Readings:
Exodus 19:2-8 
Psalm 100 
Romans 5:1-8

Devotional:
I read a story this week of a woman who was attending her mother’s retirement party. While she was there she learned that years earlier, her mom had been up for a giant promotion, one she had worked years for, but that she decided to pass up. The woman had never known, and she asked her mom why she hadn’t taken the job. The mom told her it was just when the daughter was starting a new school and had made the volleyball team, and she didn’t want to uproot their whole family to move again. The daughter had no idea—her mom came to volleyball games, brought snacks, all with a giant smile. So she asked, “Why did you make such a sacrifice for me?” And the mom answered, “You were never a sacrifice. You were the whole point.”

The whole point. What a place to find ourselves: not as an afterthought or concession, not second place or a begrudging acceptance or even a resolute follow-through on a commitment. The whole point.

The woman experienced the fullness of her mom’s presence, the joy of her being near, being involved, being excited, never imagining that there was any other life. (After all, nobody knows the outcomes of the life that didn't happen.) But somehow, when she heard that there was a choice or another option along the way, she began to wonder what was lost. We do that — we hear about something done on our behalf and assume that it incurred some cost or “less than” experience. We imagine that there’s a new indebtedness to make up for the missing quality of life that was left behind. Or maybe we feel we have to live up to or prove ourselves worthy to participate in something that was freely given. We try to earn the gift or the invite that was already ours.

The analogy is simple. Life in Him, the fullness of His presence, the joy of Him being near, involved and excited, really has always been ours. Ours, as in, everyone, everywhere.

Let’s go way back to Exodus, before the Law, before the ten commandments. The children of Israel, having fled Egypt under God’s protection, are encamped at the foot of a mountain. Mountains often represent meeting places with God, and this mountain is no different. They come to this place of worship in the mountains, and God calls out to Moses to offer nearness, to invite them to presence.

Remember, He says, how I cared for you with My strength? Remember how I looked after you in Egypt when you were fragile? Remember how I carried you to Me? He uses pictures like eagles’ wings, and recalls their plight with Egypt, but He is painting a picture of who He cares for. It’s not the whole and well, but those who need compassion. He’s reminding them that He cares for the weak and those in need, and brings them to Himself.

Now, safe at the foot of the mountain, He invites them to come near, talk with Him, and be His people. And when He says, “obey my voice” and “keep my covenant”, you could also write that as “carry out my affairs” and “maintain our alliance and friendship.” If you listen closely, you can hear the language that sounds like the garden and the co-mission to His work: walk and talk with Me, tend the garden, co-labor in My work.

What happens when they do this? Naturally, obviously, they become His people. Not for meeting a set of requirements, but simply because we grow to be like those who we are with. And what’s really amazing is that He says, “you will be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” Priests includes laypeople who fill the role. It’s not an exclusive seat; we are all called to the harvest. And the holy nation literally means Gentile nations becoming set apart by God. It’s been the whole point all along that everyone, everywhere could participate, could belong, could have a Place and be made right.

It’s really hard for us to imagine this. We have learned a tradition of a plan we ruined, and we carry a burden of guilt or debts owed in striving effort. We look from the outside, imagining us vs. them, and want in. But why want what by grace you already have?

If we instead imagine ourselves as being the whole point, our posture changes too. This isn’t a desperate back-up plan where we earn our seat. This isn’t a wishful attempt to be part of something and try to fit in. This is a welcoming invitation.

The Psalmist understands it and shows us the actual posture that makes sense: gratitude and praise. Shout to the Lord all the earth. No talk of outsiders. All meaning any and every. All of us get to come into His gates and enter His courts. Which means all of us are citizens — you don’t enter a gate to somewhere you’re not invited or expected to be. You don't sneak in the back way, ashamed to be caught. All the earth is anticipated and welcome to His presence. Eden’s invitation is back again: He is our Shepherd, we are the sheep of His pasture. We belong with Him, sharing in His work. So with the confidence of someone meant to be in the room, we can be joyful, excited, and thankful.

Paul gets it too, as he writes to the Roman church, who are trying desperately to figure out who is in and who is out and what exactly is required. (They've lost the picture of everyone, everywhere in the midst of all the activity of the church… a familiar situation if we are honest with ourselves.) So he reminds them that “having been justified” by faith (remember it’s not the law, as we saw in chapter 4), we have peace (wholeness and oneness) and can hope in the glory of God.

And having hope isn’t shameful, it doesn’t disappoint us. Even in our internal struggles, hope isn't the lesser life. It's expected, just like we are expected in His company, because God’s love is poured out within us. Note that it says within, because we are the dwelling place of God, even in our weakness, even as tax collectors. Just like way back in Exodus when God promised to make us priests and a holy nation. Just like the Psalmist confirming that we are His sheep, with full license to enter His courts. Paul is trying to help the Roman church understand that the plan all along has been everyone, everywhere, and that we’re not at odds with a requirement system or rulebook for admission. Neither rightness by a system nor goodness by what we did that earned us a Place; we were already welcome.

And welcomed, we can walk and talk with God in peace and hope. So now, when we look at Christ dying for us, we can see the life of His presence. We can see where He has chosen to be near us, to bring us joy and excitement. Christ dying for us, the ones in need of the same eagles’ wings of compassion, is a demonstration of His love, but it’s not one we carry with the guilt of repayment. We didn’t receive God’s second best or “B-” life. God’s love for us isn’t a concession or the worse of two options. It isn’t a backup plan to be loved by Him. No, just like the woman was chosen by her mom, well before she even knew it, we were chosen a long time ago, and we are the whole point. This life, loved by Him, is “A+”, is the very best.

And so we give thanks, reveling in His love. Reveling in His intention and willingness to come to us in our weakness, to carry us, to place us at His feet, to be with us, to call us His own precious treasure. Joyous to realize we were chosen all along. Grateful to belong without striving. Praising for the hope and glory that’s been placed in us and pours out of us.

Hold your head up high. You, beloved, were the whole point.


A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Calls,
Your voice calls us near, regardless of name or nation. Help us continue to hear Your words and be reminded that we are Your treasured and protected children through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with you and the Holy Spirit be honor and glory, now and forever.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You don’t mind being close to us, no matter our condition. May we feel the powerful strength of your protection and the tender vulnerability of your care as we experience the life You intended for us.
Amen.

Blessing
May our hearts be full of gratitude, joy, and hope as we experience the continued kindness and favor of God.

_{Photo by Siamak on Unsplash}

Readings:
Hosea 5:15–6:6 
Psalm 50:7-15 
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26
Romans 4:13-25 

Devotional:
What do you do when you’re facing the impossible? The job that was already hard but got resources cut again. The marriage that was struggling and took another hit of lost trust. The strained family dynamic that got more complex with unexpected health changes. The reputation that tarnished from a few ill-timed outbursts or a mistake from decades past.

Maybe it’s the same habit that you keep trying to kick to no avail. Maybe it’s the messy situation you find yourself trapped in, built on a bad decision that now has you entangled. Maybe it’s the consequences of generations past, now painfully chained to you and your children. Maybe it’s the direct outcome of something you did or could have controlled and now is coming back to bite you.

Impossible strikes a heavy blow. Regardless of the cause, the situation has moved beyond your control. The impacts are real and felt and looming. Anger, sadness, cynicism, hopelessness. Impossible stacks up the negatives.

And to make matters worse, impossible feeds separation. We’re overwhelmed and we lash out against help instead of embracing it. Our frustrations spill out of our tense relationships into our healthy ones, contaminating as they go. Our desperate mindsets start to color everything we see, leading us to perceive judgements and criticisms that aren’t really there. We begin to relabel ourselves as outcasts and “other” where we once had a place.

