By: Maggie Leonard
Acts 10: 34-43
Reflection—v. 36, You know the message [God] sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ
Peace. That is what Jesus preached. That is the heart of the good news. Peace. When I was a student, I took the call to peace very literally. Pursuing peace meant an end to war, violence in the streets, and systematic oppression. It was something that I could see and that I could throw all of my energy into chasing and demanding—and I had a lot of energy. When I would go to rallies, I would see bumper stickers and t-shirts that mused about the importance of inner peace. I dismissed the wisdom. Inner peace is for the privilleged. Who has time for that nonsense? I have come to see the error of my ways. Though still pretty spry, I’ve slowed down a bit. When someone is not well with herself (sometimes that person is me), I can feel the vibration of fear or anger. I can see the holes and unintended implications in their plan. The ceasation of violence will come when our strong hearts align with our minds, allowing us to approach others without reactivity and with tenderness and a willingness to understand another’s journey. This is what Jesus modeled for us in going to the cross. And the hope that he gives us in his resurrection. New life is indeed possible.
Prayer Beloved, help us pursue peace that we might enjoy your new world today.
By: Maggie Leonard
Luke 24: 1-12
Reflection—v.11, dead to sin
Whenever a particular friend and I hang out, we always laugh a lot, like a whole lot—everything we see is funny and warrants a joke. As I thought back through one such evening where my ribs were sore from all of our laughing, I realized that while it was pleasurable, I had not always been thoughtful as I made jokes. Later when I shared my observations with my friend, he scoffed. In his eyes, this is who I am—funny, and sometimes a bit salty—but ultimately good-hearted, so I need not worry too much when I’m accidentally thoughtless. I appreciated his encouragement to accept who I am, but I couldn’t help but disagree. I feel strongly that I want to be a person who is always pursuing personal growth. As I understand God’s call to us, I want to grow in my ability to be loving. Because I know who I am, and I trust in my belovedness and goodness, I can let go of the need to defend my rough edges. I look forward to the day when my humor is more quirky, wholesome, and less biting. For me, growth provides the opportunity for an even better expression of my true self. I can let go of bits of me, knowing that someone just as funny and even sweeter can be cultivated with God’s help.
Prayer Holy God, help me never to hold on to my sin but to release it permanently.
By: Maggie Leonard
Reflection—v. 31, the Jewish leaders didn’t want the bodies to remain on the cross on the Sabbath
I recently read a powerful book called The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead. In this book, a runaway slave escapes a plantation in Georgia and makes her way to the Free States. Each state that she passes through on her journey has different laws that dictate how to control the black populations within them. North Carolinians, fearing a slave uprising, abolished slavery, and the state bought up all the slaves, sold them to neighboring states, and forbade black folks to set foot on their soil. To do so and be caught (and they looked for folks every night) meant to be hung in the city square and by morning moved to the road leading to town, ‘Freedom Trail.’ Turning people into issues is a dangerous business. I cannot help but consider who we sacrifice as an issue… What do we see as a threat to our power or comfort? What bodies do we then remove from the public eye? I believe that we are a good people, with good intentions. My hope is that we trust our goodness enough to have the courage to see when our intentions miss the mark. My hope is that with God’s help, we will see one another’s humanity and honor one another’s value.
Prayer Crucified One, help us to see that which we try hard to hide.
By: Maggie Leonard
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Reflection—v. 5, wash the disciples’ feet and wipe them
This past spring, I had the great privilege to walk across Northern Spain along the ancient pilgrimage trail known as the Camino de Santiago. Each day I rose before the sun and walked an average of fifteen miles a day. There wasn’t a body on the path that didn’t take a beating, our feet receiving the worst of it. We stayed in hostels each night—the root of the word originating in the word hospital, the trail’s original shelters where weary travelers were welcome to stay to rest and heal. About midway through, I stopped at a hostel wherein the host (the Spanish word shows the association between hospital, hospitality, the the person who offers hospitality) took to heart the historical significance of her position and establishment. She welcomed pilgrims into her office where she inspected their feet, cared for their blisters and ailments, and dispensed materials and advice for continuing to care for them going forward—all free of charge. It was a humbling moment to have her face inches from my foot, popping blisters, and cleaning the wounds. Her care was invaluable. This week, a group of nine women gathered at Mercy and graciously cared for the feet of our weary walkers—many members walk 15 miles daily in the city to meet their needs. The Harriet Tubman Foot Clinic is that beacon of hospitality, liberation, and compassion in our city. We are honored to be partnered with them and washing feet weekly at Mercy.
