift and able to overtake his enemies.

If we too sought God in this way, as the source of the strength we need to let our best selves triumph, we could deepen our experience of Lent in ways that would last well beyond the season.

Kristen Suokko

Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Genesis 17: 3-9, Psalm 105, John 8: 51-59

Today is the Annunciation of the Lord. After some Google searching, I now know that this is the day we recognize that Mary was visited by the angel Gabriel and given her role in carrying the Son of God. Today we remember that God decides to become one of us. Gabriel says to Mary, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and God’s power will rest upon you. For this reason the holy child will be called the Son of God” (Luke 1:35).

As we are filled with a sense of solemn anticipation during the Lenten season, in contrast, today we remember our joyous anticipation of Christ’s coming in God Incarnate. We take this day to celebrate the Annunciation of Christ’s coming. We celebrate the Gift. We celebrate the Presence. We remember Mary’s role and her own nervous anticipation after being charged with an unfathomable duty.

Though we realize the Incarnation today, the gift of Christ in human form, and how it is measured finitely from birth to death, our reading today (John 8:51-59) reminds us that there is nothing temporary about Christ’s presence. Jesus says, “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.” Jesus is before the incarnation, after the incarnation, and always. Today we recognize the Incarnation, and we remember Christ’s presence throughout time. We recognize Christ’s incarnation in our own time, in our own world, in our own lives. Peace be with you.

Elizabeth Peterson

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Daniel 3: 1-30, Psalm 17, John 8: 31-42

On our church calendar, today we commemorate Óscar Romero and the martyrs of El Salvador. Romero, as a Roman Catholic Archbishop, witnessed the state of the poor in his country and began to speak out on their behalf, resulting in his assassination in the middle of celebrating mass in 1980. Canonized in the Roman Catholic Church, Romero’s life and works are also commemorated by many other traditions, including our own.

In our reading from Daniel today, we see another example of witness in a time of oppression in the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refusing to bow before King Nebuchadnezzar’s gold statue. We ourselves are asked daily to fall down and worship the idols of our day, most of all, perhaps, the idol of the status quo. Nebuchadnezzar’s idol is as much an acknowledgment of a false god as it is an acknowledgment of both the king’s power and the subjects’ comfort with the oppression taking place in the empire.

Refusing is not easy, which makes such stories as notable and uncommon as they are. Romero was initially much less involved with resisting the oppression of his country. For Romero it took the death of a close friend. In the reading, it is worth noting that among the crowds mentioned, only three refuse to participate.

As Romero, one of many martyrs for a just cause, shows us, God does not always save us from the furnace. But, as Romero and the fourth figure in the furnace would attest, God does not leave us alone. As we near Easter, when we recall Christ slain by the oppressors of his day, let us pause to reflect on those we know who are brave enough to refuse to bow to the idols of our status quo.

Matthew Lukens

Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Numbers 21: 4-9, Psalm 102, John 8: 21-30

The words to an old hymn say, “Lord, lift me up and let me stand, by faith on heaven’s table land, a higher plane than I have known, Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”

In Numbers 21 the people of Israel spoke against God and against Moses and said, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the desert? There is no bread! There is no water! And we detest this miserable food!” Then the Lord sent venomous snakes among them; they bit the people and many Israelites died. The people repented and asked Moses to pray to God to help them.

The Lord said to Moses, “Make a snake and put it on a pole; anyone who is bitten can look at it and live.” So Moses made a bronze snake and put it up on a pole. Then when anyone was bitten by a snake and looked at the bronze snake, he lived. The Gospel of John (3:14) says: “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

Later in John (8: 28-29) he quotes Jesus as saying, “When you have lifted up the son of Man, then you will know that I am the one I claim to be and that I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me.”

The one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases him.

May we know that we are never alone and may we seek to do what pleases God. Lord lift us up!

Mary Lee Webb

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

2 Kings 4: 18-21, 32-37, Psalm 23, John 8: 12-20

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Stephanie Bolton

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Isaiah 43: 16-21, Psalm 126, Philippians 3: 8-14,John 8: 1-11

My descent into the wilderness began in my early twenties. My mother died after enduring a brain tumor for several months. I had been a protected and emotionally dependent daughter. Two years later my father died suddenly from a heart attack. My only sibling, a brother, was on a naval ship in the Caribbean. The Cuban missile crisis loomed. I did not know in the time of my wilderness of grief and bewilderment that I carried the “seeds for sowing."

Slowly, I became aware of my relationship with God. I went to church more and many friends gave me emotional support. I read daily the prayer that began “Oh God of peace, who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength…” I began to listen to the voice within and in time I was led to take steps into a new life.

Leaving the dependent daughter behind, I continued to discover who I was. As a result, I dared to move to another city and find a new job. “Behold, I am doing a new thing.” My relationship to the divine within had become central to my living --- life became an exciting adventure. Out of all those tears came growth and a new kind of fulfillment. I had come home with “shouts of joy.”

