by Stephen Hagerty

Psalm 130 or 31:1-5
Job 14:1-14
1 Peter 4:1-8
Matthew 27:57-66 or John 19:38-42

If you are a New Yorker, you may have had this experience. While riding the subway through a tunnel, the subway car suddenly stops midway and is stalled. There is complete darkness, a hurried announcement from the MTA, and then silence. It doesn't normally last long, but you notice very quickly that the silence is because no one is talking and that the wait is very uncomfortable — almost frightening. After a few minutes, your mind starts to wonder about whether you will remain there. I think this gives us a sense of the sacred unease of Holy Saturday.

The gospel of Matthew is filled with a plethora of details about Jesus' death. Joseph of Arimathea asks Pilate for Jesus' body. His request granted, Joseph "took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock"(Matthew 27:59-60). Notice how suddenly Jesus becomes his body, becomes an "it." But notice also the care taken with this body and the very touching remembering of Mary Magdalene and the other Mary "sitting opposite the tomb" (Matthew 27:61), not bearing to be separated from Jesus.

Now think of the last time you went to a wake, particularly if there was an open casket. You kneel in front of the casket to say a prayer, and, if you are like me, you stare a bit at the body. If it is someone you knew, you may wonder if they look like they did. These moments also make me wonder what it means to be dead. What if the departed were to suddenly open their eyes or exhale a breath? It can be a surreal experience to actual see a dead person, particularly if we don't very often.

Now imagine seeing the dead body of Jesus. Wouldn't this be overwhelming and shattering, especially if you had been in his close circle of friends, seen the energy of his life, and had yet to experience his resurrection?

Holy Saturday, this day of silence and darkness, asks something of us: we are simply to wait opposite the tomb of Jesus. No more and no less.

by Sister Linda Julian

Psalm 22:1-21
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Hebrews 10:1-25
John 18:1-40, 19:1-37

The Suffering Servant passage from Isaiah has always moved me deeply. One reason for this is that it is a magnificent poem, in whatever translation we find it. Another, deeper, reason is that the very beauty of the text brings me face to face with one of the great paradoxes of Christian, perhaps most particularly Anglican, faith. Central to the message the poem conveys is that "he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, / nothing in his appearance that we should desire him."

I have a potent memory of hearing, during a long-ago Tenebrae service in a Toronto church, the antiphon "Behold, we have seen him without form and comeliness," and being suddenly shaken. Did I want to know that? Was my faith based only on the desire to worship in the beauty of holiness? Was I unable to face the reality of holiness? I love the jeweled crosses, the elegant crucifixes, scorning the "gory" representations of the salvific act common to some other branches of our faith. By such means I try to evade the ugliness of dereliction and death, which is an all-too-real part of the life God saw fit to share with me.

Do we all have a secret dread of Good Friday liturgies? I know I do. As my remaining years become fewer, I try to remind myself that I must drink the cup, however bitter the passion it may contain, as must we all.

by Bérnard M. Douglas (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Psalm 78:14-20,23-25
Exodus 12:1-14a
1 Corinthians 11:23-32
John 13:1-15

On the Night Before ... "It was as if a shadow passed across the floor in that upper room. I wanted to scream, to stop him, but my lips were fastened shut as if gripped by invisible fingers; I watched in mute silence, an inexpressible grief gripping my heart as he began washing our feet and wiping them with the towel he was wearing. Simon Peter had protested but relented: I too wanted to refuse him, to hold back my feet, thinking that if somehow I could stop him then all that he had foretold might be prevented; if I could cause one dot to remain absent from this script then I could change it. ... But when he came to me and looked up into my eyes, how could I refuse him? I could only weep; tears rolled down my cheeks. ... He looked lovingly into my eyes and met my tears with compassion, addressing us all saying, 'I have given you an example so that you may copy what I have done. ... You must love one another just as I have loved you. ... I will not leave you orphans.'

"Now we are frightened, and he is alone. ... I wish I could rest my head upon his bosom once more, once more listen to his sacred heart."

by Eve Beglarian

Psalm 69: 7-15, 22-23
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Hebrews 9: 11-15, 24-28
John 13:21-35

The gospel reading for today is the story of Judas' betrayal of Jesus. Reading it today, I noticed for the first time that John's telling of the story differs from the other gospels. Only in John's gospel does Jesus actually dip the bread in the dish and hand it to Judas after saying this action will identify his betrayer. And then John says, "After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him."

