Today is the fourth of Sunday of Easter, traditionally called "Good Shepherd Sunday." The gospel from John focused on Jesus' exhortation that he is the shepherd and he knows his sheep, that those who enter the fold by the gate are true sheep, and those who enter via the window or over the fence, as it were are theives and bandits.
It's hard to look at this text in context. As one of my friends and parishioners noted this morning at coffee hour, even during Jesus' time it might have been hard for the followers of Jesus to get the allegory of Jesus being the shepherd of a flock, afterall, they were poor urban folk living in Jerusalem, fishermen of Capernaum or Magdala, and Jesus was a carpenter from Nazareth.
Shepherds lived a lonely, solitary life. They brought the sheep out to the pastures beyond the villages and towns, and stayed there all day, watching over their charges to keep them safe from wolves and/or poachers, sometimes staying away from civilization for days and weeks. The shepherds knew their flock, and the sheep knew their shepherd. The shepherd attends his flock with the diligence and care of a father for his children.
Knowing this, seeing Jesus as the Good Shepherd isn't impossible. Jesus came into the world to gather God's children to him, to bring them to the fold, the Kingdom, and lead them to a way of life that it is harmonious with creation. He warns his first century listeners to be wary of those who claim to have the answers, to have the right way of life, for they are the thieves and bandits who jump over the wall or go through a window to get into the fold, rather than follow Jesus through the gate.
Today, the shepherd is as foreign to us as a knight on horseback or a Hobbit. We don't have occasion to see them on our commutes to work and school, not most of us, anyway. Still, the message Jesus offers is worth noting. It's in our best interest to be wary of those who say they have the answers, the secrets to life, those who invite us to get rich quick, to be the alpha dog, the leader of the pack. Strange, as I was typing this, a television commercial was playing in the living room and the jingle went something like, "I want it all . . . I want it all . . . I want it now." Is this the message we want to convey? Having the most doesn't get you into the Kingdom, having all the answers to the most puzzling questions in the universe may get you a spot on a game show, but it doesn't guarantee a place at the table, or a room in the Father's house. Hearing the Word, sharing it, living a life in right relationship and taking right action, a life modelling the gospel to one's best ability invites us to join the fold, to enter by the gate. In this way, we can be shepherds like Jesus. Or if we must be sheep, we will know who our shepherd is.
Alleluia, He is risen.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
Ellen+
13 April, 2008
06 April, 2008
Even Christ Went Up on Mountain
During Holy Week, I thought I would report on each of the days and gospel lessons, and also comment on Easter Day. I wasn't expecting exhaustion or depression to come from my favorite of holy seasons.
So I stepped away from theological reflection and stepped back for God to do the work, which meant that I did a lot of sleeping, praying and tried to relax. When you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, look after children, and fit ministry around such a life, once in a while the Trinity invites you to do nothing except bask in God's love.
Which is what I did.
Alleluia, he is risen!
Ellen+
So I stepped away from theological reflection and stepped back for God to do the work, which meant that I did a lot of sleeping, praying and tried to relax. When you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, look after children, and fit ministry around such a life, once in a while the Trinity invites you to do nothing except bask in God's love.
Which is what I did.
Alleluia, he is risen!
Ellen+
We had hoped . . . .
This week's Gospel from Luke continues the narration of the events of Easter Day.
How is it possible that joy springs from grief?
In the last weeks, we’ve been on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his followers. We’ve witnessed the glorious entry into the city, the poignant supper at which a woman anoints Jesus and washes him with her tears, we’ve seen the incredible and necessary raising of Lazarus, and we’ve experienced the Seder in the upper room, and finally the trial and execution of Jesus. After some pretty amazing moments that give life and hope comes a horrific, mind and spirit numbing death. So it’s hard to imagine that something good could come of it. If you, as I, have lost someone you knew, someone you loved, with whom you shared a life, meals, joys and sorrows, then you’ve felt the pain that comes from such loss and the accompanying grief. It’s not hard then, to put ourselves on the road to Emmaus.
My first experience of Emmaus was Rembrandt’s famous painting “The Supper at Emmaus.” In typical fashion for this artist the painting is suffused in soft, dim colors and hues; Jesus’ face is bathed in gold light; he looks wistfully to the heavens and is captured in mid-prayer. The disciples gaze in wonderment.