Brenda Peterson

Saturday of the Fourth Sunday of Lent

Jeremiah 11: 18-20, Psalm 7, John 7: 40-53

The leaders of the religious establishment had made up their minds. Their decision was based on Scripture. The Messiah would come from Judea, and not from Galilee. The Messiah’s leadership would be in the Davidic (governmental) line, and not in the Levitic (priestly, or spiritual) line. For these reasons, Jesus could not be the Messiah, regardless of what he said or did, or what his followers said about him. All claims about him had to be false, because they conflicted with Scripture—at least, as they read Scripture.

At the dawn of the cyber age, in the 1960s, the lay theologian Karl Deutsch observed that, in the coming years, humanity’s future rested on our acceptance of what Christians have called humility and grace—rather than on any doctrinal or experiential certainty. He defined them in simple terms. Humility is the understanding that the help you most need in any situation is most likely to come from the least likely source. Grace is living on the assurance that such help will be available when you need it.

Within a generation of the crucifixion, Jerusalem, led by the religious establishment of Jesus’ day, was completely destroyed. The help its leaders sought did not come. Jesus, whom they crucified as a heretic, arose and lives. So much for absolute certainty.

God, stop me when I’m sure I know the answers. Keep me open to receive your love and your spirit—and the possibilities that they provide. Give me humility and grace. So may it be.

Paul Brockman

Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Micah 7: 7-9, Psalm 27, John 9: 1-41

Will I ever live to tell
of the deep and scary swell
that through grace, becomes the place
in me you dwell?

I, a sinner, errant through;
my deeds and thoughts so far from you,
puffed with pride and blind inside,
I'm made anew.

You knew man and called my name,
healing me from all my shame.
You admonish and astonish,
love and never blame.

You are great beyond compare,
dazzling light and presence fair.
Doubt erased, your mystery faced
life a constant prayer.

In your creation don't forsake;
whisper to us, we'll awake
to sing, to dance, to be entranced
in praises to partake.

Here is a world of hide and seek
fatal past and future bleak;
may you surpass what we amass;
then we're complete.

Rosemary Jarman

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Exodus 32: 7-14, Psalm 106, John 5: 31-47

The “Gitanjali” by Rabindranath Tagore (verses 37 – 39)

I thought my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power – the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.

That I want thee, only thee – let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core.

As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry – I want thee, only thee.

As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is – I want thee, only thee.

When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.

Joseph (Pepe) Humphrey

EDITOR'S NOTE: Mr. Humphrey died March 1, and the St. Paul's community greatly mourns his passing from us. His memorial service will be March 27 at 11 am at St. Paul's Memorial Church, 1700 University Avenue, Charlottesville

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Isaiah 49: 8-15, Psalm 145, John 5: 17-30

Should we count on God? Should God count on us?

Sometimes we try too hard, thinking that we create our own destinies. We plan our careers, build our homes, raise our children, tend to daily wants and needs. We labor to sustain our lives, work to enrich our days, invest our time and money to help us sleep better at night, and carefully construct life-stories that we hope might be remembered.

But in each act, all that we do is simply part of a web of other lives. Mentors and protégés shape our careers. Architects, carpenters, bankers, plumbers, and inspectors build our homes… not to mention those who pay us so we can pay our bills. Teachers, friends, and family raise our children – and our children raise themselves, and even teach us a thing or two while they’re at it.

Always our needs are greater than nourishment or a place to sleep. Our greatest need is to nurture the web of life that sustains us. Sometimes we are faced with doing that in a desert of human kindness, on a mountain of travails, in a sea of hostility. Then we find that crossing the deserts, mountains and seas depends on family, friends, and communities that we have sustained, and who in turn sustain us. That web of life – God’s kingdom – finds us and keeps us.

Bill Antholis

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Ezekiel 47: 1-9, 12, Psalm 46, John 5: 1-6

“Be still and know that I am God”—in that stillness, know, feel, sense the great “I Am”—above and beyond all, powerful past all imagining, yet right here with me, as close as the air that touches my skin. The strongest sense of God’s otherness, His absolutely unique character as creator and redeemer, combines with the certainty that He is not THERE, but HERE. The psalmist says, “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble.”

We know all about the refuge and strength part; when you’re in trouble you call out to God for help, protection from whatever awful fate you’re facing, and if He doesn’t save you from it, at least He’ll be your strength—help you get through whatever it is without acting like too much of a fool. What odd diction, though, “a very present help.” It’s the red flag highlighting the real distinction. He’s “very present,” not somebody you have to leave a voicemail message for; He’s the one who answers on the first ring. Or maybe you don’t even have to ring, just reach out and realize that He’s right there with you.

Anne Ribble

Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Isaiah 65: 17-21, Psalm 30, John 4: 43-54

Isaiah 65, 17-21: The Lord declares his new heavens and a new earth for the faithful; joyfulness replaces sadness, and life overcomes death. Once again, the Lord declares, "Here I am."

Psalm 30: For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. Again, the faithful are promised renewal. Once again, the Lord declares, "Here I am."

John 4, 43-54: An official travels from Judea to Galilee begging Jesus to come heal his dying son in Judea. Before telling the father his boy will live, curing him miraculously across such a great distance, Jesus declares that we have a need to witness signs and miracles before believing. Can we believe without seeing? Once again, the Lord declares, "Here I am."