I can't help but connect the image of Jesus handing the moistened bread to Judas to the image of being handed the consecrated bread each time I receive communion. I believe that the writer of John's gospel wants us to make precisely that connection, because he wants each of us to identify with Judas, the evil betrayer of Jesus.

There is the idea circulating (made popular as few years ago by the Scorsese film The Last Temptation of Christ, and by National Geographic's questionable translation of the Gnostic gospel of Judas) that Judas was actually Jesus' closest companion and disciple, and that Jesus chose his most trusted friend Judas to betray him because Jesus knew betrayal and arrest was a necessary part of his sacrifice to save the world. These ideas are compelling, but I'm actually more interested today in imagining how I am like Judas the evil betrayer than Judas the secret trusted apostle.

I try to imagine myself as Judas reading the psalm for today: "Do not let the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the Pit close its mouth over me." I have certainly read that psalm when I have been in my own dark places, but Judas' darkness is almost beyond my powers of imagining. It's one thing to imagine being "the subject of gossip for those who sit in the gate, and the drunkards making songs" but quite another to imagine being completely beyond all possibility of rescue by God.

But that's the thing, isn't it? No human being is beyond the possibility of rescue by God. Not even Judas. Graham Greene has the old priest at the end of Brighton Rock say, "You can't conceive, my child, nor can I or anyone the ... appalling ... strangeness of the mercy of God."

I need to believe God's strange mercy can release even Judas from eternal damnation. I can't understand it, certainly the whole question of evil and mercy and forgiveness are beyond my powers to comprehend, but I don't want to believe in a God who will punish even Judas for eternity; I don't want to believe there is a soul who cannot be released from the enslavement of sin.

When I return to the gospel passage, I'm struck that immediately after Judas goes out into the night to betray him, Jesus gives his new commandment: "Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

I believe we are asked by Jesus to love even the evil betrayer Judas. Not rewrite him into the secret trusted good guy so that we can love him. No. We are to love the evil disciple who betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver and then went out and hanged himself in despair at what he had done.

by Lewis White

Psalm 71:1-12
Isaiah 49:1-6
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
John 12:37-38

"I have known you, and cared for you, and loved you since you were in your mother's womb" (paraphrase from two of today's scripture readings).

I think we have all felt at times there is something to be "done" to secure God's love for us — some right thought, right feeling, or right behavior or action. Having children has helped me to more fully understand this relationship and what is required.

My youngest son David's "terrible twos" were extending into his eighth year when I, one day, announced to his mother that "By God, this child is going to learn to behave!" So for the next two weeks I applied the requisite "consistent structure" necessary to secure this goal. One night, after a particularly heated reprimand, I went into his room to find him sobbing.

"Dad, I'm just a bad kid," he said. A wave of nausea and shame spread over me.

"David, my darling, darling child," I said. "We've had a huge misunderstanding, and the fault is mine. I'm going to tell you a parental mystic that a lot of grown-ups don't want to divulge to their children for fear they'll lose control. My wanting you to behave well is purely for our and your future convenience. No matter what you do, or how you behave, I will always, always, always love you. No ifs, ands, buts, or qualifications. No rules. Just because you're mine."

"I have known you, and cared for you, and loved you since you were in your mother's womb."

Amen.

by Jennifer Landis

Psalm 36:5-11
Isaiah 42:1-9
Hebrews 9:11-15
John 12:1-11


"Jesus said, 'Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial'" (John 12:7).

Mary's action in this story, preparing for Jesus' death, shocks those gathered at the home of Lazarus. I myself have a difficult time imagining doing such a thing or even witnessing it. Yet as we are at the beginning of Holy Week, we too have been preparing during Lent for Jesus' death. Be it giving up something like sweets or a bad habit; adding something to prayer life, such as reading these devotionals; or participating in a Lenten retreat — all of these are, for many of us, preparation for much of what we will encounter in the week that is ahead of us and for meeting God at the cross and crucifixion.

At church, we are surrounded with this preparation throughout Lent. The changes in our liturgy, the absence of flowers, and, generally, how everything seems to be stripped down to aid us as we reflect individually and as a community about our own efforts and struggles to seek God in our lives and in the people and world around us.