There’s more to this town, though. It was some seven miles out of Jerusalem, and had a history of violence. It was thought to be the base camp for Judas Maccabeus and his uprising, and it was burned by the Romans in retaliation for the unrest and revolts following the death of Herod – two thousand rebels were crucified there. People in that generation would have memories of the crosses lining the road. On that third day after the crucifixion, a place of defeat and lost hope is restored by Jesus as a place of fellowship and love.
This morning’s story begins when the two disciples on that Sunday afternoon walk away from Jerusalem, perhaps running for their lives, maybe they feel lost, hopeless, let down. They discuss the events of the last week and in particular the discovery at the tomb that very morning. A stranger joins them on the walk and the disciples are amazed that there is actually one person in the region who has not heard about the death and resurrection of Jesus. Here they recount what they’ve been discussing and add a personal postscript: that they had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel. Let me put that remark in context. There had been prophets before Jesus who claimed to be the Messiah and their message and ministry didn’t strike the right chord with the people. They were executed as Jesus had been, so their missions were considered failures. This is probably what Cleopas and his friend were thinking – here was yet another so-called prophet who didn’t make good on his claims; he, like all the rest, failed and it was business as usual in Roman-governed Palestine.
But Jesus did something different. He kept his promise. He fulfilled the prophecies. He did rise on the third day. These facts, and his message proclaiming the kingdom of heaven, his call to a unique and unconditional love, made this call to right action very different, very powerful – and as we know today, very successful.
The disciples didn’t know this. They are so deep in their misery, they don’t recognize the man walking with them. This stranger interprets scripture and the events of the week as part of the greater story of humanity and of God’s action in the world as chronicled by the prophets and scripture. Yes, it was necessary that Jesus suffered, died and was buried, but death is not the end of the story. He reveals himself to these disciples in an act of love and fellowship that they would have recognized if they had been present during the feeding of the five thousand and if they were at table at the last supper -- a simple breaking of bread and sharing a meal. Something Jesus did every day with his friends. It is at that moment eyes are opened, and memory and recognition come into play. Hearts that have been lit aflame by the interpretation of Scripture still burn after they recognize it was Jesus, who vanishes as mysteriously from their table as he appeared on the road.
The disciples return to Jerusalem, where, by the way, they were commanded to stay by Jesus, and tell their story. Earlier in the day, they didn’t believe the women when they ran back from the empty tomb and tried to tell everyone what they’d seen, but because these two disciples had seen the risen Lord, their doubt becomes belief. Through these events a new community emerges. It is a community of faith built on understanding of scripture, worship and the sharing of a common experience of the risen Christ. Jesus’ words to Thomas from last week’s Gospel are still ringing in our ears: “Blessed are those who had not seen, yet come to believe.” That would be us.
But we’re human, we have our expectations. We had hoped . . .
Each one of us, in our own way and times, has repeated the words of the disciples, “we had hoped.” The first of four times for me was in April of 1969, and if you had told me then that joy came of grief, I would have ignored it, or more probably, slammed my bedroom door shut and turned up the volume on the Moody Blues, the Beatles, or the Rolling Stones – whatever I was annoying my family with that day. I was 15, you see, and my mother had just died unexpectedly. One afternoon she was there, the next morning she was gone. No warning, no nothing. She was gone. The days and weeks that followed were a blur then, and still are. It was full of moments I do remember, moments in which I sought answers and wondered how my brother and sisters were handling their grief – we never talked about it. We had hoped, you see, that she could still be with us.
I’ve thought like this, said these words aloud and to God. What about you? I disobeyed Christ, in that I walked away from Jerusalem, away from the pain and memories, away from the life Christ gave me. The grief clouded my sight and I didn’t want to see past it.
It happens to all of us. We wish we could have had one more day to say all that needed to be said; we wish we could make things right between our loved ones; we wish it all could have been done differently; said “I love you and always have, always will.”
Valid and real thoughts, honest emotions, these.