Prayer Guide our feet, holy God, that we may be moved to show your care to all.
By: Chad Hyatt
It is fitting on this Spy Wednesday, the day we recall Judas making a deal with the powers-that-be in order to hand Jesus over to them, that his betrayal becomes clear at a table. Betrayal is impossible without friendship, without the sense of shared kinship that the image of the table symbolizes so richly. At the table, we share in common. At the table, we serve one another—as the Gospel of John emphasizes when Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. At the table, we laugh. And at the table, we weep together, sharing our troubles with those we love. It is at the table, then, that betrayal can be seen for the deep brokenness within human love that it is. We feel its pain, for we know what is to be betrayed by those that we have loved, those we have trusted. And yet Jesus does not condemn, even though he is no more above the pain of betrayal than we. He still offers the bread of his table to his betrayer. The truth about us is that we have all been betrayed—and all of us have betrayed others. In particular, our institutions have betrayed the poor. At Jesus’ table, we find healing from the wounds of betrayal, through the wounds of the one who was betrayed. Only in the self-giving love of Jesus, who continues to give himself in the face of betrayal, who welcomes all, can we all find healing, forgiveness, and life.
Prayer Jesus, at your table that welcomes all, have mercy on me, a sinner.
By: Chad Hyatt
Reflection—v. 12, this good news… what she has done will be told
In Lent we are invited to join of our lives with the larger narrative of our faith. Sometimes in the middle of the story, it’s good to take stock. While a lot is happening in Jesus’ life this last week, our focus is on two meals and two very different responses to Jesus. At the first, a woman anoints Jesus with expensive perfume. She is challenged, even harassed, for her action, but she sees in Jesus the suffering of one particular poor person. She shows him mercy in a lavish, direct, personal way. At the second meal, commonly called the Last Supper, Jesus reveals he will be betrayed by one of his closest friends. At these two meals, the contrast between mercy and betrayal, both of which are deeply personal acts, could not be more clear. How are we responding to Jesus, especially as he comes in the poor and most vulnerable in our midst? Do the poor even have access to our tables? We are called to live in ways that embody personal, direct encounters of mercy. Yet we often choose betrayal, a harsh word perhaps, but nonetheless a true description of the ways we prove faithless in relationships, especially with the most vulnerable. No, these are not easy meditations to make in this holiest of weeks, but the love of God shows us in the life of Jesus begs us to take seriously our own stories. Let us incline our hearts toward mercy.
Prayer God of mercy, draw our hearts toward you, especially in the vulnerable.
By: Chad Hyatt
Reflection—v. 8, why this waste?
There are always those who want to sell something for a large sum and give the money to the poor in a programatic way. It makes sense, I suppose. Surely, this must be a better, more efficient use of resources, the reasoning goes. But the truth is it also keeps our hands from getting dirty with the dust of the feet of the poor—and conveniently, it maintains the status quo just as it is, with a clear line between ‘generous’ benefactors and ‘grateful’ beneficiaries. Matthew places the anointing at Bethany just after the parables of Matthew 25 where Jesus reminds us that how we respond to the poor is equal to how we respond to Jesus himself. The anonymous woman with the jar of perfume embodies the gospel—and it stands in stark contrast to a more sensible, efficient response to human need. She extravagantly anoints Jesus, one particular poor man, showing him care as the days to his death draw closer. She isn’t distracted by the ‘poor’ as an abstraction, a ‘problem to be solved.’ She sees the poorest man in her midst, and mercifully shares with him what she has for his need. Her sharing imparts the dignity of genuine mercy, as the giver shares her gift in a way that the one who receives is honored, having his head anointed like a king. In an instant, the status quo is shattered. This is the difference between the gospel and so many well-intended efforts to alleviate human suffering. The difference, in a word, is mercy.