On her most recent visit, my Mom retold one of her favorite stories to my wife, one that I had not heard for a long time. Her two boys, about ages four and five, once shared a bedroom. Late one evening, the elder left his bed to visit the bathroom. After a time, the younger grew concerned and called out to his brother, "Are you okay?" The elder replied, "Yes. I have God with me here." The younger paused, then declared, "No, God is in here with me." A tearful argument ensued, followed by a long pause. The tears stopped. The younger called out to his brother, "That's okay. You have God with you. I have Jesus in here with me."

Believing without seeing; the promise of renewal; joyfulness will replace sadness: "Here I am." The Lord be with you.

Stephen Millard

Fourth Sunday of Lent

Joshua 5: 9a, 10-12 , Psalm 34, 2 Corinthians 5: 17-21, Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

Forgiveness is the ultimate act of love.
Love requires forgiveness as its foundation
Christ comes to this earth to bring us to the Father.
He gave himself, the ultimate sacrifice.

The story of the Prodigal Son jolts us out of our complacency. Theologian Paul Tillich says that this is the heart of the Gospel. He cites another example in the story of the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. Tillich says “Forgiveness is unconditional or it is not forgiveness at all. There is no condition whatsoever in man which could not make him worthy of forgiveness. It is not the love of the woman that brings her forgiveness…it is the forgiveness that she has received that creates her love.”

God’s love and forgiveness are gifts, no strings attached. They are not something we earn, but simply there. No wonder we have such a hard time with this. It doesn’t fit in with any other experience we have in life. The exception is that if and when we experience that forgiveness and love, our lives are changed forever. As one who has been forgiven much I know the light and joy it creates in my life. How amazing to know there is One who loves me and knows all my dreadful thoughts and misdeeds and still loves me unconditionally.

How humbling! How freeing! Free to give love unconditionally as the Father has given it to us. Free to forgive others. Though we stumble and fall we can always return. God is only one breath away. Always there, always loving. In the giving and receiving of God’s love everything is new and the old has passed away.

Alice Turner

Saturday of the Third Week of Lent

Hosea 6: 1-6, Psalm 119, Luke 18:9-14

"A Wahoo and a Hokie walked into a bar: . . . " "How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?" That's all we need to hear to get us smiling at each other in anticipation of the punch line, sure that the story will be another witty play on the stereotypes.

Imagine Jesus the storyteller beginning with a similar rhythm: "A Pharisee and a tax collector walked into the temple to pray." The listeners begin to smile, and sure enough, the characters are just what they expected. The Pharisee lives in strict accordance with the Law and knows that he has God's approval. As he prays, he looks around to see who else might be admiring him and spies that no-good tax collector hiding in a corner. The tax collector doesn't see him; his head is bowed in misery and he stays far from the altar.

Jesus doesn't even need to dream up some original dialogue. Both his characters are from the tradition of Psalm 119. Here's the Pharisee: "I look at the faithless with disgust, because they do not keep thy commands. Consider how I love thy precepts!" (Ps 119:158). And the tax collector: "I have gone astray like a lost sheep: seek thy servant..." (Ps.119:176). So far, no surprises.

What's the punch line? Here it comes: "The tax collector went down to his house justified rather than the other." The repentant sinner who expressed his need for God had his prayer answered. The righteous one who didn't ask for anything was left just as he was. Jesus is giving God's response to the mixed messages of Psalm 119. Like a humble lover, God waits for us to ask, to seek, to knock at the door. In the words of Hosea, "Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord."

Vickie Gottlob

Friday of the Third Week of Lent

Hosea 14: 2-10, Psalm 81, Mark 12: 28-34

I have never liked flying. Truth be told, I love flying, as long as the ride is not bumpy, wobbly, rough, loud, or scary. When the experience is as smooth as sitting still in my La-Z-Boy chair, I breathe easy and have a peaceful, entertaining time. I enjoy watching the clouds, towns, and natural formations below me, just the way I would a good TV show or Netflix selection. As long as there is zero turbulence, it is well with my soul.

But my calm is shattered when plane noises or movements indicate we are a few miles above the earth.

I’ve tried pretending I am on a Greyhound bus, and that each little “period of rough air” is just a series of potholes along the interstate. Bumpity, bump. No big deal. Then comes a moment of free fall or flashing seatbelt lights! I get anxious, knowing I cannot walk away on my own two feet if we run out of gas. I struggle to stay centered.

This past Christmas Eve, as my US Air flight bounced its way into Austin, this fearful, ungrounded traveler decided to try a different kind of visualization, having just read Hosea 14:7-8: “I am like a green cypress tree; Your fruit is found in me.” I pictured myself rooted in God, connected to His creation and to Him. “Revived like grain” and “(growing) like a vine” (v. 7), I imagined Spirit-filled roots running through me, through the air, to the earth. I was comforted.

Maybe, for me, flying is a reminder that my own physicality is not the center of my being. Daily life, like plane trips, can be turbulent, but it is not my two feet, nor my La-Z-Boy chair’s four legs, keeping me safe. God is my strength. He is, at all times and at all elevations, my solid ground.