We weren’t and aren’t alone. We were and are heard. As we hope and wonder, Jesus comes into our lives with words of comfort and hope. We are reminded that God became one of us, and shared our experience, our joys, our grief, our pain. Jesus reminds us that on the Cross, God took and blessed and broke the most perfect of lives and offered it to us in the midst of suffering so that all sadness and pain might become a bridge to a loving, sustaining presence.
And if there’s a small voice within that still hedges, still whispers, “Yes, but . . .” Then come! I invite you to this table. Come here where Jesus invites you, me, all of us, anyone who is hungry to take as often as necessary the bread that he blessed and broke and shared and drink the cup he pours out for all humanity. Your eyes will be opened and your hearts will be burning with hope.
Jesus will always be with us on our roads and at our tables.
He is risen, Alleluia!
With God's love and mine this Easter season,
Ellen+
How is it possible that joy springs from grief?
In the last weeks, we’ve been on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his followers. We’ve witnessed the glorious entry into the city, the poignant supper at which a woman anoints Jesus and washes him with her tears, we’ve seen the incredible and necessary raising of Lazarus, and we’ve experienced the Seder in the upper room, and finally the trial and execution of Jesus. After some pretty amazing moments that give life and hope comes a horrific, mind and spirit numbing death. So it’s hard to imagine that something good could come of it. If you, as I, have lost someone you knew, someone you loved, with whom you shared a life, meals, joys and sorrows, then you’ve felt the pain that comes from such loss and the accompanying grief. It’s not hard then, to put ourselves on the road to Emmaus.
My first experience of Emmaus was Rembrandt’s famous painting “The Supper at Emmaus.” In typical fashion for this artist the painting is suffused in soft, dim colors and hues; Jesus’ face is bathed in gold light; he looks wistfully to the heavens and is captured in mid-prayer. The disciples gaze in wonderment.
There’s more to this town, though. It was some seven miles out of Jerusalem, and had a history of violence. It was thought to be the base camp for Judas Maccabeus and his uprising, and it was burned by the Romans in retaliation for the unrest and revolts following the death of Herod – two thousand rebels were crucified there. People in that generation would have memories of the crosses lining the road. On that third day after the crucifixion, a place of defeat and lost hope is restored by Jesus as a place of fellowship and love.
This morning’s story begins when the two disciples on that Sunday afternoon walk away from Jerusalem, perhaps running for their lives, maybe they feel lost, hopeless, let down. They discuss the events of the last week and in particular the discovery at the tomb that very morning. A stranger joins them on the walk and the disciples are amazed that there is actually one person in the region who has not heard about the death and resurrection of Jesus. Here they recount what they’ve been discussing and add a personal postscript: that they had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel. Let me put that remark in context. There had been prophets before Jesus who claimed to be the Messiah and their message and ministry didn’t strike the right chord with the people. They were executed as Jesus had been, so their missions were considered failures. This is probably what Cleopas and his friend were thinking – here was yet another so-called prophet who didn’t make good on his claims; he, like all the rest, failed and it was business as usual in Roman-governed Palestine.
But Jesus did something different. He kept his promise. He fulfilled the prophecies. He did rise on the third day. These facts, and his message proclaiming the kingdom of heaven, his call to a unique and unconditional love, made this call to right action very different, very powerful – and as we know today, very successful.
The disciples didn’t know this. They are so deep in their misery, they don’t recognize the man walking with them. This stranger interprets scripture and the events of the week as part of the greater story of humanity and of God’s action in the world as chronicled by the prophets and scripture. Yes, it was necessary that Jesus suffered, died and was buried, but death is not the end of the story. He reveals himself to these disciples in an act of love and fellowship that they would have recognized if they had been present during the feeding of the five thousand and if they were at table at the last supper -- a simple breaking of bread and sharing a meal. Something Jesus did every day with his friends. It is at that moment eyes are opened, and memory and recognition come into play. Hearts that have been lit aflame by the interpretation of Scripture still burn after they recognize it was Jesus, who vanishes as mysteriously from their table as he appeared on the road.