This week, we may fast on Friday, or leave work early enough to get our feet washed on Thursday, or get up earlier for prayer and reflection or participate in the vigil at the Altar of Repose. And we even may prepare ourselves in ways that we did not anticipate that, like Mary, might be the gestures or prayers that are our own unique encounters with Jesus Christ.

Today's Collect:
Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

by Vinh Do

Psalm 31:9-16
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

This is the time of the year when I realize that I worship a man who died by crucifixion. Jesus' death on a cross seem ignominious to me. It is surreal really. In Matthew's rendering of the events leading to Jesus' last breath on earth, I see depictions of all sorts of human strengths and weakness. From those around Jesus, I see examples of friendship and treachery, kindness and cruelty, courage and cowardice. Jesus himself must have experienced love and enmity, obedience and betrayal, power and gross injustice, perseverance and despair. I wonder if Jesus despaired. Did he despair for being alone, for his life? He prayed alone in the dark garden while his avowed friends lay sleeping — it must seem his darkest hour. I believe he had a choice to walk away from the bitter path laid out for him, but he to chose instead to obey. So he walked into his crucifixion.

Jesus is some kind of anti-hero. He is the antithesis of what we expect our answers to be for anything. He didn't avenge. He didn't vanquish. He eschewed justice — our human understanding of it — for mercy. He dined with sinners and communed with the misbegotten. Then he rose to a kind of popularity among the masses. Then people deserted him. Then he died. What a dramatic disappointment it must have been to his disciples to witness all this! He was one short-lived celebrity. But to call him a celebrity is to not understand him. To despair of his death — and his crucifixion — is to not understand his purpose. Those with faith living in his time knew that Jesus stood for the life after — the kind of life that begins after physical death.

In this age we have the benefit of hindsight and the scholarship Jesus inspired. We know that the kind of victory Jesus achieved cannot be fully measured in human terms. We are asked to believe in compassion in the face of cruelty. We are asked to practice mercy and forgiveness. We are asked to believe, in short, in the example of the man named Jesus. And we are asked to entrust our life in one who lived this life and lives in one beyond.

by G. Jan Jones

Psalm 85:1-7
Ezekiel 37:21-28
John 11:45-53

There are so many times when I feel Old Testament writings are contradictory within themselves. They frequently give me the sense that more than one writer is being represented. Also, they do not appear to me to be talking about the same God who is portrayed in the New Testament.

Take our first reading, Psalm 85:1-7, for instance. The psalmist is saying to the Lord, "Thanks for restoring our wealth and grace. Ah, but that's not enough! We are still doubting you. This is a trust issue. We still can't rejoice in you until you take away your anger."

Hmm — just like severely disciplined family members.

I wish I could remember the author of the quote I heard as a teenager. I paraphrase it as: "You would like your children to end up loving you, but sometimes you have to settle for a little fear and a lot of respect."

The second reading, Ezekiel chapter 37, verses 21-28, pass on by the "dry bones" and the promise of joining the tribes of Israel under David by linking Judah and Joseph. (You will want to read these passages as well.) The day's reading just vaguely points to a union without hinting at the parties involved. (Although a party seems to be in the making in chapter 38 — a wave of terrorism planned out by a crafty God. These are scenes of epic violence.)

Our third reading is John 11:45-53 — Jesus has just raised the dead (Lazarus). But the miracle story here is not intended to leave us with wonderment or comfort. The reading today starts with the reaction of the Sanhedrin to tales of Jesus' miracles. They fear that if people are revved up by believing that Jesus is the Messiah, the Romans will take away their nation and their land. Of course this is where Caiphas tells the others that it is better for one man to die, rather than the whole nation. And "from that day on, they planned to kill him."

Just how a cleric comes up with a theme after reading these is beyond me. But they certainly got my attention.

by Carol Conway (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Psalm 18:1-7
Jeremiah 20:7-13
John 10:31-42

"I love thee, O Lord, my strength" (Psalm 18:1).

These are words of joy — they leap out to me, and I am smiling as I open my arms to receive them. This is God! Perfect love!

Love has always been important to me. Knowing and understanding love is a lifelong project. As a child I used to watch adults and wonder what love was. Perfect love. How I longed (and still long) to give and receive perfect love.

Of course, as I am working in my classroom, I sometimes forget about love and God, and I shoulder the burden of the impossible job of teaching alone. In my distress, I don't call upon the Lord.

As I read Jeremiah, I wish I had lived in "Bible times," when God spoke to people. I want God to speak to me the way he spoke to the prophets. But of course, he does; and when I take the time to listen, I hear him.

