Saturday, March 31: Judy Katri

Mark 10:46-52. Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”

As a new grandmother, I am especially enjoying the days when I care for David, my one year old grandson. We both look forward to our walks in the park, where he squeals with delight and claps his hands as I push him on the swings. Before I buckle David into the stroller his pudgy little right arm juts out toward the magnolia trees in the front of our home. We have a ritual of examining their glossy, waxy leaves—then we embark on our journey. As we approach the park, we are greeted by friendly dogs, quacking ducks, and many birds gliding gracefully overhead. David loves animals! His chubby hands and feet wave with excitement, while he serves as my own young naturalist. It’s as if, through his baby babble, David is urging, “Look Grandma, Really Look and See!” Viewing the world through my grandson’s eyes is helping me to more fully recognize and appreciate the wonder and beauty of God’s creation.

In Mark’s gospel story a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, recognizes Jesus as the Messiah. He shouts, “Son of David….have mercy on me!” while the crowd tries to quiet him. The blind man faithfully persists. Jesus calls him forward. In the gospel’s translation by Eugene Peterson (The Message) the crowd responds to Bartimaeus saying, “It’s your lucky day! Get up. He is calling you!” When Jesus asks what he can do for the man he answers, “Teacher, I want to see”. Although this man is sightless he recognizes Jesus’ presence. Bartimaeus’ expectant faith allows the instant transformation of his vision and his soul, as he follows Jesus down the road.

This Lent will I be a seeker as in the examples of a sightless man or a tiny toddler? Will I recognize Jesus presence and in expectant faith allow him to open my eyes and my heart to his grace and wonders? Will I hear the message? “It’s your lucky day! Get up. He’s calling you to come!”

— Judy Katri

Friday, March 30: The Rev. Karen Haig

Psalm 22. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

We know these words, don’t we? They are the last words out of Jesus’ parched and wizened mouth before he dies on Golgatha. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? The words are familiar, yes… and sometimes when things are familiar, we imagine that we understand them. Or have learned all we can from them. Or that we just don’t want to hear them anymore.

Yet if we listen anew, what might we hear? These words so filled with anguish were uttered by the One who seemed never before to have had a moment of doubt. The one who before called “Abba” and who now cries out to His God. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Here, in these words, we experience the profoundly human Jesus as He experiences profoundly human suffering. Here, in these excruciating words, Jesus seems utterly abandoned. There have been times in my life when I’ve felt utterly abandoned too. The feelings have been real and deep and profoundly painful, just like I imagine Jesus’ feelings were. But those profoundly painful feelings are never the end of my story. They weren’t the end of Jesus’ story either.

God’s story never ends in abandonment. Time after time, the people of God feel abandoned (or have abandoned God), yet God never forgets us. In the midst of Holy Week, in the midst of God’s story there is Good Friday, filled with suffering, deep sadness and even Jesus’ horrible death on the cross… but that’s the middle of the story, not the beginning, and not the end. The day before, this same Jesus stoops at the feet of his friends, tenderly teaching that our greatness comes in loving and serving God and God’s created, and calling us to watch and pray. Holy Saturday, the day that follows, is set apart for prayer and meditation on the whole story of our own salvation history, culminating in the Great Vigil of Easter where the newest Christians are baptized, showing us our continuing place in God’s great story. God’s story is a story of Easter resurrection, not just for Jesus, but for us too.

As real as our suffering is, suffering is not God’s final word. God’s victory of life over death is as real in our earthly lives as it will be when we’ve gone from this life to new life. Every act of love we offer serves to overcome all of the hate and fear and suffering and abandonment in the world. And while the God who loves us does indeed suffer when we suffer, we can absolutely know – without any question – that God will turn all our suffering into love.

— Karen Haig

Thursday, March 29: Greg Murray

Exodus 8:19. “This is the finger of God!” But Pharaoh’s heart was hardened, and he would not listen to them, just as the Lord had said.

Have you ever stubbornly stuck to course of action or a way of thinking about some thing or someone, even though you knew it was wrong? Have you had someone point out the truth and show you the error of your ways and, despite their truthfulness and compassion, you failed to listen and heed there advice? Have you ever failed to let God in, to accept his loving outstretched hand, or to feel his healing touch? I have!

I have behaved like Pharaoh more times than I care to admit. It is so easy to get wrapped in the busyness of our lives, our own self-importance, and to create our own false gods. When I have acted this way and failed to listen to God, it hasn’t always been accompanied by a “plague of frogs,” but it has left me in a dark place -- feeling hurt, empty and alone. It has made it hard for me to be in community, to accept the love of those around me and to grasp Jesus’s constantly outstretched hand.

Thankfully, God continually offers us his love and forgiveness – even to the point of giving up His Son on a cross for us. As we prepare to walk to Golgotha, to feel the nails, to cower before the tomb at Gethsemane, and awake to the resurrected Lord, I pray that God’s Spirit will open each of our hearts to those gentle, loving voices around us and that we will experience God’s faithful love each day!

— Greg Murray

Wednesday, March 28: Ann Osterberg

2 Corinthians 2:14-3:6. You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all…written…on tablets of human hearts….from God, who has made us…to be ministers of a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

When I was a child, I believed that knowledge of God came from the letter of the law set forth in the Bible. The Bible called us to action. And, so, I marched on Washington, came back and stood up in church and spoke.

As I grew to be an adult, I suffered loss. I lost touch with God. I did not understand where faith came from. I did not understand how people could believe with certainty in what they could not see. And, so, I spent many years away from church.

Not until I reached the hardest, most impossible choices late in life did I find God. Not until I had the courage to acknowledge my hurt, face my fear and go forward in spite of uncertainty, did I find my faith. The only way forward was to trust that God would see me through. And, so, slowly, in my heart I came to honesty, courage and hope. Slowly, through the Spirit, I came to know and understand God.