The disciples return to Jerusalem, where, by the way, they were commanded to stay by Jesus, and tell their story. Earlier in the day, they didn’t believe the women when they ran back from the empty tomb and tried to tell everyone what they’d seen, but because these two disciples had seen the risen Lord, their doubt becomes belief. Through these events a new community emerges. It is a community of faith built on understanding of scripture, worship and the sharing of a common experience of the risen Christ. Jesus’ words to Thomas from last week’s Gospel are still ringing in our ears: “Blessed are those who had not seen, yet come to believe.” That would be us.
But we’re human, we have our expectations. We had hoped . . .
Each one of us, in our own way and times, has repeated the words of the disciples, “we had hoped.” The first of four times for me was in April of 1969, and if you had told me then that joy came of grief, I would have ignored it, or more probably, slammed my bedroom door shut and turned up the volume on the Moody Blues, the Beatles, or the Rolling Stones – whatever I was annoying my family with that day. I was 15, you see, and my mother had just died unexpectedly. One afternoon she was there, the next morning she was gone. No warning, no nothing. She was gone. The days and weeks that followed were a blur then, and still are. It was full of moments I do remember, moments in which I sought answers and wondered how my brother and sisters were handling their grief – we never talked about it. We had hoped, you see, that she could still be with us.
I’ve thought like this, said these words aloud and to God. What about you? I disobeyed Christ, in that I walked away from Jerusalem, away from the pain and memories, away from the life Christ gave me. The grief clouded my sight and I didn’t want to see past it.
It happens to all of us. We wish we could have had one more day to say all that needed to be said; we wish we could make things right between our loved ones; we wish it all could have been done differently; said “I love you and always have, always will.”
Valid and real thoughts, honest emotions, these.
We weren’t and aren’t alone. We were and are heard. As we hope and wonder, Jesus comes into our lives with words of comfort and hope. We are reminded that God became one of us, and shared our experience, our joys, our grief, our pain. Jesus reminds us that on the Cross, God took and blessed and broke the most perfect of lives and offered it to us in the midst of suffering so that all sadness and pain might become a bridge to a loving, sustaining presence.
And if there’s a small voice within that still hedges, still whispers, “Yes, but . . .” Then come! I invite you to this table. Come here where Jesus invites you, me, all of us, anyone who is hungry to take as often as necessary the bread that he blessed and broke and shared and drink the cup he pours out for all humanity. Your eyes will be opened and your hearts will be burning with hope.
Jesus will always be with us on our roads and at our tables.
He is risen, Alleluia!
With God's love and mine this Easter season,
Ellen+
17 March, 2008
The Journey of a Lifetime . . . for all Life
So it begins; and so it ends. Some say it is the greatest story ever told. These seven days hold excitement and dread for me - excitement because I never tire of the story, always find something new to ponder; dread because of the long hours of liturgy that culminate in exhaustion. I joke that when Christ climbs out of his tomb, I climb into one.
This is the week that I reflect on what exactly happened. Prophets came and went, were executed, in first century Palestine by the authorities. What made Jesus special?
His special relationship with God - he was the only man, I believe, that fully understood and accepted God's message of unconditional love and how to return it. As God incarnate, he could show us how to love, and demonstrated in a supreme act of sacrifice that unconditional, unwavering love.
I've always had a problem with the atonement theology - that Christ died to take away our sins. If that were so, then why is sin and evil such a problem after two thousand years? This is where my belief of right action and unconditional love comes into play. Yes, Christ died to take away the sins of world, but he died also to show us a new way of living, of loving, of serving. That's what made his ministry stand out among so many first century prophets.
He also kept his word, delivered on his teaching. He said he would rise again after death and return to the Father, that he would be with us always. He said that if we believed, we would have eternal life; if we loved one another, he would be in the midst of us. That's what really made him special. He was, I think, the first to offer a message of hope and change. Christ offered us a new life through his sacrifice and a new way to look at the world and each other and more importantly, to love God, because as he said, he could do nothing except through God.
You see, loving God leads us on the journey of a lifetime, just as Jesus' complete love and understanding of God's call for him, led him on a journey that we commemorate during the next seven days.
This week is Holy Week, and I'll return with reflections on each of the sacred days and hours of liturgy and worship.
I hope during this week you find a path you can walk.
May the peace and love of God, which passes all understanding, keep us and sustain us this Holy Week and always.
Go in peace, dear ones!