Our fate, it seems, is sealed. And try as we might, we can’t seem to get back to the place of possibility.

This has to be how our cast of characters feels across this week’s readings, especially with some of the desperate, impossible language used.

Let’s start with Hosea. Hosea lives in the Northern Kingdom of Israel, whose people are facing the imposing and relentless hand of the Assyrian Empire. The Assyrians usher in all sorts of unifying, long-lasting details to the Middle East — shared language, advanced communication methods, well maintained roadways, highly successful resettlement techniques — with a notoriously brutal methodology. With their conquest, they bring all of their culture too, including models of sacrifice and the godly appointed duty of the ruler to civilize and assimilate. With this present and real threat, Hosea continues to warn Israel to not participate in all the Assyrian ways, but to seek God’s face.

To make matters further complicated, in this already impossible political and religious climate, Hosea’s own life is impossible. It’s so bad that it serves as an example of the condition of Israel, who have completely lost their place and way. His wife, either before or during their marriage, is an adulterer, but Hosea has been instructed by God to love her, to pay for her mistakes, to treat her with goodness, and to bring her back home. Hosea (and by extension Israel) faces the baggage of relationships gone awry and somehow needing to fix it, to get things back to the place where they used to be. Talk about impossible feelings.

Next is Asaph, the author of this week’s Psalm and several others. Asaph is appointed by David as a chief musician and worship leader, and he goes on to train Levite singers and direct the music when the Ark of the Covenant is moved to Jerusalem. Throughout his psalms, he writes with depth, wrestling with impossible situations that seem to benefit the wicked and punish those who follow God. For all the time spent in the place of worship with God, he is frustrated with the hypocrites who pretend to meet God there and the injustices they level.

Over in Romans, we’re reminded of Abraham’s impossible story. When God promised a land and a family of many descendants, Abraham considered his body to be “as good as dead since he was a hundred years old” (way to be blunt, Paul), as well as his wife’s barrenness. No physician would have examined them and found the possibility of children. The signs all pointed to emptiness, their bodies lacking in substance, the place for this opportunity long past.

The rest of the passage in Matthew reiterates more of the same devastating impossibilities of illness and death. The official’s daughter has passed away; nothing done in the synagogue can restore her. The woman with the hemorrhage is cast out (according to the law), afflicted by a sickness she has no hope or help to cure, without anywhere to go or anyone to call on. Neither have a way out; neither have a way to restore their lives to where they used to be.

This is the point that the fight in us usually takes over. By sheer force of will, surely there is something that can be done, some action I can do that will move me! We double down on all the things that “worked” before, like wellness is a formula. Or, if we were the Israelites, we run down the list of sacrifices trying to see if we missed something we “should” have done that would have fixed this. Or maybe we get miffed at God and half-blame Him for our situation, but then half-beg Him in our prayers for a resolution. (Like Israel says in Hosea: “He has torn us, but He will heal us.” Did He really? Or are we just upset and accusing?)

The fix is the same as Matthew and the tax collector though. These aren’t actual impossible situations; they’re just sicknesses to be healed. And the healing isn’t a reward for sacrifice; it’s the impact of communion, as we said Sunday. There’s no amount of sacrifice required to “make up for” something. There isn’t a requirement to buy off God. We don’t sacrifice to ensure our security or well-being. Rather, we’re restored to rightness when are in His presence.

Back in Hosea 5, God says, “I’ll return to My place,” where He will wait until they seek Him. The place where they meet with Him, where He doesn’t tear them apart like the Assyrians, but instead comes with the words of His mouth. He talks with them. He covers with light, not wounds. It’s not sacrifices, but His mercy (same word here as loyalty or lovingkindness). It’s not offerings, but knowing Him. It’s a call to return to His presence for healing.

Micah, who is the contemporary to Hosea, sent to the Southern Kingdom under the same Assyrian Empire, says it this way: What does the Lord require? Do justice, love kindness (or, again, mercy), walk humbly with Your God. The Places where God has met with them are cluttered with performance, and Micah invites them to return to simply walking with God. Walk and talk with Him like we first learned in the garden. Experience the righteousness of God by His presence, not by performance, not by fulfilling a contrived set of requirements.

Asaph pointedly notes that if God were hungry and needed a sacrifice, He made everything and could very well help Himself. But no, God isn’t judging any sort of man-made sacrifice. He’s inviting us to call on Him, talk to Him, in our impossible times of trouble, and He will strip away what entangles us.

Paul reinforces this righting within God’s presence. As the Roman church was struggling to figure out what actions were required to have a place at the Father’s feet, Paul reminds that Abraham simply believed God. Walked with Him, talked with Him, in the presence of Him whom he believed. Abraham’s faith didn’t waiver, and he glorifies God. Abraham draws near to God in the impossible, and finds their illness made well. Finds a Place for life to grow. God’s healing presence isn’t constrained to the law, isn’t held to any system; we’ve been able to walk and talk with Him since the beginning.

Finally in Matthew, we see Jesus’s presence blatantly overcome any confine of a law or rule. Death, the finished and final state that the official thinks has happened? No, Jesus says, she has not died (or, she has not gone far away), she is just asleep. Draw near. Find healing and rightness restored in His presence, overcoming any sort of impossible rule we might imagine.

Or the woman afflicted. She touches His hem, reaching for His presence, and He turns to look her in the face. He comes toward that which is other, that which shouldn’t be allowed to have presence, that which has no Place to be, and says she is made well. His presence, as He comes to us and as we come to Him, walking and talking, brings rightness. His presence overcomes what no law structure could. The power of walking and talking with Righteousness means that impossible things become well, sick things become right, outsiders find a place.

The impossible can’t abide in the Places of God. We might try to add clutter with rule systems and contracts, might try to control the outcomes with logical proofs, but He has proven and declared again and again that mercy, compassion, communion, are His ways. We have a standing invitation to walk and talk with God, to be in His presence and find rightness restored.


A Prayer for Each Moment
God of Nearness,
You draw close to us with compassion for our weakness and illness and delight that we would know You. Detangle us from what we deem impossible as we sit in Your presence, that we would find ourselves hoping against hope at the Life in You. For from You and through You and for You are all things.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
When we are angry and frustrated, where our impossible shackles seem to hold us from Your presence, draw us close. Remind us that You’re with us, stripping away what would clutter, rescuing us from what would wound, guiding us with Your words.
Amen

Blessing
May we be reminded that God meets us, turns toward us, embraces us, and makes us well.


_{Photo by Martin Olsen on Unsplash}

Readings:
Psalm 8 
Genesis 1:1–2:4
Matthew 28:16-20
2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Devotional:
Theology is fussy work. After all, how can you really try to contain the Infinite to words and ideas, much less time or place? We can’t, but we really enjoy trying. That’s where the fussy bit comes in, because if you choose a definite article (like the God of the Universe) versus an indefinite article (like a god of the universe), it starts to mean different things, at least in some languages. There is a big difference between “the” Lord  and “a” lord. Of course, we have to consider other languages too. And the fussiness grows. What if our word choices were then translated again? What if our audience reading our “the’s” and “a’s” thought the opposite of what we intended? Maybe we should just stop here, while we’re ahead.

Yet, we can’t. It’s a puzzle piece within us that wants to fit, a pattern that wants to complete. We innately crave the connection to our Creator and what it means to our lives. We want fully completed structures (even if complicated and layered) that outline the if/thens of our faith. We want the codes that make God's behaviors predictable and systematic. We want the formulas that create life and produce the appropriate responses from humanity. We outline the lineages, tabulate the years between generations, cross-reference star positions and scientifically rationalize every Biblical datum in the name of certainty and assurance. We favor definition and boundaries, rules and tidy, causal statements. It’s like we imagine knowledge to be life.