Martha Haertig

Thursday of the Third Week of Lent

Jeremiah 7: 23-28, Psalm 95: 7b-11, Luke: 11: 14-23

My children heard today’s passages and I asked them, “What do you think it means to disobey God?” “To break the Ten Commandments?” ventured twelve-year old Benedict. Teenage Hannah jumped in, “How can you honor your mother and father all the time? How can anyone keep all those commandments? Why bother?”

All three passages tell us why to bother. In each we hear that no good comes when “hearts go astray,” to use the psalmist’s words. Jeremiah’s people are taken into exile; the first generation out of Egypt who grumbled against Moses and God in the desert did not get to cross into the Promised Land; Jesus told the crowd that if they were not for him, they were against him. It is not so much about keeping every detail of the law as it is about being oriented to God, bothering, even when we are likely to fall short.

I am reminded of a prayer by Thomas Merton, the noted Trappist monk: “My Lord God,…I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end….and the fact that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road… Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone” (Thoughts in Solitude).

The Rev. Heather Warren

Wednesday of the Third Week of Lent

Deuteronomy 4: 1, 5-9, Psalm 147, Matthew 5: 17-19

And the second commandment is like unto it: you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

To love yourself you must know yourself and be willing to see yourself as you really are. Carl Jung identified the shadow side of the human psyche, that dark underside that most of us prefer to ignore. Yet if we are to be whole, it is essential to bring the elements of our shadow into the light of consciousness, examine them, own them, and use them constructively, or ultimately they will control us.

As we pursue our spiritual journey, it seems to me that we traverse two parallel paths: the individual path, and the collective path that brings us into community. Ultimately these paths will merge. The individual path leads us into a closer personal relationship with God, and the recognition and knowledge of the Divine within us. If we follow the path of the mystic we seek to attain union with God and ultimately the post-union or unitive state.

But the paradox is that we are not meant to live in isolation. Jesus tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves and this means living in and through community. The brilliant 20th Century theologian and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin introduced a concept that takes community to the next level--collective salvation. He stated that “Our salvation is not pursued or achieved except in solidarity with the justification of the whole body of the elect.” This places an awesome responsibility on each of us, since our salvation (however you define it) is interconnected with the salvation of all. A stunning parallel relates to the Dalai Lama, who vowed to continue reincarnating until the last soul on earth attains enlightenment. Perhaps this is the “Christ Consciousness” working at its highest level.

Nancy E. Brockman

Tuesday of the Third Week of Lent

Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 25, Matthew 18: 21-35

Lent is to reflect
Cry out in the wilderness
And journey to Hope

In the midst of lent
We journey through darkness
Learning the Lord’s ways

Out of the desert
Our soul guided by the Lord
Our feet on His path

Long is the journey
And our soul cries out to God
Now dying of thirst

Let my enemies
Not exalt over me God
Have mercy on me

Yet still we find Hope
We drink water from the rock
Knowing forgiveness

Our hope is in God
For He is our salvation
All is forgiven

Journey together
Show one another God’s ways
A time of Hope comes

Anne Cressin

Monday of the Third Week of Lent

2 Kings 5:1-15b, Psalm 42, Luke 4:24-30

Nearly 10 years ago, during a drive through the countryside around Charlottesville, our family stopped at a small nursery set up in a lady’s front yard. There were many pretty flowers on display that day, but I found myself drawn to a large pot that was partially hidden by a bag of mulch. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it contained what looked like a twig jutting out from the soil. Losing interest, I asked the owner what it was.

"A camellia," she said. Camellia. What a beautiful name for a plant. It hinted at something exotic, and lovely, and somehow, from long ago. On impulse, I bought the twig and brought it home.

The next day, riddled with buyer's remorse, I stuck it into the ground, watered it, and then left it alone with a disinterest which was my way of dealing with a lost cause. Eighteen months later, the twig had transformed itself into a bush with dark green leaves and fragrant white blossoms. Camellias. I thought they would disappear after the first time. I felt like a child who had received a treat she did not really deserve. Nevertheless, year after year, the camellias bloomed-- beautiful and abundant. And every year, I felt that jolt of wonder, just like the first time.

But something is wrong this year. Strange growths are taking over the branches, and they look scary. I have looked up what this could mean, and the prognoses range from “not good” to “terminal.” Is a gift worth fighting for when it's no longer free and effortless? Oh, yes.

In the Lord I’ll be ever thankful, In the Lord I will rejoice, Look to God, do not be afraid,Lift up your voices, the Lord is near, Lift up your voices, the Lord is near.

Rowena Pinto Zimmerman

Third Sunday of Lent

Exodus 3: 1-8a, 13-15, Psalm 103, 1 Corinthians 10: 1-6, 10-12 Luke 13: 1-9

The burning bush, Paul’s flash of light on the road to Damascus and the transfiguration all count as striking spiritual experiences. These are not, however, the only kind of spiritual experiences. Most of our encounters with God are far less dramatic.

God will provide us with the experience we need. Our job is to pay attention and recognize God’s voice when we hear it. We can learn the sound of God’s voice by praying the scriptures.
God speaks to our mind, heart and body. If we expect intellectual experience alone, we may miss a quiet sense of encouragement and strengthening of will. Emotional and physical excitement may be part of our experience. It may be much quieter - simply a change in perspective about a situation, other people or about ourselves.