Ellen+
This is the week that I reflect on what exactly happened. Prophets came and went, were executed, in first century Palestine by the authorities. What made Jesus special?
His special relationship with God - he was the only man, I believe, that fully understood and accepted God's message of unconditional love and how to return it. As God incarnate, he could show us how to love, and demonstrated in a supreme act of sacrifice that unconditional, unwavering love.
I've always had a problem with the atonement theology - that Christ died to take away our sins. If that were so, then why is sin and evil such a problem after two thousand years? This is where my belief of right action and unconditional love comes into play. Yes, Christ died to take away the sins of world, but he died also to show us a new way of living, of loving, of serving. That's what made his ministry stand out among so many first century prophets.
He also kept his word, delivered on his teaching. He said he would rise again after death and return to the Father, that he would be with us always. He said that if we believed, we would have eternal life; if we loved one another, he would be in the midst of us. That's what really made him special. He was, I think, the first to offer a message of hope and change. Christ offered us a new life through his sacrifice and a new way to look at the world and each other and more importantly, to love God, because as he said, he could do nothing except through God.
You see, loving God leads us on the journey of a lifetime, just as Jesus' complete love and understanding of God's call for him, led him on a journey that we commemorate during the next seven days.
This week is Holy Week, and I'll return with reflections on each of the sacred days and hours of liturgy and worship.
I hope during this week you find a path you can walk.
May the peace and love of God, which passes all understanding, keep us and sustain us this Holy Week and always.
Go in peace, dear ones!
Ellen+
10 March, 2008
The New Life
"In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’."
So begins the Introduction to La Vita Nova, The New Life, written by Dante.
With this week's Gospel from John 11:1-45, we are witnesses to a new life - both spiritual and physical.
This scripture brings an end to Jesus' earthly ministry and in a sensational way, as if Jesus is pushing the agenda here. He has been giving the apostles clues as to the next chapter of the story, yet it hasn't sunk in yet. What better way to hammer home the message that one is the Son of God by bringing a man four days dead back to life?
I love this story, for it tells of unconditional love, unwavering faith and unfathomable power through the working of God in Christ.
Jesus is en route to Bethany when he learns that his friend Lazarus lies near death. Rather than pick up speed and hurry, Jesus takes his time so that he arrives too late to do anything - or does he? We hear from Martha, Lazarus' sister, a word or two of scolding: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died," and then affirmation of Jesus' unique relationship with God: "But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." This is unwavering faith and love, knowledge that in God all things are possible.
And so it happens. Lazarus is brought back from the dead, but not before Jesus is disturbed at his friend Mary's distress and the grief of those who were with her. The Gospeller tells us that Jesus, greatly disturbed, goes to the tomb and weeps and returns again, still disturbed. I used to wonder why Jesus would be so unhappy when he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead; perhaps we told this, in this very spiritual and mystical of Gospels, to show the human side of Jesus. We are shown a Jesus who is like us.
Or, could be be that Jesus was anticipating, even fearing, his own human limitations and his death?
Whatever the case, Jesus prays to God that those who were present might believe in his power to do God's will on earth, that they may finally understand. Lazarus comes out of the tomb. He has new life, reborn through the saving acts of God through Christ.
As we approach Holy Week, we are given the promise of a new life when we proclaim the risen Lord on Easter Day. We are given the opportunity to climb out of our self-made tombs of despair, stress, selfishness, self-pity and give ourselves totally to God and give God control of our hearts. Releasing ourselves from this kind of death will enable us to live out the Gospel and serve one another as Christ serves us.
That's not a bad life, is it? It's the new life I want, and maybe you do to.
Go forth in Christ, dear ones!
Ellen+
So begins the Introduction to La Vita Nova, The New Life, written by Dante.
With this week's Gospel from John 11:1-45, we are witnesses to a new life - both spiritual and physical.
This scripture brings an end to Jesus' earthly ministry and in a sensational way, as if Jesus is pushing the agenda here. He has been giving the apostles clues as to the next chapter of the story, yet it hasn't sunk in yet. What better way to hammer home the message that one is the Son of God by bringing a man four days dead back to life?
I love this story, for it tells of unconditional love, unwavering faith and unfathomable power through the working of God in Christ.