And then we have David, who also considers stars and how they were appointed to their positions in the sky, but lands on wonder instead of dissection. “How majestic is Your name in all the earth!” opens and closes the Psalm. Rather than reverse engineering the mysteries of God, David simply responds to Who he sees.

The Genesis story is reflected in his words: the heavens, the moon and stars, the fish, the birds, the animals. All the same components, and then right in the middle (the most important placement in this style of poetry), an awe-struck question: how is it that God cares for us, considers us and entrusts us?

Go back to the creation narrative and see it with David. Sun, moon, and stars, birds, fish, animals. Then man, made and entrusted to care for God’s works, commissioned from the outset to rule over it all, given the authority to cultivate what God began.

This isn’t a perfect man though, and David knows it. This is man that is mortal. He sees the contrast: what is man—frail like an infant—to capture God’s attention from the universe? What is it about this weak being that is best suited to carry the likeness of God, to co-labor in ruling with glory and majesty? David doesn’t have to explain why, but he describes the picture he has - God’s strength, the same that silences those who would contest it, is demonstrated in our infant weakness. And man, that same weak creation, will be lifted up to share in the effort of caring for creation. With all the heavens and glory of creation available, God is choosing man to show his strength.

So what, David read/heard the Genesis story, you might think. But here’s where it gets fun. Fast forward to Matthew. Jesus has taken on the commission of the garden of Eden, going about the work of His Father, going as He was Sent, saying what His Father would say. He’s assumed the weakness of incarnation, demonstrated the frailty and mortality of mankind. And conquered it—all authority in heaven and earth given to Him, crowned with glory and majesty. David’s picture of the Father, of His face toward us in creation, is fully realized in Jesus.

And now, Jesus re-offers the charge of the garden back to us: therefore, with the authority given to Him, go and make disciples. Where man was commissioned in Eden’s original creation, now we are recommissioned in the (re)new(ed) creation. Jesus invites us to follow the pattern of His life, the one where weakness is a strength, the one where frailty outshines the glory of creation in reflecting the Father. Perhaps even, we could say, the one where we embrace the joy and contentment of simply being alive, just like a baby would. As we noted on Sunday, today, He charges us, teach and show what we have beheld and heard.

Or as Paul says to the Corinthians, having spent several chapters arguing that it's really, truly not about your credentials or position (if it were, he would have won that competition), we should be made complete. It’s not a question of how close to the angels we rank or how brilliantly we articulate God’s complexity. Recognize that in our weakness, His strength is revealed. Be comforted. Be of the same mind. Live in peace. Embrace each other. All of these are positions of weakness: who can be comforted but someone who is hurting? How can you be of the same mind without yielding your opinion or your method? Where will you find peace without also finding the choice to be unoffended or to refuse retaliation? How can you maintain your guard when you open your arms to hug someone?

Our weaknesses become strength as He fills them, resourcing us with all we need. Just like David, we can behold the wonder of the Father who looks on us and marvel at His majesty working through us.

So we take heart then. As we were created, weak yet strengthened by Him, is enough to capture His attention, to walk with Him, to join in His labors, to carry His mission, to tend to His creation, and to truly know Him.


A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Strengthens,
You entrust us with the shared mission of Your kingdom, considering us and caring for us. May we marvel as we behold You, contented by your favor on us and moved to peace and unity with one another. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the community of the Holy Spirit, be with us.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You accompany us with love and peace. In our families and communities, we recognize You strengthening us so that we can embrace each other, live in harmony and take every opportunity to bring comfort and encouragement.
Amen

Blessing
May we find wonder in Who we behold and live joyfully, knowing that we are being made complete by our Father.


^{_{Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash}}

Readings:
John 7:37-39
Numbers 11:24-30
I Corinthians 12:3b-14

Devotional:
Have you ever purchased something only to realize you already had the thing and just overlooked it? (Go to the store, buy a bottle of hoisin sauce.. Oh no! Already have a bottle of hoisin sauce, go to the store, buy another bottle of hoisin sauce…) It was an internet trend for a reason. We’ve all been there and pulled out four unintended packages of the same food or household item and chuckled at the absurdity of it. We’re fully stocked and yet keep forgetting what we have available.

It’s easy to do and fairly harmless. Worst case, we have too much toothpaste, but we’ll use it eventually. It’s not completely unlike our characters in our lectionary readings for this week either.

First, we have our story from Sunday of the cranky people of Israel and Moses trying to lead them. The Israelites are getting manna in abundance, enough to satisfy any need they might have, but they’re still asking Moses for more. It's as though they've forgotten that the resource is endless. Moses, in turn, begs for help caring for the people, so God says He would take from the Spirit already in Moses and give it to the elders to help Him. There was an abundance of support available, at the ready, not a deficit or a need to request. The pantry was full!

Then we get to John, in a passage that is familiar to us, but gets richer in its symbolism once we have a bit of background.

Jesus has shown up (late, after all his disciples already got there) to the incredibly popular and large Feast of Tabernacles, a celebration wherein God is worshipped for His protection and provision. We have to pause to know just a bit about the Feast of Tabernacles, or Feast of Booths, to really understand the point Jesus is making in these couple sentences. First, by Jesus’ time, the Feast of Tabernacles was large and communal, with tens of thousands gathering daily to watch leaders sing and perform, even juggle fire.

Next, the feast draws its name from the small temporary hut or booth that may have been used in the fields by laborers, or similarly in the desert when the Israelites were wandering. It has walls and is covered in plants (imagine a mini garden, perhaps?), and much of the celebration involved shared meals and prayers in these small tabernacles. In addition to celebrating and honoring God’s provision, the feast reinforced themes of unity and hospitality with one another, encouraging people to dwell in joy together.

There are plenty more details, but we’ll end with a brief note about the Pouring of the Water ceremony, where a priest would draw water from the Pool of Siloam (or Sent), then carry it up the Jerusalem pilgrim road into the Temple. Each festival morning, the freshly gathered water—a precious resource in a desert community—would be poured out along with the regular morning offering as a request for God’s blessing of rain in its proper time.

With this backdrop, on the last great day of the feast, Jesus gets up and cries out, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”

It should sound a little more provocative to our ears now. We’re at the biggest family Thanksgiving you can imagine, and Jesus stands up (again, after arriving late… you can almost see the raised eyebrows) to say if anyone is thirsty they can come to Him and drink. It’s the direct claim of God that we have learned it to be, but right in the middle of an entire celebration asking God to provide rain. He’s using the language of hospitality to assert theology. We’re all of a sudden talking religion at a (very large) dinner party.

Then, Jesus takes the claim further and says rivers of living water will flow from those who believe. Now interestingly, both “drink” and “flow” in the original language carry a prolonged state. This isn’t a quick sip or a one-time event, but something ongoing. In other words, feast attendees, you aren’t going to need to keep pouring out water on an altar in exchange for God’s blessing. In other words, Israelites, this ceremony that you all love is going to be moot. In other words, the rituals and patterns of thinking about God’s provision in finite terms are short-lived. Can you imagine the eyebrows now?

Now before we start reading into this abundance and making other interpretations, John helpfully gives us an explanation to say we’re talking about the Holy Spirit, which is about to be given at Pentecost. How like Jesus then, to take the ceremonial symbols attached to harvest and rain, to take the natural things we all “know” and give them completely new context. The Holy Spirit within us, God within us, means a direct line to exactly whatever facet of His character and nature we would need.

For example, find yourself needing more patience for the complaining children of Israel, who yet again are unhappy with what’s for dinner? God took from the Spirit within Moses to give to the other elders. It was already there. His patience is already there for us.