That is what I love about Lent — the meditative inner nature of this season puts quiet spaces between all of my activities that sometimes overwhelm and consume my dialogue with God. Lent's quiet spaces create the loveliness of Lent — hearing the voice of God.

by Vin Knight

Psalm 105:4-11
Genesis 17:1-8
John 8:51-59

A few days before I sat down to write this Lenten devotional, I attended the Broadway revival of Stephen Sondheim's musical Sunday in the Park with George. The fact of neither event is especially remarkable — I've written devotionals in the past, and I go to the theatre as often as time and money allow. But a parallel emerged between the texts I was assigned and a recurring theme in the musical that I hadn't considered in quite the same way before.

The three readings all refer to God's covenant with Abraham that he will be "the ancestor of a multitude of nations" and "exceedingly fruitful." In essence, God promises — and delivers — to Abraham a kind of immortality through children he never thought he would have. In Sunday, the painter George Seurat fathers an unexpected child he never sees grow up and leaves behind an artistic legacy not appreciated until after his death. His daughter Marie explains to her grandson, also an artist named George, that children and art are two of the ways we live on after we die. Pointing to Seurat's masterpiece "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," she says, "This is our family tree." Part of Marie's — and the show's — lesson is that through each succeeding generation's new discovery of a work or art, the artist lives again.

This continuity of existence — through art, through children, and through many other things — reminds us, especially during this season, of the immortality offered to each of us by God through his son. In the gospel reading, Jesus says, "Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am," and "whoever keeps my word will never see death." As in his covenant with Abraham, God promises — and delivers — to each of us immortality through rebirth. We are his children, each a work of art, and he lives on in each one of us.

by Beth Ronsick (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Canticle 2 (BCP, p. 49)
Daniel 3:14-20,24-28
John 8:31-42

Today's lesson from Daniel is the tale of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego that seemed so fantastical in childhood. As an adult, I have to wonder, "Why risk being hurled into a fiery furnace when you could just pretend to worship the golden calf?"

The unfortunate truth is that it's rarely the most attractive option. The passage commands us to leave the safety and security of where we are. To be strong. To risk being unpopular. And even to suffer.

Examples abound. Do you occasionally close one eye to unethical situations at work because it pays your bills? Have you laughed at a joke made at a friend's expense in order to fit in? Have you ever made up an excuse to a loved one because it seemed easier than hurting his or her feelings? Our ideals are constantly called into question. And the context is often far more subtle than golden calf vs. death.

But if we are to be martyrs for the truth, how can we be certain of the truth? John tells us that the word of God is a good place to start: "If you continue in my word ... you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free."

And so, my meditation for today is this:
God, grant me awareness. Keep my heart and mind open to your teachings. Let the division between truth and falsehood be markedly clear. And grant me the courage to cleave to the truth.

by Ed Pisoni

Psalm 102: 15-22
Numbers 21: 4-9
John 8: 21-30

We believe in our faith, but do we know it?

We believe in the power of prayer, and that the Lord will answer our pleas, reads Psalm 102. We gather together in our church to pray and to believe.

But in this cynical world, can we just as easily become impatient and unsatisfied with our lives and God's response to us? Who will intercede for us when we decide to rebel and turn against God? Who will pray for our forgiveness then?? Who will provide the symbolic Bronze Snake, which heals and renews the Israelites in Numbers 21 today??

It is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who comes from the Father above. It is Jesus who shows Himself to us. And as He says in John 8 today, when we have lifted Him up, when we have accepted Him as who he is, we will know Him. Our belief will lead us to know the Lord. And we will know that what the Father has told Him, He tells us.

I am not alone, He says.

And neither are we.

by Patricia Smith

Psalm 23
Susanna 1: 9, 15-29, 34-62
John 8: 1-11

Two women (from different sides of the tracks?), each saved by a young man who is not a relative. Susanna is beautiful and from a righteous family. She is the wife of a wealthy man and privileged enough to have a cool garden in which to bathe on a hot day. St. John tells us nothing of the previous life of the adulteress who, when dragged into the temple, does not deny the charge against her. Susanna does deny the charge by directly praying to God to recognize her innocence.

At that time, in that place, it wouldn't have made any difference what either woman said. The sole word of a woman herself was not recognized in court; it was required that a male relative speak for her. The stakes were very high for these women because both would be stoned to death as prescribed by Mosaic Law. Susanna and the nameless woman had something else in common: neither one of them was represented by a male relative.