— Ann Osterberg

Tuesday, March 27: Mary Friedlander

Exodus 5:1-6:1. But the king of Egypt said to them, “Moses and Aaron, why are you taking the people away from their work? Get to your labors!”

Moses and Aaron heard the voice of God. Moses held conversations with God. Moses wanted to save his people. He listened to God and even argued with him. These Bible stories are so much a part of our understanding of the long story of God’s people, from long ago and, in the time of Jesus. We can hardly bear to hear the last words Jesus spoke to His Father.

When we pray or sit in silence, communicating in our own ways, we try to listen for the whisper of God’s will for us.

When I was a young widow, with four dearly loved children, I had a life-changing experience. I was in a small room in Ireland, with my elder daughter, asleep in the other bed. I had a dream, or a vision of Jesus, standing beside me. He was dressed in a white robe, with a rope around his waist. He asked me what I wanted. I said, “I want my children to be safe.” He replied: “Say, I place my loved ones in you care, and name them”. He took my hand and placed in into the rope at his side and said, “Walk with me”. I was suddenly very alert. I woke my daughter and asked her if she had seen or heard anything. She had not.

Every time I pray, I say those words, naming my children, and often a few other loved ones. I feel in my heart that I had an encounter with Jesus. I still think about walking with Him, my hand holding the rope. Perhaps we only dream, but our history encourages me to believe that we are still listening and speaking and walking with Jesus.

— Mary Friedlander

Monday, March 26: Stephanie Curry

Luke 1:26-38--Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Many people associate this passage with Advent, a time when we prepare ourselves, our families, and our homes for the coming Christ child, for Christmas.

So, what does this passage have to do with Lent? My thoughts keep returning to Mary and her response to the angel’s announcement. After Gabriel’s grand description of her future child, what expectations, if any, did she hold in her heart? What expectations do I have for this Lenten season, and how will I respond to God’s love and calling?

In this passage from Luke 1, the angel Gabriel tells Mary she will have a child. He will be great. He will be holy, called Son of God, and given the throne of his ancestor King David. At the time of the Annunciation, Mary did not know what we know today. We know the Jesus story, from the Annunciation through the Resurrection. We know the stories of his humble birth and a little bit about his youth. We know his earthly life was a far cry from the angel’s proclamation of greatness and royalty. In his humanity Jesus was not a ruling earthly king. He had no army, no obvious power or greatness, and was esteemed by only a few fishermen, tax collectors, prostitutes, beggars, crazies and those on the margins of society. We know the profound, beautiful stories of his ministry and miracles, the awful story of his crucifixion, and finally the glorious story of his resurrection. We know he reigns at the right hand of the Father. And from OUR vantage point, he IS great, he IS holy, he IS the Son of God, the King of Kings whose kingdom will never end. We know the angel’s prophetic words are true. But Mary didn’t know.

I am deeply moved by Mary’s response to Gabriel. She says ‘let it be with me according to your word.’ Her faith, humility and gentleness both comfort and inspire me. She recognizes she is part of something bigger than herself. This is something I occasionally, even frequently, forget in my own journey. A friend often speaks truth to me by asking, “Whose story is it anyway?” He kindly reminds me we are all beloved participants in the divine drama of God’s kingdom present here and now. I know God loves me and cares about the details of my life. But, it is not all about me. I am not the central character of the story. I do not want to live thinking of myself as central to all that is, expecting God to show up as a participant in MY personal story. I want to wake up each morning and pray “Lord, let it be with me according to your word, according to your ways and plan for today. Let me choose to accept all that happens, good or bad, as a part of YOUR divine story.”

— Stephanie Curry

Sunday, March 25: Valerie Cordell

1 Corinthians 13:1. If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

As one of the most well known and studied scriptures, from which countless songs, sermons, and poems have been written, putting a new or even personal ‘spin’ on the subject matter of Love seemed a little silly at first. After all, what hasn’t already been said to describe God’s perfect Love? I certainly know by now that it is not a feeling, despite the barrage of Valentine’s Day sentiments; and I also know that I cannot come close to replicating that kind of perfection in my efforts to love others as God has loved me.

So the process began… A discourse between Richard, Alyce, and me. I asked many questions about Lent (being new to the Episcopal church), the rules of this assignment, length, first person, etc… trying to formulate a structure for what I might write. After all, I wanted to get an “A+” from the teacher. My mind was spinning with ideas as I listened for snippets we could use in what I thought might be a joint “reflection.”

But then, as has been the pattern since I arrived here last year, God intervened and I knew instantly that for me, the importance of this process (and of Lent) was not what I might write, but the process itself. I looked to my right and saw Alyce reading a passage from a particularly wonderful book by Hannah Hurnard; then back to my left as Richard, with a peaceful and soft glow, also watched Alyce reading. And at that moment, through all of the heady analysis and discussion about Love, it became so very simple: These people ARE Love.

For me, the path that has led me to this place, to St. Thomas, has been painful at best; and had it not been for God’s Love reaching me through these self-assigned “God Parents,” my journey in this world would have surely ended. Through them, and eventually extending through so many at St. Thomas, I finally know the meaning, and how it feels to be the recipient of God’s Love—unconditional and perfect. No matter what the day holds, how they or I feel, and even through the inevitable human flaws or behaviors we might not see as “Godly,” they are teaching me to maintain a level of discipline and steadfastness that requires a daily choice—to put on the cloak of God’s love, and in so doing, become the Love that will meet others exactly where they are, to be what God asks of me at that and this moment.

— Valerie Cordell