This is where our grocery analogy falls apart, because rather than going to the store and getting the same thing, it’s really like opening your pantry at any time with full confidence that what we need is already available. There’s no need to plan ahead or put it on a list or verify if we’re still allowed to order it.

When a resource is infinite, you don’t need rituals or extra steps to ensure you’ll have it. There’s not an exchange system of attitudes or postures that make more grace, or more love, or more gentleness, or more self-control accessible for us. It’s flowing like living water. And you don’t have to vie or compete for it. There’s no performance that earns a larger portion of “infinite” — it doesn’t run out.

What sounds like a shocking declaration from Jesus is actually the grandest offer of hospitality and unity. We’ve got full access to God’s goodness, no limits, given freely to each of us for our common good, as 1 Corinthians says. Enjoy whatever we need.

God has the impeccable track record of providing and protecting, which of course inspires our worship and gratitude. Now with the Holy Spirit within us, we can let go of the rituals we put in place that suggest we have to earn either His provision or protection.

We can dwell at our tables, extending hospitality and fostering unity with joy knowing we are resourced and cared for by the kindness and goodness of our God. The same God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.


A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Unites,
You gather us, affectionately and with love, and meet our needs with abundant overflow. Let us recognize the Spirit resting on ourselves and each other, that we would see how You draw us together to strengthen and inspire us. To the same Spirit, Lord, and God who keeps us from stumbling be glory, majesty, power, and authority.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You give us everything we need in Your infinite love and affection. Remind us how we are already resourced in our communities, surrounded and supported to dwell in joy together.
Amen

Blessing
May we recognize Your Spirit creating life in and among us, unifying us, resting on us, and bringing us peace.


_{Photo by Luisa Brimble on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

Devotional:
We love a good comeback story: the unlikely outcast turned protagonist, the underdog who beats all odds, the big break that elevates someone to fame, the recognition after years of effort. Fictional or historical, our heroes and heroines (especially our Western ones) share this quality of being at a disadvantage and yet rising above to their eventual victory.

It's an alluring aspiration. If we just strive long enough and hard enough, if we buckle down and grit our teeth, we will be rewarded for our tenacity, and even more so when we surmount some obstacle that should have overcome us. The outcome is a self-propelled force of will, celebrating our own independence and successful effort as proof of our ethic.

But it stops short of the real unlock.

The pattern is ingrained in us. As little babies, we are fully dependent, drawing our every source of life from what is provided to us. We grow and learn codependence, understanding and navigating the world in the context of our caregivers. We mature further to be independent, exploring our own thoughts and gaining responsibility for our own actions. And this is where our growth and many of our hero stories simply stop.

We graduate to a world of independence markers. We have performance evaluations about our individual contributions: what did you influence or create? We are measured on our individual test-taking: how much information do you recall? We are surrounded by personalized assessments: credit scores, personality tests, likes, superlatives, PRs, spiritual gifts—all pointing us to a system of comparison and contrast.

Then it happens. Left to our own persistence and skill, we start to grow weary in our doing good, start to run out of energy to fight the good fight, begin to be troubled by our sufferings because we see it all through our independence eyes, evaluating how well we stack up.

Peter knows this. He knows we have a tendency to judge ourselves, isolate and overthink, and he recognizes how easily we can be overcome in those situations. So he reminds us again of the rest of the story that exceeds independence in our trials.

That story is Oneness. It's together. It's the community.

In chapter four, when the fiery moments come alongside us, we share–koinóneó, the same Greek word that means participating together, in community–with Christ and each other. It's not a solo effort. And we rejoice together too for the unveiling of His glory. He isn't trapped behind a temple veil, but is manifested with us, the brotherhood of believers. His Spirit rests on us, remaining with us, and it's the kind of resting that is refreshing after something has been completed. Do we see ourselves in this blessing? Beloved, He is well-pleased.

Peter carries the ideas further in chapter five. We don't have to be overcome and devoured by our accusers who would try to overwhelm us with noise and drown out the voices of hope. Instead, we cast our cares upon Him. Our cares are literally all the separated, divided pieces of us. We bring our fractured bits, which He takes an interest in, and He exults them, restoring them to Oneness.

It's together, not by ourselves, that we are steadfast. Together, we have the same experiences as a brotherhood. Together, the God of all gracious giving, calls us to be in Him. (I am in you, and You are in me, as Jesus assures.)

And here's the part of our hero stories we don't always tell. It's the part where someone placed that person exactly in the right spot at the right time, when someone pointed them in the right direction, when someone equipped them with the strength to move forward, when someone helped them settle into their story. It’s the part where we learn that the success and victory was never a solo quest, but always shared.

Our God—the one who likes to give us our hearts desires, who likes to be with us, who takes care of us, the One for Whom we awaited—perfects, confirms, strengthens and establishes us. This should be a sigh of relief, allowing us to recognize that God is doing the work in each of us to be with us and granting us the peace and security to walk through any situation together.

He perfects: fits us perfectly, like a puzzle piece, or like a machined part, refined to the just-right tolerances for what is needed. He confirms us: sets the direction we are going, turning our eyes where we should go. He strengthens us: empowering us not only to stand but also with the energy and capacity to move forward. And underpinning it all, He establishes us: grounds us, laying foundations for us to build on. All together in His Kingdom.

This is where Peter is inviting us to be, reframing our trials, our exultations, and blessings as the real measures of life shared with each other and with God. There's no need to compare and contrast our individual growth and no requirement to pass tests in isolation. What kindness and grace that life is shared, that His glory is shared.

We were always meant to be together, at One, interdependent and connected, not compared or contrasted.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God We Awaited,
You've been faithful and complete in Your plans toward us, always intending that we should share the glory of eternal living. Let us walk humbly and confident, assured that You are perfecting, confirming, strengthening and establishing us. To You be dominion forever and ever.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
God, may we recognize in your Oneness
our need for unity.
God, may we recognize in your Three-ness,
our need for community.
God, may we recognize in your creativity,
our need for diversity.
God, may we recognize in your Self,
our need to love each other.
Amen.

Blessing
May we dwell together in the fullness of life eternal, believing in the one true God who sent His Son.


_{Photo by Jan Canty on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 3:13-22

Devotional:
Here we are again, back with Peter and our early Christians living in Asia Minor. Same topics, same ideas, but we haven’t covered everything yet. Now in chapter 3, we’re hitting the same points from a slightly different perspective, saying it all again but with new examples to connect the concepts together.

It’s like those professors who start their lecture writing notes on the middle chalkboard. Then they migrate over to a second chalkboard on the right and start drawing arrows between the two as the lecture gets going. Eventually, they fill up the right-hand chalkboard and have to move all the way back over to the far left chalkboard, drawing more arrows across the middle as they connect it all together. As long as you’ve been following from the start of the lecture, you’re fine, but to jump in at the end, the metaphors and arrows start to overlap.

Halfway through 1 Peter, the arrows and analogies are starting to build and overlap, but Peter is determined that we would understand. We, the followers and family of Christ, are confident and assured in His work to us and through us, which both builds us and guides us even through the fiercest of trials, such that we would rejoice in our sufferings. It’s hard, we expect it, and we’re reframing our mindsets to understand how we will endure with gentleness and reverence.

We already know part of the how from chapter 2: it is because we are being built up, designed by God to be dwelling places for God. It was always the plan for Him to live among us and in us, and Peter shows us. However, we have to know a couple of our Old Testament references.

First, Peter quotes Isaiah 8, saying that when suffering for righteousness, “Do not fear their intimidation, and do not be troubled.” The rest of the passage in Isaiah is talking about the prophesied invasion of Assyria on Judah, likening it to a flood that will overwhelm them. Isaiah is being warned not to honor or fear the same things the Assyrians would. Instead, don’t be troubled, and fear God, who will become their sanctuary (their abode) even when they feel they are being overwhelmed and crushed. Similarly, we aren’t to be afraid of those who would persecute us—God intends to dwell with us.