But the Lord indeed was their Shepherd. Because of Susanna's faith, Daniel, a stranger, is moved by God to prove the corruption of the witnesses and reverse the decision of the judges. The adulteress is saved by God acting through a stranger, Jesus, again calling into question the integrity of the court. In the first instance Mosaic Law is fulfilled with the conviction of the false witnesses. In the book of St. John the law is overturned by God's mercy via the salvation offered through the Christ.

The severity of Mosaic Law has been tempered over the centuries in Christian and Jewish lands, but the same cannot be said for countries enshrining Sharia Law as the final arbiter. Women accused of adultery are still being stoned to death in some places, the testimony of a woman is not given equal weight to that of a man, and honor killings are occurring even in countries that do not recognize Sharia.

The lives of both Susanna and the adulteress were changed forever. There is no doubt in my mind (and it is only through my faith that I can say this) that the unnamed adulteress went and sinned no more after her salvation by the Christ. I wonder though, about Susanna. Why didn't her husband speak for her in her hour of need? Women shouldn't need Daniels to come to their rescue. We still have a long way to go, baby.

Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

DRY BONES

Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

The foot bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the head bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun',
Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun',
Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun',
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

The head bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the foot bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

by Charles Hill (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Psalm 7:6-11
Jeremiah 11:18-20
John 7:37-52

Today's gospel reading is perhaps understood best in the context of the preceding chapters. John announces the Incarnation immediately, and then throughout his early chapters illustrates Jesus' dual nature as both God and man. In John, Jesus announces that he is the Messiah, that he has come to save the world, and that we must be reborn of the spirit through him.

Since he is also Joseph the carpenter's son and he breaks the Sabbath laws, his claim to be from God confuses most and threatens many. Jesus explains his dual nature with metaphorical language, as in the episode of the Samaritan woman at the well — his "I am the bread of life" statement and the "come and drink" invitation at the beginning of our passage.

Although many of his listeners are convinced, most understand only literal meanings of food and water. Explanations are thus futile, and forebodings of the Crucifixion are strong: Jesus' "time is not yet come" (but will come), he will "go unto him that sent" him, and he is not taken seriously because "out of Galilee ariseth no prophet." In these chapters we may see then an announcement of our redemption from the Fall despite our inability to comprehend and accept Jesus' sacrifice.

God's righteous anger against the wicked of the Old Testament passages is transformed into the loving sacrifice of God incarnate for a humankind unwilling or unable to understand his message.

by Steven Hubbard

Psalm 34:15-22
Wisdom 2:1a,12-24
John 7:1-2,25

For me, today's readings focus on fear. We often experience fear, and we let fear keep us from following the path best suited for us. Of courses, Jesus recognizes this fear in today's gospel reading from John, and he embraces his path. He directly tells the crowd, "You know who I am." He identifies himself and does not give in to fear. Some feared this proclamation would mean his arrest, but that does not happen.

This passage reminds me of the times when I let fear keep me from going forward. For instance, I remember waiting until the spring semester of my senior year of college to "come out," because I was afraid of being perceived as different by my friends. I waited until the end of my college years, because I knew I would be leaving after graduation. Fear kept me from identifying my true self. So, I let go of college friendships and never allowed friends to really know who I am. For me, I let fear weaken many friendships.

When I think back on this time and today's gospel reading, I try to reflect on these questions:

How can I keep fear from blocking my path forward?

What am I afraid of, and how is that fear keeping me from doing what needs to be done?

by Denise C. Jacobs (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Psalm 106:6-7,19-23
Exodus 32:7-14
John 5:30-47

"Almighty and most merciful God, drive from us all weakness" (collect for Thursday in the Fourth Week of Lent).

Obedience, never a word with which I am particularly comfortable, is what is asked for. God has made a promise to Abraham that he will give us eternal life, greater than anything that we can imagine, if we obey him.

The people of Israel following Moses through the desert had a very difficult time grasping this concept. Even after the parting of the Red Sea and the manna and the other marvels that God performed, they greedily disregarded these acts of love. They took it for granted and wanted more.

They had been sustained by God, surviving the great ordeals and hardships of the desert, but they lost their resolve to love and trust in God because of greed and avarice.