The passage from Luke is a call to change perspective. Jesus asked the crowd if they thought that others were suffering disasters because they had sinned. Many of us take the perspective that others suffer because of mistakes or sins. With a little effort, we can compile a complete inventory of why the other fellow is in trouble. But the Gospel says otherwise; we need to take inventory of our own shortcomings – and then change.

After judging ourselves, we can then ask for God’s help (i.e. repent). Then we will find that we are like the fig tree. We will have water and nourishment in the form of spiritual experiences. We will also have time to bear fruit.

Herb Ely

Saturday of the Second Week of Lent

Micah 7: 14-15, 18-20, Psalm 103, Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

My attitude toward Lent has matured over the years just as my relationship to God has matured. As a child I was encouraged to give up something for Lent every year. At first it was candy, in college it was smoking, as an adult a treasured morning latte. All were sacrifices at the time (especially the latte) but did they bring me closer to God? The answer is no!

In Micah and in Psalm 103, we find that God is a forgiving and compassionate God. Perhaps this is one of the messages for us during this Lenten season. When we look at ourselves, we probably find that we have many blessings and yet there are people near to us and in our own community that have far less to be thankful for. So rather than depriving ourselves of a luxury perhaps we should think about how we can share some of our blessings with those in need. We are fortunate that here at St. Paul's there are groups already in place to help out in the community. It is a matter of taking the first step in making contact with a group involved in a project of interest to us.

In Luke, forgiveness is for those who repent using as examples "the errant son" or the "wandering sheep". For many years I have thought about those unfortunate people who are in prison because of circumstances in their lives of which they had no control. The message in Luke seems to leave no doubt that we have an obligation to try in some way to help those people.

There are many possibilities. The most difficult task is making the first move to do something. It is impossible to save the world but we can start with small steps.

Sally Humphrey

Friday of the Second Week of Lent

Genesis 37: 3-4, 12-13a, 17b-28a, Psalm 105, Matthew 21: 33-43, 45-46

Psalm 105 retells God’s actions in history, not the actions of His people in history, emphasizing that it is God who directs the lives of His people. In today’s Genesis passages, we witness Joseph’s betrayal by his brothers when they sell him into slavery. We know that this story has a happy ending: Joseph prepares Egypt for the famine and not only forgives his brothers but helps them, too. Joseph even tells his brothers not to be angry at themselves for their betrayal, as this was how God brought him to Egypt to feed His people.

This story serves as a reminder that although we may not always feel like we are in God’s favor, he does not abandon us. Rather, we simply cannot yet understand the ways He is working through us or where He is leading us. The place where we are today is not the end; there is more to our stories. For this reason, it is important that we continue to trust God and ask for His guidance. And additionally, that in times of darkness, we also continue to love others as Christ loves us and forgive others as Christ forgives us, for it is written, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

Today, let us ask God to help us to forgive, like Joseph, those who have wronged us in some way, so that we may better follow Him, with a clean heart and upright spirit, into the lives that we are meant to live—Christ-like and in Christ.

Jennifer Raha

Thursday of the Second Week of Lent

Jeremiah 17: 5-10, Psalm 1, Luke 16: 19-31

I am struggling with today’s readings. All three tell us of two kinds of people: the "wicked" who wither, die and go to Hades and the "good" who prosper and are rewarded in heaven. To be among the good one must “trust in the Lord”. Yes, but! ..... I know from experience that people don’t fall neatly into categories of good and evil. I am sometimes wicked and sometimes good.

Furthermore, I believe all human beings are basically good because we are born with “that of God” within - the Divine Indwelling. It is the human condition and our attempts to survive in a harsh world that cause us to “sin”. And I know for sure I cannot will myself to be a better person, much as I desire that.

Given my modern mindset then, what is God saying to me today? The wisdom of Thomas Keating comes to mind. He says we cannot reorient our thoughts and behaviors toward God on our own but we can “change the direction we are looking for happiness.” The human condition predisposes us to seek happiness, but we look for it in all the wrong places - in safety and security, power and control and esteem and affection. Happiness is not to be found in any of these because they are human-made and therefore transient. The place to find lasting happiness is in the Eternal, with God. We cannot change our natures but we can consent to God’s presence and action within and allow Him to show us our innate Goodness.

With 21st century sensibilities intact, I come full circle back to Jeremiah: “Trust in the Lord”.

Susan Clark

Wednesday of the Second Week of Lent

Jeremiah 18: 18-20, Psalm 31, Matthew 20: 17-28

Who Is Your Elizabeth?
Psalm 31

knit together
a fortress of
corundum
tremolite
marble and chalk

(ask)) go ahead)
of these
my refuge walls

O, blessed ones
know
spirit glints before sparking

Listen [truly hear)
slate turn to schist
obsidian form as it’s meant to

Cindy Cartwright

Tuesday of the Second Week of Lent

Isaiah 1: 10, 16-20, Psalm 50, Matthew 23: 1-12

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

Matthew 23:12

There are no lists of “The Top Ten Humble People.” The humble don’t write autobiographies or broadcast their accomplishments. Ad agencies don’t use them to promote products or services. You rarely find them in the pages of magazines and newspapers. Most live quiet lives.