Peter gives us a second flood reference, reminding them of how patiently God waited while the ark was being constructed, where a sanctuary was being built for His people. It’s that same sanctuary where He would shut in Noah and his family, surrounding them with His protective presence and bringing them safely through the very circumstances that looked like they would overwhelm them. In this flood story, God waits for the dwelling place to be built, that He would be able to be with His people, wrapping His arms around them.

Within these stories of dwelling and protecting, Peter also wants us to understand the overlapping of the work of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. He writes, “For Christ also died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit.”

Being alive in the Spirit goes all the way back to creation, when God speaks and breathes life. Speaking and breathing happen together — Words need Breath to be heard. So when God speaks (even a still, small voice) His Word and His Spirit in unity bring life within us and around us. God is both in Adam and Eve and walking with them. God is within us giving us life and among us sharing in that life. And like Noah, we are sealed in Him with the promise of the Holy Spirit.

Psalm 115 describes the situation the opposite way, showing false gods who have eyes, ears, noses, hands, mouths, but they can’t see, can’t hear, can’t smell, can’t touch, can’t share. They have the container, but without Word and Spirit, there isn’t any life.

Ezekiel says it another way too, rebuking the would-be shepherds who take the food that would be God’s, who wear the clothes that would look like holiness, but who have none of the life that comes from God—no healing, no strengthening, no restoring or saving. You can dress up the outside with the right activities, but life isn’t a byproduct of performance.

There’s no pretending to be God, no Breathing the Word of life into ourselves. It is God within us—by His own virtue—that gives life.

So like last week, we should be reassured—the effort isn’t on us! Peter reaffirms it is God who does the work again to our early Christians. He asks, “What harm is there if we prove zealous for what is good?” In English, we hear the words of our own effort, but that’s not the case in Greek. Proving could just as easily be translated as becoming. What harm is there if we become zealous—our enthusiasm boiling over with passion—for what is good? Good is especially interesting because it is that which originates from God. And what harm could there be in the things that originate from God? Goodness comes at His hand, causing us to become passionate. Of course it would be God within us, preparing us to defend the very hope He gave us in the first place.

And keeping a good conscience? Well that’s the same God-originated substance again. And conscience is co-perception, seeing together. He’s sharing His good perspective with us, showing us the mystery of godliness.

Peter, the Psalmist, Isaiah, Ezekiel—they’re all painting a picture. We aren’t going to usurp God’s seat, because He’s offered to sit beside us. When He’s within us—when the Word is spoken with the Holy Breath of Spirit, giving us life—well, then we see godliness come through. Then we see the gentleness and reverence. Baptism (God around us and in us) saves us, not because we did the work ourselves, but because He has conquered the prisons of death to make us alive in the Spirit.

Psalm 115 encourages “trust in the Lord. He is [Your] help and shield.” A shield is an external protection, but it’s also something you wear—it’s part of you. The helper is the same word as Eve being a helpmate and as the Holy Spirit being sent as a comfort. It’s outside help that is meant to become one with you.

Jesus puts it this way in John: “My peace [or wholeness] I leave with You. My peace I give to you.” Indeed even if we do suffer for righteousness, we are blessed.

All along it’s been His plan and intent to be with us, surrounding us with protection, filling us with perspective, gifting us Life and wholeness.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Our Peace,
We know You are within us, and we in You, united in wholeness of Spirit and Word. Cause us to remember that You choose to abide, existing permanently within us and inseparably united to us, that we may experience a life even greater than heaven. Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You know the grieved, the crushed, the outcast. You know when we feel constrained and limited, when we find ourselves lost and scattered. Find us like You have done before and will do again—with earnest, heartfelt attention and love—to strengthen us, stitch us back together, restore us to life, and take care of us.
Amen

Blessing
May we feel the comforting goodness of God in us and among us, surrounding and shielding us from without and supporting and strengthening us from within.


^{Photo by Conor Sexton on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 2:2-10

Devotional:
My child came into the room this week and declared, “We need a parallel circuit instead of a series circuit!” These are all words that independently have meaning to me, but in this sentence had none. “A what?” After a few more attempts to help me understand, we determined I needed the instructions to the circuit toy if I was going to be of any assistance. Upon reading about both circuits, I now had additional language and context about voltage and current. But I could not fix whatever problem in the circuit was preventing the planet from glowing.

Sometimes we have all the right language, even mature language that is beyond our experience or years. Or further, we might have instructions to explain our terminology or to make something make sense, but in either case, the words and reasons don't determine our capacity for the task itself. We need an outside catalyst to make it happen and to show us how it's done.

This is where we are with Peter. He's just told us (and all our early Christian friends in Asia Minor) to take heart if we face trials, even to be expectant in suffering, noting that we can be assured in Christ's work, confident in His example before us. He's reminded us to honor everyone, love the brotherhood, fear God, honor our kings, in a nice tidy list.

We get the concepts, and we can even see the hope and life underpinning Peter’s exhortation. But that doesn't make the job of loving, honoring, or respecting all of a sudden easier or lighter, especially when accompanied by trials and suffering. And in our old kingdom habits, it's so tempting to put that gap between knowing and doing back on ourselves: try harder, love Him more, sacrifice more, strive more. (As if we could coerce God into treating us better with our good behavior!)

So in today's section, Peter comes back to identity and capacity, refocusing on the who and how of the kingdom. He's been building the case that we are part of God's family, using the same words that have historically been used to speak of Israel. Now, Peter says it outright: we are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God's own possession, the people of God.

If our early Christians felt other or outside, Peter is quelling their anxieties. They (and we) are most assuredly considered and included, of the same Father. But in the middle of suffering, when we are drawn back to our default, old kingdom evaluation of our performance equaling our identity, we need to hear it again and again: we belong to the Father. Full stop.

Equally, we need to hear the words of capacity again. He starts by saying desiring the Word (Christ) just like an infant wants milk, the same craving, so that by it we grow in our salvation. Like we discussed Sunday, because we know Jesus, we then know the Father, and we find salvation.

Desire to know Him. Knowing takes time, each moment building on the last as the relationship develops. You learn speech patterns, different laughs or tones, and you take comfort in a quiet lull.  Knowing can be as simple as a name to start, then can become richer over time, more nuanced and deepening.

Where our capacity starts at desire, or to say it a different way, when we might only know His name, Peter invites us to see what becomes: like Christ before us, we are being built up as living stones, to be a spiritual house, a dwelling place, another room. “You are being built,” not “You build.” It's passive voice, that thing in grammar that means something is happening to you, not that you are doing the action yourself. Just like in chapter 1, it's Christ’s work that gives us assurance and confidence. Here again we are told that the building and growing is happening to us. Breathe a collective sigh of relief that it's not on us to do.

So then, we are built up as living stones. Stone because we are fixed in our identity with God–we are His people and have received His mercy. And living because He abides with us and is causing us to grow. The cornerstone makes the building true, plumb, and square–we are aligned to Him, then growing outward in Life.

And from this building, through Jesus Christ, come spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God. Not the sacrifices we force ourselves into or the suffering we assign to ourselves in the name of striving for holiness. Sacrifices just come, natural outputs of the obedient, fervent love He is stirring in us. Acceptable here is more than something average or passable. It's not merely eking by. Acceptable includes the idea of something to look forward to or anticipate. Something precious is being built in us and is coming out of us.

With this mindset, we don't reject the thing God is using to build us. We take heart knowing the thing no one would normally build with becomes foundational. We don't have to force our growth or becoming, introducing new things for ourselves to stumble over. Instead, we relax into knowing Him, because building takes time. We might not understand all the why’s and how's just yet, but He is building something precious and worth longing for all the same.