Jesus is en route to Bethany when he learns that his friend Lazarus lies near death. Rather than pick up speed and hurry, Jesus takes his time so that he arrives too late to do anything - or does he? We hear from Martha, Lazarus' sister, a word or two of scolding: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died," and then affirmation of Jesus' unique relationship with God: "But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." This is unwavering faith and love, knowledge that in God all things are possible.
And so it happens. Lazarus is brought back from the dead, but not before Jesus is disturbed at his friend Mary's distress and the grief of those who were with her. The Gospeller tells us that Jesus, greatly disturbed, goes to the tomb and weeps and returns again, still disturbed. I used to wonder why Jesus would be so unhappy when he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead; perhaps we told this, in this very spiritual and mystical of Gospels, to show the human side of Jesus. We are shown a Jesus who is like us.
Or, could be be that Jesus was anticipating, even fearing, his own human limitations and his death?
Whatever the case, Jesus prays to God that those who were present might believe in his power to do God's will on earth, that they may finally understand. Lazarus comes out of the tomb. He has new life, reborn through the saving acts of God through Christ.
As we approach Holy Week, we are given the promise of a new life when we proclaim the risen Lord on Easter Day. We are given the opportunity to climb out of our self-made tombs of despair, stress, selfishness, self-pity and give ourselves totally to God and give God control of our hearts. Releasing ourselves from this kind of death will enable us to live out the Gospel and serve one another as Christ serves us.
That's not a bad life, is it? It's the new life I want, and maybe you do to.
Go forth in Christ, dear ones!
Ellen+
03 March, 2008
The Most Unlikely People . . .
I may be repeating myself, but I used to think that God chose the perfect people to represent him/her on Earth; the people who went to church on Sundays, always did good work, never swore, never had money troubles, never had relationship problems, always there with a green bean casserole in times of crisis. This week's scripture proves how wrong I was, and how each of us, in our own way, and according to our ability, is suited to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of Heaven.
God chose David, a pretty shepherd boy with lovely eyes to lead Israel.
Jesus chose a man blind from birth to proclaim the good news.
In each of these stories, the norm of society is turned upside down. What we assume should be is not.
I imagine that the Temple authorities believed that one of their own, a boy born into a Pharisitical family of privilege and wealth, education in the Mosaic Law, would be the Messiah, never mind Isaiah's prophecies! This what their society knew to be management material. Instead, a man who is disabled, is cured by Jesus on the Sabbath and his insistent testimony, a testimony steeped in faith, leads Jesus to tell him that the man who healed him is the Messiah. It is Jesus.
David, with his beauty and lovely eyes, was a flawed man but a great king, a man of faith. He made some whoppers when it came to mistakes, but God loved him nevertheless, and David honored God with some of the most beautiful poetry imaginable, the Psalms.
God chooses the least likely of people to carry the message and proclaim the good news.
The good news for all of us imperfect people in the world is that it's okay not to have all the answers, to not drive the best and biggest SUV, to live in a toney neighborhood or carry pets as accessories. It's okay if we are who God calls us to be, and if we make mistakes, or are less than perfect. Our striving for perfect intention and perfect relationships are more important. If we strive every day to live out the Gospel, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off when we stumble, then perhaps we're that much closer to the perfect Jesus asks us to be. And how wonderful is that?
Go forth in the name of Christ.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
God chose David, a pretty shepherd boy with lovely eyes to lead Israel.
Jesus chose a man blind from birth to proclaim the good news.
In each of these stories, the norm of society is turned upside down. What we assume should be is not.
I imagine that the Temple authorities believed that one of their own, a boy born into a Pharisitical family of privilege and wealth, education in the Mosaic Law, would be the Messiah, never mind Isaiah's prophecies! This what their society knew to be management material. Instead, a man who is disabled, is cured by Jesus on the Sabbath and his insistent testimony, a testimony steeped in faith, leads Jesus to tell him that the man who healed him is the Messiah. It is Jesus.
David, with his beauty and lovely eyes, was a flawed man but a great king, a man of faith. He made some whoppers when it came to mistakes, but God loved him nevertheless, and David honored God with some of the most beautiful poetry imaginable, the Psalms.