The above warning and promise from the Gospel of Matthew concludes a passage in which Jesus directs his followers to obey the rules of the established religion, but not to emulate the Pharisees. They--and we--are to reject the Pharisees’ pretensions, hypocrisy and desire for respect and honor. Instead of exalting in titles, privileges and accomplishments, we become the servants.

Consider the following lines:

Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us. - Brian Andreas

Where will your pride lie?

K. Olson

Monday of the Second Week of Lent

Daniel 9: 4b-10, Psalm 79, Luke 6: 36-38

Psalm 79, written for an Israel in exile, often reminds me of my experiences as a Christian in an academic setting. So much of our world here in Charlottesville encourages us to be logical – not faithful to those things that we cannot see. But there are just some things Christians cannot explain with logic. As we prepare for the most illogical holiday in our church year (that dead guy did WHAT?), I thank God for His illogical decisions to choose Abraham and Sarah, to send His only Son to teach all of us, to let that Son die for our redemption.

And in this season of repentance and austerity, I am encouraged to look for the irrational ways in which I can love others. I’d certainly rather spend that $5 on a latte, but I know the church could use it in far more productive ways. I may be more inclined to stay at home when it is dark and cold, but I know that our soup kitchens desperately need volunteers. Our actions, small and large, can never amount to the illogical ways in which God has loved us. But, illogically enough, that shouldn’t stop us from trying to love the world in the same way He first loved us.

God of love, learning, and irrationality, help me to find ways to love others in the same illogical way you have loved me. When I am irritable at the world’s conditions, help me to see all as Your children. Prepare my heart for redemption through Your Son by showing me what I can do for others. Amen.

Margaret E. Thornton

Second Sunday of Lent

Genesis 15: 5-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3: 17-41, Luke 9: 28b-36

Were you asked to describe your dream home, what would you say? A spacious Spanish Colonial rich in the colors and textures of the southwest? Maybe a light infused Frank Lloyd Wright temple to “organic architecture?” A McMansion bearing mute and massive witness to your financial success?

The Psalmist David had a much different vision. David’s “dream home”, his heart’s desire, was “the house of the Lord” – a place where he could “gaze upon the beauty of the Lord;” where he would find protection from his enemies; where he would be welcomed and known.

Where is this awesome dwelling place, this “house of the Lord” in 2010? Surely not the McMansion, nor even a modest bungalow. Where then can we find our own heart’s desire, the “house of the Lord” in which we too can dwell, secure in God’s protective love and acceptance?

Perhaps Luke’s account of the transfiguration points the way. At first seduced by the apparition of Jesus in glory with Moses and Elijah, it was only when immersed in the fearful shadow of the cloud that the apostles heard the voice of God, and understood that Jesus was the Son of God, their own true dwelling place. Maybe for us too, it is only within the mysterious mist of the cloud, that we will be able to open our hearts, to find that perfect dwelling place, our “dream home” with the Lord.

Lord, grant us the courage to dive into the cloud with open minds and open hearts so that we can truly find your dwelling place, and like David rest with you there all the days of our lives.

Kathleen Caldwell

Saturday of the First Week of Lent

Deuteronomy 26: 16-19, Psalm 119, Matthew 5: 43-48

Henri Nouwen, Roman Catholic priest and author, visited Nicaragua during the “Contra War”. After the conflict between the US and Nicaragua had ended, Nouwen’s concern and the concern of many was how to normalize relations– especially how to “love your enemies,” as Jesus says in the gospel of St. Matthew.

Henri Nouwen tells of a meeting he had with a group of Nicaraguan women in a small village. They were sharing stories about the war and saying that, since most of the deaths were on the Nicaraguan side, most of the forgiveness would have to be done by Nicaragua. But how can Nicaragua “love” America when they had been their enemies?

Nouwen posed the question to the women: “Can you forgive us? “ The women replied, almost in unison: “Yes, we can forgive you.” “We bombed your villages, burnt your fields, and killed your sons and husbands. Can you forgive us for all that?” “Even for all that,” the women replied.

Then Nouwen asked a question he had not intended to ask: “Can you love us?” “Yes, we can love you,” replied the women. “We can love you – and we do love you.”

Among the most difficult commandments in the Gospels is the commandment to love our enemies. Jesus was not crucified for saying “consider the lilies of the field” but for saying “love your enemies”. How do we love our enemies? One way is by withdrawing to a quiet place alone and acknowledging that God has created all people and loves all people. We are all brothers and sisters of each other. God pours his remarkable love on all of us, and we trust God to help us love our enemies. We cannot do it alone. We remain open to God’s power to change us. And God will change us, if that is our prayerful desire.

The Rev. Roderick D. Sinclair

Friday of the First Week of Lent

Ezekiel 18: 21-28, Psalm 130, Matthew 5: 20-26

Psalm 130 is one of the most moving because it is so intimate and personal. The petitioner speaks from that place where we sometimes find ourselves during the middle of the night, a place of despair, quiet panic, or fear. This position of poignant need is common to human beings of all ages. When they were quite young, both Bach and Mozart wrote beautifully moving choral settings of this psalm.