Peter knows we need this encouragement. He recognizes that we are all at different points in our journey following Christ, in our becoming a dwelling place. And it's okay, because our identity is settled and our capacity is being grown. The new kingdom and its surprising manner of being are accomplished through Christ in us, the recipients of His mercy.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God who Abides,
Through Your Son, we can see You and know You. Let our hearts not be troubled as we are reminded of our belief in You and in Your Son and comforted that You choose to abide with us. For from You and through You and to You are all things. To You be the glory forever!
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
In our grieving, when we’re scrutinized, when we feel unknown, and in our weakest points, may we experience the life of Your presence abiding with us, leading us and teaching us. Even now, let us feel our hearts enlarge with delight and our eyes open to the wonder of beholding You.
Amen

Blessing
May we be reminded and encouraged that we are being built, by design, for a life of belonging with the Father—called to believe Him and given everything we need to become like Him.


_{Photo by Tetiana SHYSHKINA on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 2:19-25

Devotional:
What do we do now that we’re living from resurrection instead of for resurrection? How do we move through our world that is redeemed, but still has the remnants of the former way clinging to it? How do we respond when leadership coerces or forces us or when our cultures still disenfranchise or discredit our neighbors or communities? It’s questions like these that our early Christians in Asia Minor are facing.

As you remember, Peter has been encouraging these Christians in their inheritance as children, grounded in the assurance of Christ. Now in chapter 2, Peter begins to explain what to expect as they try to live their lives learning what is pleasing to the Father.

Asia Minor at this point is a collection of prosperous provinces and city-states, governed by Rome and local leaders and filled with Greek and Latin cultural influences. And if we go back a few verses to verse 13, we can infer that the Christians are navigating life, free or enslaved, under these authorities and leaders and the cultural norms they reinforce.

So Peter summarizes the attitudes and behaviors to have simply: Honor all people, love the brotherhood, fear God, honor the emperor. This sounds natural and obvious to us, but hear it in the context of the Kingdom as opposed to the Roman empire: honor all people, love the brotherhood (brothers and sisters of the faith–the very status offered to everyone through Christ), respect God, then honor the emperor. Rome at the least would have listed “honor the emperor” first, and it seems doubtful the other three would have made the list. But in the Kingdom, we’re honoring all first, we are demonstrating our faith in our fervent love for fellow believers, we are respectful of God whom we address as Father, and we are still honoring the emperor.

That alone would have felt like a mental shift. There’s not a class system or a government pecking order dictating who we esteem. It’s an approach that is not competitive with one another or fearful of capricious gods. It must have seemed odd to those around them: why would they talk to that person? Or why would they decline to participate in something everyone else does? Today, why would we show compassion and offer our time to the weird neighbor or coworker? Why wouldn’t we fight for status and position in our offices and among our peers?

But then Peter takes it a step further and says to take this attitude when those above you don’t deserve it and mistreat you because it finds favor (or is commendable) with God. For us, it’s the exact opposite of everything social media would tell us about creating boundaries and cutting off toxic people and demanding reciprocity in our relationships. No, Peter is saying that we’re not meant to abandon people who mistreat us or to initiate harsh interventions and confrontations, but instead to respect the good, gentle and unreasonable alike. Speak well of the people who gossip about us or take credit for our work. Cover the multitude of sins with love. After all, if we were never going to experience irritation or meanness or difficulties, we would not need to note that love is patient and kind, enduring all things.

So now it’s more than mental, it’s got a tangible, practical discomfort. Peter says we are to endure the unjust suffering and respond with the same honor and love, and that doing so is commendable to God.

And then he makes the curious statement in verse 21: “For you have been called for this purpose, since Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example for you to follow in His steps.” Peter is not only saying change your mindset and endure the suffering, but also that we’re called to suffering. Expect it. Plan on it. It’s part of the path laid before us.

But wait—what about life being more abundant? Suffering doesn’t feel like abundant life. It feels like powerlessness, and it’s painful and exhausting. We can resolve to endure suffering when it happens, but are we prepared to expect it?

And yet this is the example Christ gives us. He doesn’t return hatred for hatred, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t revile. He shows us the pattern of selflessness and trust in the Father that we might “live to righteousness” and “be healed.” Just like in chapter 1, we are being reminded that we suffer trials for a little while, but that it yields something else in us because we are seeing beyond the present moment. When Jesus led the way through suffering, when He lived rightly but received injustice, the enduring outcome was righteousness and healing. It doesn’t mean that the spear hurt any less, that the whip didn’t cut as deeply. But for the joy set before Him, He endured the cross.

We have the same opportunity then when we follow His leadership: life characterized by righteousness and healing, free from sin. It makes sense that following Him is going to be met with resistance. Jesus is the Way that surrenders power, that refuses manipulation, that prefers servant-like actions, that relinquishes significance. When the surrounding culture has experienced prosperity and success, why would they want to give up those ways? Or when they see someone living the way that Christ models, perhaps they see an easy target to grab more power or to extend their significance. And so perhaps instead of seeing the two (suffering and abundant life) as opposed, we could reframe the unjust suffering as one assurance of following Him, a signature of the abundant life unfolding.

And be confident that we really can say abundant life is unfolding. Following Christ’s example isn’t a prolonged agreement for pain. He comes out of the grave. The new creation is set in motion. We know that this won’t last, and Peter reaffirms it. He says living rightly—inclusive of honoring all, loving the brotherhood, respecting God, honoring the emperor—pays off because it dispels ignorance and overcomes what we can’t see.

The author of Romans puts it this way: “We also exult in our tribulations, knowing that suffering brings about perseverance;  and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”

The love of God being poured out is powerful. How often have we experienced the joy that comes from love being shown to us again and again and being changed? We see the care and honor someone takes with us, and it softens us. We spend time together, sharing meals or working in the same space, and we find ourselves with a new perspective. Honoring all people, loving one another, respecting God, honoring our leaders—it doesn’t disappoint, even when the effort or pain is great.

But even further is the hope that Peter concludes the passage with. Before, we were wandering and straying, before we were entangled with old ways and old structures, before we had so many voices over us making demands about right living. But now, now, we are returned to our Shepherd and Guardian. We hear his gentle voice, free of manipulation or violence, leading us where He has already been, just like a Shepherd would. And we are cared for. The word Guardian carries both the authority of leadership and the love of a caretaker. He lovingly leads and cares for us, having fully experienced struggles and suffering, and having a full vision of all that is being revealed in creation.

So, we are encouraged that whatever the circumstances, He is leading us from resurrection. As we face trials, as we try to do what is pleasing to the Father, as we practice honoring and loving each other, we are never outside of the care of our Shepherd.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Our Shepherd,
You gently lead us to rest and safety without any trace of force or manipulation. Help us to hear Your voice calling us by name, that we may trust You will lead us to abundant life through Jesus Christ our Lord. To Him, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and forever.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
Guide us as we care for each other, following your example to take on suffering, to seek the lost to bring back the scattered, to mend the broken and strengthen the sick. Let us entrust ourselves to the Shepherd and Guardian of our souls.
Amen

Blessing
May we keep our eyes ahead, fixed on our caring Savior, as He leads us through our struggles and into the rich presence of the Father.


_{Photo by Andrey Grinkevich on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 1:17-23

Devotional:
There is a right way to fold towels, did you know? Just like there is a proper order to unload the groceries on the conveyor belt at the store. (If you can't imagine either in your head, just ask your mom or your wife—they know.) We learn to raise our hand in school, to close our mouth when we chew, to shake hands firmly, to bow our head and close our eyes when we pray.