In John 5, Jesus refers to these lessons when he admonishes the disciples for not having the resolve to believe what they had heard and studied — that through Christ they would have eternal life.

During this period of Lent, while we struggle across our own "deserts" in our faith, we can be reassured that God loves us and will bring us through. He will keep his promise. We must have only the resolve to obey him and trust in his love for us.

by Judy Cope

Psalm 145:8-19
Isaiah 49:8-15
John 5:19-29

Why are these scriptures together? Is it a random choosing or is there a bond that puts these three scriptures together? If we, the readers, find a connection, it is filtered through the life experiences we are currently involved with. Quite literally, are we ready to hear the truth?

I see the psalm as a promise that God will listen to those that call. Isaiah tells us that "mountains will turn into roads," suggesting a path will present itself. John's passages tie these three verses together for me with a New Testament instruction. We are instructed to go through Jesus to cross over from death to life.

Once again, I am astonished that I have attracted the readings that I needed. Sometimes it seems like someone actually is listening. Every Easter, since I've been awakened from the dead and I make Easter about Christ instead of Easter bunnies and new clothes, I have asked God to reveal a new layer of understanding. This year my hurdle is clear and I show resistance. It's the theory passed down since I was a little girl in Bible school and resounded in every mention of Christ's name. We go to Him to speak to God. We end every prayer with, "in Jesus' name we pray." I've always had a problem with this. Hasn't he done enough for us already? He died for us, he suffered, he was humiliated, and yet I should go to him and ask him to talk to God for me? I speak to God quite a bit — does Jesus really want to be in on all of my idle chatter? Is this a school girl's riddle or reality?

My truth is that I feel guilty. My guess is that I am not alone. I think that, at the root, most skeptics and nonbelievers can't fathom how guilty and ungrateful they've been, so they say they don't believe at all. One of the advantages of growing older is you have time to work out your stuff.

From today's readings, I think that Gods' gift to us is a human judge. Imagine if we were in a court of law and the person holding the gavel was someone that we knew. Isn't it a comforting thought that when judgment is to be served it will be given from a human that loves us enough to die for us? The Old Testament rules have been updated. We are not given a savior so we can feel guilty about how we pray, but so we can be judged by one who has lived as we have.

The dead are becoming alive — not just people in graves, but people with beating hearts, unfolding the answers.

by Elizabeth Khan

Psalm 46:1-8
Ezekiel 47:1-9, 12
John 5:1-18

Water. Think about this most quotidian of substances. It has the power to give life, and to take it away in a wave of destruction. It is so soft that you may not even feel a drop of it that lands on your hand, but so powerful that it can carve the Grand Canyon out of the earth. It is also a theme that runs through today's readings. In the forty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel, Ezekiel is taken on a little tour of the river that runs from the Temple. He marvels at the changes in its course: Deep here, shallow there. Salty here, fresh and abundant there: "On the banks, on both sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing" (Ezekiel 47:12).

Thus, God provides health and life. In the gospel according to John, there is a pool called Bethesda, to which the blind and the paralyzed come, hoping to be healed. One day, Jesus visits and spots a man "who had been ill for thirty-eight years" (John 5:5). He asks the man if he wants to he healed. How can he, replies the man, if he cannot even walk into the water? There is no one to carry him, and when he tries to make his way down, others keep obstructing his path. Jesus says to him, "Stand up, take your mat, and walk" (John 5:8). The man does as Jesus tells him, and he is healed. The religious authorities are not pleased with Jesus' transgression of the law against work of any kind on the Sabbath. They are so displeased that they even seek to kill him.

At this point I thought of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the young German Lutheran pastor who realized very early that the Nazi regime boded ill not just for Germany, but for all of humanity. I have been reading much about his works and his life lately, and what struck me most was his absolute determination to follow Christ, even to the point of — breaking His commandments.

How can this be? Christ, of course, commands his followers to love their enemies, to turn the other cheek, never to resort to violence. Bonhoeffer, however, became involved in a plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. He had been a pacifist up to this point. He wrestled mightily with the theological implications of such an act, but in the end, came to this conclusion: If someone is "driving a car into a group of innocent bystanders, then I can't, as a Christian, simply wait for the catastrophe and then comfort the wounded and bury the dead. I must try to wrestle the steering wheel out of the hands of the driver."