The psalmist takes for granted that all persons sin. The range of things we “[do] amiss” is vast. From killing other human beings, to destroying Earth’s resources, to looking past people in need, to simply filling our days with endless activities, we have many ways to distance ourselves from others, and thus from God. But the psalmist is utterly confident in the certainty of God’s forgiveness, in God’s “plenteous redemption.” And his “soul waits for the Lord,” not with the agitation of the sleepless, but rather with the assurance and expectancy of watchmen, alert and sure that dawn is coming.

Jesus was steeped in the tradition of prophets such as Ezekiel who emphasized the importance of “turning away from wickedness,” so that transgressions might be forgotten. But Jesus, putting a far finer point on it in his homily, says that it’s not enough to refrain from the most blatant sins, such as murder. Even the smallest acts that put distance between us and other human beings separate us from God as well. Therefore, he instructs us to be mindful of all our human relationships and, on a daily basis, to work to solve these human disagreements. Only then may we fully realize our connection with God’s steadfast love. How different our world would be now if each of us practiced this teaching!

Marsha Trimble

Thursday of the First Week of Lent

Esther 4: 1-16, Psalm 138, Matthew 7: 7-12

When fear keeps me from recognizing myself in others,
You are there.
When insecurity locks me in from living as Jesus taught,
You are there.
When my imperfections become my stumbling blocks,
You are there.
When I cannot find the words and am unsure of what to say,
You are there.

When I act, You are there.
When I seek, You are there.
When I ask, You are there.
When I pray, You are there.

Help me to recognize myself in others.
Help me to live as Jesus taught.
Help me to act, seek, and ask.
Help me to believe in the power of prayer.

As I will be there to support, nurture, and nourish my child,
You will be there to support, nurture, and nourish me.
So that I may grow and face new challenges
Renewed by your grace.

And though my consequence may not be as great as Esther's, let me remember your grace and support as I face who I am intended to be, as I may have "come to the kingdom for such a time as this."

"Lord your love is eternal.
Complete the work that you
have begun."

Glynis Welte

Wednesday of the First Week of Lent

Jonah 3: 1-10, Psalm 51, Luke 11:29-32

Psalm 51

7 For behold you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly

8 Purge me from my sin, and I shall be pure wash me, and I shall be clean indeed.

9 Make me hear of joy and gladness, that the body you have broken may rejoice.

Morning Prayer

Dear God, help me live in this world that we have created together,
This life of families twisted into knots with fighting
This world of sleeping tribes forgotten as they starve
This planet of spoiled rivers and dying trees
These peoples, bloated with excess, still hungry
Meet me, dear God, in the broken places of my body
Meet me in the wild and tangled spaces of my heart,
Come with me as I explore the path of my anger,
leading me ever deeper within,
until I am able to lie down and rest in the beauty of my brokenness.

Leslie Middleton

Tuesday of the First Week of Lent

Isaiah 55: 10-11, Psalm 34, Matthew 6: 7-1

Setting: February 23, 2010, 12:15 PM Daily Mass at the Church of the Incarnation

Isaiah 55, 10-11: First, I heard an ancient, seemingly obtuse description on some facet of the original creation – but, then I sensed a prophetic description of the gift of Christian life I was given and the need to respond to this love of God in my life’s work.

Psalm 34: This brings to mind the many ways and means available to me, and the results obtained by others, to seek God’s help in living a Christian life amidst the trials and tribulations of my hectic life. Or, “knock and the door will open” as often suggested in spiritual direction encounters.

Matthew 6, 7-15: Now, I’m reminded the Our Father is the way of ways to pause and express my basic needs to the Creator, and to myself. When I encounter obstacles to Christian behavior in my daily life, this is the Gold Standard for “rebooting” my operating system and letting the Holy Spirit function once again.

Later Reflections: The Collegeville Commentary for Psalms, says this about Psalm 34: “Anyone who is wise will, by right conduct, join the company of the righteous and thus enjoy God’s favor.”

This triad reminds me of what I am – and can be – as a creature of God. I can always return to my busy day in a renewed state. I can meet its challenges, witness God’s love, and resume apostolic behavior in my ever present effort toward an evening prayer beginning with the Our Father. Finally, I come full circle to something I read years ago in the “Catholic Catechism for Adults: “Thus, it [Our Father] brings us into communion with the Father and the Holy Spirit.”

Perry Sennewald

Monday of the First Week of Lent

Leviticus 19: 1-2, 11-18, Psalm 19, Matthew 25: 31-46

The best known of the several judgment passages in the New Testament, often known as the “Parable of the Sheep and the Goats,” this passage from Matthew is most often thought of primarily as a sinister warning to those who ignore the needy and oppressed among us. For me it is a message of hope. The “righteous” are unselfconscious and unaware that in serving their neighbor in need they are serving Christ in that neighbor.

The Protestant, Puritan being which inhabits me asks, “How may I work to get to that place where I serve others without being aware of Christ in their midst. Note the word “WORK.” My question is the wrong question. Being in the presence of Christ in our neighbor in need is not a matter of work. Jesus Christ graciously gives us the gift of his presence. He is present in our neighbor waiting for us. We seek the opportunity. Christ is there when we arrive. Jesus also surrounds us with the opportunities. A parish such as St. Paul’s has an opportunity to fit each of us.