We learn the patterns of performance that are polite, good, better, right. Our families, communities and cultures pass down the rules for approved and acceptable actions, until they become second nature in us. And we are rewarded for them too: responsible behavior preserves our rights in society and earns us privileges and trust in our circles. Alongside our actions, we also learn who we are, by tradition and education, telling us what we are like and what our nature and character will be.

Eventually, the combination of who we are and what we do and why we matter begins to merge until it is hard to untangle any one piece of it. I am and I do, and of course I matter. And we’re right, of course we do. But what happens when you redefine all three?

That’s where we are with Peter again, still writing to (mostly) Gentiles: he’s reminding them (and us) that who we are, what we do, and why we matter are all being reimagined. Our actions and the way we think of ourselves, and all the meaning we attach are subject to different definitions. Further, rather than this reframing throwing us into an unsettling existential crisis, we should be assured.

Who are we now? Well we’re disciples. What do we do now? We abandon the old futile ways of living, we conduct ourselves in respect of God, loving each other fervently. And why? Because we’ve been redeemed by His precious blood.

Except these are all the wrong questions—they are not new Kingdom questions. We just took our old questions and answered them differently, but we didn’t actually change frameworks at all.

Peter is telling us that yes it has all changed, but we’re not focusing the conversation on who we are, what we do, why we matter. He is asking us instead to understand who Christ is, what Christ does, why He matters. Because the gift and hope of the new Kingdom isn’t something we’re going to do or be ourselves into. We’re not going to find ourselves with enough willpower to suddenly change generations-old ways and habits and reinvent ourselves with any lasting ability. It’s outside of us.

So let’s look again. Who is He? He’s the plan all along, foreknown, shown to us now but intended from the very start. He is the living and enduring Word of God. And what does He do? He rescues us with His blood, raises from the dead and is glorified, then extends resurrection to us. And why does all of this matter? Because it is through Him that we are believers, through the living and enduring Word of God that we have been born again. His doing, His being, on our behalf. And with that mindset, now we can understand ourselves.

Now when we address Him as Father, it’s because Christ has made that relationship possible. Now when we are judged impartially (and seen to be born from above), it is through Christ. Now when we love one another fervently, when we interact, when we move through society, it is because Christ has given us belief, has placed our faith and hope in God. What He established outside of us, He then places into us.

When we move the focus of our questions to knowing Christ, who in turn points to the Father, we ground ourselves in Him. Through Christ, we believe in God, which gives us context and assurance of who He says we are, what He says we can do, why He says we matter. We don’t assume the pressure to change our nature—first or second—because Christ took on the effort and is causing it to happen. Our traditions get to be reinterpreted. Our habits get to be recharacterized. We don’t reinvent ourselves; Christ raises us with Him and places us as sons and daughters. Our faith becomes equally rich in personal meaning and shared history as we become one with Him.

Peter is helping us to understand that we have not inherited a long punch list of corrections to fix our lives to live like Christ, but we’ve received the gift of life planned and delivered to us, revealed to us, being worked out in us through Christ.

Blessed assurance, we are of Jesus—in whom we live, and move, and have our being… “For we also are His children.”

A Prayer for Each Moment
God we call as Father,
Who, through Christ our resurrection, resets our lineage and places us into His family, cause us to be obedient to You and Your Way that we would be fervent and sincere in our love for one another, bringing glory to You, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
Open our eyes, that we may obey, and be purified by conforming to the truth about reality.  That sincere love may bloom and blossom in us for all our brothers and sisters, born from imperishable seed, the living and enduring word of God.
As He says, so will be.
Amen

Blessing
May we be reminded this week, even as we yet learn to recognize Him, that we are already accepted as children of our loving Father.



_{Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 1:3-9

Devotional:

Praise with my whole heart!
Because You do great, majestic, splendid things.
Gratitude with my whole heart!
Because Your work is memorable, gracious, and compassionate.
Awe with my whole heart!
Because You are faithful, trustworthy and just.

What does it really look like to take off old grave clothes? Imagine Lazarus, coming out of the grave and peeling off his mummy wrappings. At best, maybe we could kindly say that it’s out of place or unusual, but the reality is that it’s uncomfortable to watch and a struggle to experience. How do you get your own hands and feet free? And it’s new for everyone—no one has seen someone raised to life; there’s not a how-to guide for helping people out of their burial clothes. And what if you’re not really enthusiastic about getting up close and personal with a recently dead person and their (likely) smelly clothes? There’s not a formula or best practice to apply, there’s nothing that tells you whether it’s better to start with the head or the legs. But Lazarus must change out of the clothes; resurrection has already happened. Uncomfortable as the transition may be, the life ahead holds too much promise to stay in his old condition.

Fast forward to Jesus’ own resurrection, and the apostles face the same confrontation. Their faith, as we discussed on Sunday, is not in believing Christ the Resurrection (whom they saw first-hand), but rather is in the implications of the Kingdom unfolding. Practically, it is in the unwrapping—uncomfortable, clumsy and awkward as it may be—because the new Kingdom must be realized. Change must occur.

Which brings us to the accompanying lectionary text in 1 Peter this week. If we read the few extra verses just before the passage begins, we learn this is written to “those who reside as aliens” and are scattered throughout modern-day Turkey. They are possibly Gentile Christians, possibly Jews who are now converted to Christianity, or a mix of both, and they are experiencing trials. We don’t know the specifics of their distress, but we’ve all had our own similar moments. We’ve experienced what it is like to understand the kindness and goodness of God, to hold the hope of redeemed creation, and yet find ourselves in the friction of old kingdom habits and systems. Perhaps we can imagine that shedding grave clothes is still as awkward as it was with Lazarus for these early Christians. That uncovering and revealing the Kingdom is not always comfortable or obvious or embraced.

So Peter offers to the early Christians of Asia Minor (and us) comma-laden sentence after sentence expounding on the richness of God’s intentional love toward us, of that Apostolic faith that we the readers (both now and then) share in, and of the present and real impact in our lives. These are the kind of long, dependent sentences that you have to re-read to follow. They’re also the kind of sentences that grammar teachers love to use for diagramming exercises because they fill up a whole page with all the clauses and phrases and diagonal lines. But tucked in the profound, weighty statements of the new Kingdom, Peter chooses words that will comfort and encourage those early Christians (and us too).

Even as we begin the chapter, Peter notes we are living as aliens, but this isn’t necessarily language of separation from the people and culture around them. No, instead, he adds words that remind us we are, and have always been, part of God’s intention. These Gentiles, too, are “chosen” like God’s chosen people; they too are sprinkled with the blood of Jesus Christ, just like Israel in the Passover. Now the landscape is different, and the new Kingdom is for all. It might feel like this new way of doing things is foreign, but take heart, we’re all living in this new Kingdom.

And it is a Kingdom characterized by God’s mercy and love directed toward us. The same mercy that causes us to be born again—at His doing! He reserves an inheritance for us, uses His power to protect us. These are words of intention and action, and Peter is reminding us that this Kingdom reflects God’s meaningful favor toward us. The trials are just the unwrapping, but the how is established. It’s through His love, at His mercy, by His hand.

He reminds us too of what we’re unwrapping in our inheritance: it’s change that doesn’t fade, doesn’t spoil, doesn’t go out of fashion. It’s the permanent restructuring of the world. And in this hope, Peter offers, we rejoice. Because when the grave clothes fall away, what is revealed and restored includes us, bringing inexpressible joy, full of glory, resulting in praise. These are words of life, of salvation.

So, early Christians, you’re right where you should be, your faith deepening in the uncovering of the new Kingdom. It might feel foreign, it might seem distressful, it might present challenges. Early Christians, you love Him, and you believe. And the return is richer, enduring, precious life ahead.