And that is what he did. He broke the law given to him by his religion, because he knew that doing so would save lives. Unfortunately, the plot was unsuccessful, and Bonhoeffer was executed for his role in it. Yet even during the last months of his life, spent in prison and in a concentration camp, he believed that God was looking out for him. He wrote a poem for New Year's Day of 1945 that expressed the hope that survived through all his despair that God would still be his "refuge and strength, and a very present help in trouble" (Psalm 46:1).

By gracious powers so wonderfully sheltered,
and confidently waiting come what may,
we know that God is with us night and morning,
and never fails to greet us each new day.

— Dietrich Bonhoeffer (translated by F. Pratt Green)

by Nicholas Saunders

Psalm 30:1-6, 11-13
Isaiah 65:17-25
John 4:43-54

Today's texts are about healing, for recovery from illness, and ultimately about hope for a better world. Read together, they show a couple of ways of arriving at faith. One way is to look as these passages as leading from an answered prayer (the psalm) to God's promise (in Isaiah) to a specific sign of God's action in the world (Jesus' healing the child at Cana). Or they could be read in exactly the opposite order, as a path to faith: the miracle that leads people to believe, then the scriptural confirmation of God's favor toward us, and finally the psalmist's prayer of thanksgiving for the healing and joy that comes from a relationship with God. Whatever our individual approach to spiritual life, these ancient texts offer comfort and a reflection of God's love.

Jesus is aware of how difficult faith can be. He tells the nobleman whose son is at the point of death, "unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe." But what is available in 2008 to help us make a commitment to faith and keep it? Faith remains a mystery, yet the texts we read can help us understand the ineffable feeling that we might call belief. For me, the psalms have been useful, and I have read them at times of trouble or sorrow, even when faith was not really a part of my life, and hardly a commitment. The power and beauty of the language stirred me for some reason, while faith was a long way off. So perhaps, for me, the spiritual journey begins with a prayer, like today's psalm, and leads from there to a hopeful recognition of God's presence in the world.

by Mary Gaillard

Psalm 23
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

Haven't we all met someone and come to some conclusion about them based on what they look like? Are people what they seem like on the outside?

In Samuel, the Lord selects the next king of Israel from among Jesse's sons. He chooses David over all of his brothers. The people are surprised — they did not think him even a possible candidate! They are told, "The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

In the reading from John, Jesus makes a blind man see, and even though he has performed this feat that is humanly impossible, the Pharisees and others will not accept that Jesus is from God. They refuse to believe what they see, and instead come up with another rationale: they decide that the man must not have been blind to begin with. Still incredulous, the man is questioned twice as to how he received his sight.

These passages remind us that we should be careful how we view people. We should spend more time getting to know them. Find out who they really are, not what they look like they are. And this goes for our relationship with God. Spend time with Him, pray with Him, and find Him in places and people that you least expect.

by Candace Lombardi (from the 1998 Ascension Lenten Devotions)

Psalm 51:15-20
Hosea 6:1-6
Luke 18:9-14

I see today's passages as super-refined lenses through which God would have me view and consider my motivations in all that I do.

I have always been sure of my motivation to be baptized. I have always been sure of my motivation to be confirmed in the Episcopal Church and once there to become an acolyte and serve on various committees. But do I sometimes go about these tasks, pushing aside the fact that I wish to glorify Him in all these things, to wallow in the warmth of self-importance? Do I sometimes yield to the temptation of thinking, as the Pharisee in the Temple, that I'm better than the person sitting next to me on the subway because I'm so involved in the life of my church? Am I quick to mention that I'm involved in the Shelter Program or the Food Pantry so acquaintances and colleagues can stroke my ego and tell me what a good person I am? Oh, let me not be so foolhardy or shortsighted! Happily, God is present in the scriptures to guide me back on track when I stray, as it says in Luke, "for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted."

These passages are, also, wonderful reminders of what is truly important to God and, therefore, what is important to me. From time to time, I may fall into the indulgence of self-congratulations but I can also bask in self-pity. I look around at people whom I think are so spiritually centered, so sure of their faith, so willing to give of themselves and I despair I will ever be worthy enough in God's eyes. Again, the Lord provides the window through which I can see that comparisons are wasteful, meaningless exercises because we all have unique gifts to bring to the table. And while there may be some extraordinary people like Mother Teresa, there are many more ordinary people doing the best they can to lead productive, worthwhile lives. Incredibly, God embraces us all, so long as we seek to know Him and love Him with a steadfast heart.