Prayer Jesus, let me see you in one person today, discovering lavish mercy in poverty.
By: Chad Hyatt
Reflection—v. 5, humble and mounted on a donkey
This Palm Sunday, we celebrate the Savior King, and we let our loud ‘hosannas’ ring out with joy. But we know where the road that leads up to Jerusalem will take him. We know that the cross is not far away now, that other loud shouts will soon rain down upon him whom we praise today—calls to ‘crucify him’ and that ‘we have no king but Cesar.’ And as much as we identify today with glad shouts of praise, we cannot deny that we—in our sin and our selfishness—also betray, deny, abandon, and yes, nail him to the cross, just as his contemporaries did. For this reason, we must never allow our worship, even as we remember the ‘triumphal entry,’ to become triumphalist. It is the one we crucified who has been raised from the dead. And this truth gives a new beauty to our praise, for the victory of God is not the defeat of enemies but their reconciliation. The triumph of God is mercy. Our salvation is forgiveness. Knowing this, let us praise him who comes ‘humble, and mounted on a donkey’ instead of a ‘warhorse.’ (21:5; cf. Zech. 9:9). If nonviolence was not at the heart of the gospel, then surely we must know that none of us would be saved—for we have all made ourselves enemies of love, of life, of God. In a climate where we are constantly being told to hate our enemies, to wipe them from the face of the earth, we must refuse hate. We must choose love and the way of the cross as our most faithful praise, today and always.
Prayer Savior King, help us live the way of the cross, in love and mercy for all people.
By: Maggie Leonard
Reflection— v. 41, they removed the stone
Here’s the storyline as I’m reading it today—Lazarus was ill, things kept getting worse until he hit rock bottom. His friends and family saw his struggle and their hearts broke. With the help of God, new life was offered! But there was a rock in the way. Do his friends write him off as lost forever or do they move the rock? Sometimes there are real barriers in our way to healthy living, barriers that were placed there by someone else. It can take a whole community to remove those barriers. As Christian community, we trust in the power of God, value the empowerment of the individual, and know that we are called to look past our own self-interest and gather together as a community to help others. In particular, we gather to help the most vulnerable in our community—those without resources or power within our society. Can we take seriously those who tell us that our systems are hurting them? Do we believe those who tell us that they are oppressed? Can we see the advantages that some have over others? Who do we dismiss? Who do we help? Who do we stand with? Can we keep our hearts open and help those who are asking for it, or for us to stand with them as they help themselves?
Prayer God, help us to see the stones in our community. Help us have the wisdom, strength, power, and numbers to remove them.
By: Maggie Leonard
Reflection—v. 39, Lord, the smell will be awful! He’s been dead four days.
If there was ever any doubt that Lazarus was truly dead, perhaps he was asleep, his smell would satisfy the strongest of skeptics. Smell is an unmistakable sign of death. How much more incredible is resurrection when we know that it came from death? Have you ever witnessed a someone who was in a really bad place, experiencing their own death, a separation from love? Someone who was really struggling with their circumstances—grieving the loss of a loved one, divorce or a break-up, depression, job loss, or transitions. Can you name what it was that helped you to see that person’s struggle? What are the tell-tale signs of your own suffering, your own death? Perhaps you, or they, become more controlling, fearful, judgmental, needy, negative, or self-centered. Perhaps you compromise your value system or drink more. Perhaps you isolate yourself. Perhaps you can’t be alone. Perhaps everyone around you seems more negative (read: projection). Perhaps your mind is racing, you can’t sleep, or you have trouble seeing your own value. Those feelings do not last forever, but we do have to be gentle with ourselves and those who suffer when we see it. In moments of despair, God cries with us and moves us back toward abundant life. Resurrection is possible!
Prayer Jesus, you cry when we are separated from your love. Draw us back to life.