Charles Perry

First Sunday of Lent

Deuteronomy 26: 4-10, Psalm 91, Romans 10: 8-13, Luke 4: 1-13

Satan offered Jesus a gift, but Jesus didn't take it. We all are tempted with gifts, which we open, consume, own and disown, and throw away.

The devil tempted Jesus for forty days, and Jesus had the courage, the insight, and the faith to refuse and rebuke him. We use and abuse our gifts without courage, insight or faith. We refuse nothing we can turn to refuse.

The devil offered power and glory and food. We accept gifts that promise power, offer glory and feed us through every appetite. We know not no.

Satan stood by Jesus in the wilderness and brought him to Jerusalem, offering, tempting, mocking, daring. Jesus stood atop the temple and did not step into Satan's trap. We rely not on the angels of our better nature but willingly trap ourselves with every temptation but love, which is selfless. We are collections of self. We are selves and elfish elves.

The devil ended his tempting game, gave up and went away, learning utter futility. We did not hear Jesus when he put away all elves and told the biggest: "Get behind me, Satan." Jesus uttered a true answer.

We don't even see the question. We are all answers. We just are, for the moment.

He is. He is there for all of us, always.

Bob Gibson

Saturday After Ash Wednesday

Isaiah 58: 9b-14, Psalm 86, Luke 5: 27-32

Wouldn’t it be nice if our lives had a “reset” button?

We could go back to that moment just before we pushed “send” on an irrevocable and unkind email message. We could get out of that corner we procrastinated ourselves into, and finish the project within its deadline. We could rethink that moment when we decided to go through the amber light after it had turned red. We could return to that day when we decided to leave college because of a tempting job offer.

Alas, I don’t think God can change any of those situations for us. We have to live with the consequences of our actions.

On the other hand, I do believe that God offers us a “reset button” of a different kind. God’s grace and forgiveness are always available to those who humbly ask. No matter what the action, if we ask for God’s help we can learn how to work with the consequences, knowing that God’s grace comes to the truly repentant. The Confession in the Morning Prayer service speaks of “things done and left undone” and asks God to restore those who are penitent.

So during this Lenten season, perhaps we can learn to use God’s “reset button” before we need it. Maybe if we think “reset” before undertaking an action that might be harmful to ourselves or others, God’s grace and love will protect us from ourselves. And we will learn to love and trust God more fully.

Amen

Ginger Greene

Friday After Ash Wednesday

Isaiah 58: 1-9a, Psalm 51, Matthew 9: 14-15

Lent is a somber time for remembering and reflection. Quite the opposite is true of birthdays. This day in Lent marks the birthday of my sister who died twenty years ago. For me the happiness of remembering her and the somberness of recalling her illness and death comingle on this day.

Though we lived in different states during her 18-month struggle with cancer, we had the privilege of weekly time together. For many months it seemed like no illness at all. Our visits were occasions for remembering and reflection punctuated by joyous laughter much more often than the distress of bad side effects. Eventually our conversations became ever more focused on what was most important in each of our lives. Hers was a straightforward faith. It was she who etched in my memory the Micah 6: 6 answer to the question about the Lord’s requirements of us. It had served her well. “And what does the Lord require of you? Seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God.”

It’s now twenty years later and I continue to seek, to love, and to walk humbly with God on this earth. In the passages for this day, I find important guidance for this process. I find the action-oriented exhortations in Psalm 51 energizing. Rouse yourself! Awaken! Listen! Hearken! Hear! Put on Strength!

I am ever grateful that I listened and heard my sister. I pray for strength to continue to walk humbly with my God and to listen with care to the new insights waiting for me this Lenten season of reflecting and remembering.

Doris S. Greiner

Thursday After Ash Wednesday

Deuteronomy 30: 15-20, Psalm 1, Luke 9: 22-25

Then, speaking to all, he said, ‘If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross every day and follow me. Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, will save it. What benefit is it to anyone to win the whole world and forfeit or lose his very self?’

Jesus knows us well when he tells us to renounce ourselves and take up our cross every day. Anyone who has tried to start a new habit knows that change requires constant turning and returning in the direction we mean to go. This process can feel disheartening, but we might alternatively view it as a continually open door. We are invited and re-invited to continue, humbly and gratefully, in our good work. Jesus knows that we cannot change our lives in an instant, so he simply calls us to return to him each day and try again.

In 1960, Dr. Maxwell Maltz gave this advice for adopting a new routine: “The essence of the technique is simply to devote 15 minutes a day to the formation of any habit you wish to establish, and do this faithfully for 21 days. By the fourth week, it should actually be harder not to engage in the new behavior than it would be to continue doing it."

What promising news! With Jesus’ encouragement to keep trying and this sage advice, let us embark on this season of Lent together with hope and courage. Reading each day from this Guide, let us remember our shared Communion as we strive to deepen ourselves, our relationships with each other, and our relationships with God.

Hannah Trible

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:12-18, Psalm 51, 2 Corinthians 5:20-62, Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

Rend your hearts
return to me
broken and contrite
reconciled
let us journey together
pilgrim
into the
wilderness
keep me, these forty days,
in the
dark
secret
quiet
of your
heart

Anna Askounis