God chooses the least likely of people to carry the message and proclaim the good news.
The good news for all of us imperfect people in the world is that it's okay not to have all the answers, to not drive the best and biggest SUV, to live in a toney neighborhood or carry pets as accessories. It's okay if we are who God calls us to be, and if we make mistakes, or are less than perfect. Our striving for perfect intention and perfect relationships are more important. If we strive every day to live out the Gospel, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off when we stumble, then perhaps we're that much closer to the perfect Jesus asks us to be. And how wonderful is that?
Go forth in the name of Christ.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
24 February, 2008
The Woman at the Well
Nowhere in the Gospels does Jesus have an extended conversation with a woman except in the Gospel according to John and it is a powerful conversation at that. It is bold, unexpected, and is an illustration of the Kingdom of Heaven where all are equal, man and woman, Samaritan and Jew.
The story opens with Jesus stopping to rest at Jacob's Well near Sychar. He's tired and the Apostles have gone into town to find something to eat. A Samaritan woman comes to the well to draw water. As she goes about her business, Jesus says, "Give me a drink." The woman is astounded for multiple reasons - first, a man speaks to her, second, he is a Jew and she is a Samaritan and they are adversaries going back centuries. One can only imagine what the woman is thinking. A strange man sits by the well and says he's thirsty, yet he has no bowl, cup or bucket. She is bold enough to question Jesus, and he responds to her inquiries with the statement that if she knew of the water he was speaking of, she'd ask for it - and she does. Their conversation grows bolder, more meaningful and at one point Jesus admits to being the Messiah. The story continues with her running into town to tell the news that a man who knew everything about her was at the well - and he was the messiah.
Sometimes I feel like the Samaritan woman. I go about my business, I live on the perimeter of what we consider the norm of society, and sometimes these wonderful insights into life hit me, like a wave on a beach or a gust of morning wind. I want to run and tell everyone I know what I've learned, what I'm feeling, to invite others to experience for myself what I have experienced. I want them to drink from living water.
What I take from this Gospel, and I hope you as well, is that we are all part of the great cosmic scheme -- Jesus chooses to reveal himself to the least likely of people in his society: an outsider and a woman. It doesn't happen within the precincts of the Temple within the Holy of Holies, but at a well on a blistering hot afternoon when a Samaritan woman who has been married several times and is living with a man outside the norm of society comes up to the well to draw water. Jesus asks, "Give me a drink."
I cry, "Jesus, give me some of that living water!"
Go forth in the name of Christ!
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
The story opens with Jesus stopping to rest at Jacob's Well near Sychar. He's tired and the Apostles have gone into town to find something to eat. A Samaritan woman comes to the well to draw water. As she goes about her business, Jesus says, "Give me a drink." The woman is astounded for multiple reasons - first, a man speaks to her, second, he is a Jew and she is a Samaritan and they are adversaries going back centuries. One can only imagine what the woman is thinking. A strange man sits by the well and says he's thirsty, yet he has no bowl, cup or bucket. She is bold enough to question Jesus, and he responds to her inquiries with the statement that if she knew of the water he was speaking of, she'd ask for it - and she does. Their conversation grows bolder, more meaningful and at one point Jesus admits to being the Messiah. The story continues with her running into town to tell the news that a man who knew everything about her was at the well - and he was the messiah.
Sometimes I feel like the Samaritan woman. I go about my business, I live on the perimeter of what we consider the norm of society, and sometimes these wonderful insights into life hit me, like a wave on a beach or a gust of morning wind. I want to run and tell everyone I know what I've learned, what I'm feeling, to invite others to experience for myself what I have experienced. I want them to drink from living water.
What I take from this Gospel, and I hope you as well, is that we are all part of the great cosmic scheme -- Jesus chooses to reveal himself to the least likely of people in his society: an outsider and a woman. It doesn't happen within the precincts of the Temple within the Holy of Holies, but at a well on a blistering hot afternoon when a Samaritan woman who has been married several times and is living with a man outside the norm of society comes up to the well to draw water. Jesus asks, "Give me a drink."
I cry, "Jesus, give me some of that living water!"
Go forth in the name of Christ!
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
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