Us too, in our hump days and trials, in the systems that still insist on the old kingdoms and the old ways, we rejoice. Because these grave clothes have to go! (Even if they are weird and smelly and difficult to remove.) We rejoice at the hope of what we are now living in through the resurrection of Jesus Christ—the expression of God’s love and intention.

Seen and heard, deed and word
Belief is our inheritance.
Remembered, expected, delivered, protected.
Redemption is our heritage.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Gives,
You breathed out, again and again, giving us life in creation, rescue in desperation, and comfort in companionship. Let us be believing, with more joy than we can express, that we might see creation made peacefully whole and that our faith might yield praise, honor, and glory to You.
Amen.

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You have a track record of rescue and redemption. As You always have and do, help those who are distressed, those who are facing struggles and doubts, those who feel they’re at a dead end with no escape, filling them with living hope and overflowing joy. Give us words of gratitude, that we too can marvel, “Who is like You, majestic in holiness, awesome in praises, working wonders?”
Amen

Blessing
This week, may we approach our distresses, doubts, and struggles with hope, our faith encouraged by the Holy Spirit in the life of the resurrection.

Reading
Luke 24:13-49

Devotional
The journey is the destination.

We’ve all heard variations on this idea, that what we experience along the way to wherever we’re going is as rewarding, sometimes more, as whatever we will find upon arrival. It’s the cliche reminders to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy the moment, to slow down, that these are the good old days… all hinting at some distinction between what is to come and what is present.

And while it’s speculation, of course, it would be entertaining to suggest that today’s passage on the Road to Emmaus is the start of that whole sentiment. Let’s explain:

We’re in the middle of the story about the Marys finding the tomb empty, and Jesus has appeared to them and told them to meet Him on ahead in Jerusalem. They run on, tell the disciples, all of whom reject the story as nonsense, except Peter. Meanwhile, Jesus gets to the road to Jerusalem.

Then, as He did over and over in His ministry on earth, Jesus interrupts whatever He was doing and opts for a side quest instead. He finds two disciples on their way to Emmaus—which is out of, away from, Jerusalem, by roughly seven miles—and He joins them on their journey. Just to be clear, Jesus is now going the wrong way to meet the disciples in Jerusalem. (Brief side quest of our own: Let’s pretend that disciples walk the same average pace per mile that we walk today. If so, we’re talking 1.5-2 hours one way from Jerusalem to Emmaus.)

And here Jesus approaches and asks what they’re talking about—the friendly “hello”, His actions always pointing to the Father, the same who would walk and talk daily in the garden with Adam and Eve. While the two on the road are surprised that He is clueless (or is it just that He likes to talk to us?), they proceed to tell Him the whole story, including their sadness and disappointment. He responds to explain the whole history of Himself in the Scriptures as they walk.

When they finally get near to Emmaus, Jesus pretends He’s going further, but the disciples pressure Him to stay, citing that it’s already late in the day. So they sit down together, where finally as He breaks the bread and blesses it, their eyes are opened to recognize Him.

(Side quest again: Paul seems to understand this phenomena too when he tells the Corinthians that “as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.” As we do the things He commands, others recognize Him in our actions.)

Then Jesus disappears, and the disciples immediately get up to go back to Jerusalem to tell the others. Remember, these are the two that just told Jesus it was too late in the day to keep travelling. They’re seven miles away, and it’s dark now. But they make it back to the main crowd and finally affirm what the Marys and Peter have said.

And we have to laugh at this point. It’s late at night, the two disciples are in the middle of telling the others the whole day’s events, and Jesus shows up. And, after having spent hours with Him literally all day, they still don’t recognize Him, and are afraid because they think He’s a ghost. They still can’t believe it until He shows them His scars. And even then, they’re so amazed that He has to actually ask for something to eat (remember, He left the dinner earlier in Emmaus before the meal).

And so what’s the point of all the going back and forth, the eating and not eating, the disappearing and reappearing, and belief and disbelief? Each time, Jesus has to explain again what is going on. Though He’s exasperated by their confusion and doubts, He lays it all out again and again, going over the details and explaining the Scriptures. But it seems like He’s taking an inordinately long and roundabout way to do so when He could just jump to the end.

As we discussed on Easter, this is just the beginning of the story, not the end. And Jesus is showing them, glimpse by glimpse, what has really begun, with patience and love. And as anyone who has ever believed in anything knows, the journey is ongoing. We believe in the potential of future generations over time, not based on any one moment. This journey of belief and faith is going to be one where we continue to need to have our eyes opened. We need the scenic route and the side quests because there is something about His continued Presence that changes us and our perspective.

Which is not to say that His future coming won’t be glorious. Bet on that, but just like a homecoming of a dear friend or family member, the option to know Him deeply, that we might recognize Him, is available now while we await that joyful reunion. Jesus takes the long road, out of His way, for the sake of yet one more chance to show us the Father and help us understand the richness of all that is both now and still to come, that we could really savor the new life available.

Can we take all that He has shown us of love enacted and understand the fullness of faith that it initiates? As we love one another, may we embrace the journey, both expectant of the end and joyfully grateful for His company along the way.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Meets Us,
You patiently walk with us, even taking the long route, so that we might understand and know You. Open our eyes and hearts again and again that our faith might compound, that we would experience the fullness of joy that is Your presence, and that we may bring glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit—as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
In each day’s journey, You support us and offer us wise counsel, wiping away our tears, erasing our shame, and removing our doubts. May we fully embrace the heritage of hope You have given us, choosing to share life with each other in sincerity and truth.
Amen

Blessing
May this week give us opportunities to be amazed and joyful that God is with us, showing us the path to life.

Reading:
Matthew 27:57-66 and John 19:38-42

Devotional:

They left my Savior in the tomb,
Hope was lost, and the doubt was breaking through.
–"Wouldn't it Be Like You?", Bryan and Katie Torwalt

The crowds have dispersed. Jesus’s mother has been taken home. The silence is settling in. The absence continues to grow longer. And with each passing moment that feels too short and too long all at once, the shock and numbness deepen. The conversations and memories replay in all the wrong order as those closest to Jesus start to search for answers. Can you feel the heaviness of it?

The disciples must have. His family must have. Death has the harsh ability to confront everything you thought you knew, everything you expected to be, swiftly and callously. And now the illusions start to fade, and doubt begins to creep in. Was He who He said He was? What have we been doing all these months? What now? The cast of characters is scattered and reeling.

And we come to these two accounts of Jesus being placed in the tomb, and we have to be struck by who is involved. Who is with Jesus in His most vulnerable and broken state? It’s not the disciples, the same who swore they wouldn’t fall away from him just the night before. It’s not his family.

We see instead the characters of the darkness: Joseph of Arimethea: who had been afraid and was following Jesus in secret. Nicodemus, who had been afraid and came to Jesus at night.

But there’s no secrecy left in Joseph’s act. He’s not only rich, but a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish Supreme Court). In his very act of placing Jesus’s body in his own family tomb, he has made the association and affiliation with Jesus as public as it gets. Everyone will know where his allegiance truly lies, and there won’t be any justifying his decision. But for Joseph, there’s no fear left. He’s seen Jesus’s act of love, seen Him for Who He is, and it has dispelled his ideas of reputation and safety.

And there’s no hiding under cover of night for Nicodemus the Pharisee. The many pounds of spices and myrrh are the equivalent of a royal burial, approximately $150k-$200k worth in modern value. And the clean linen suggests priestly quality. His response to love is dispelling the expectations of his station, the presumptions of propriety, and the conventions of his faith. He has treated Jesus like the king and high priest that he believes Him to be. Anyone would see the extravagance, much like Mary anointing Jesus days before, and question the decision. But Nicodemus too is rid of his fear; love has intervened and dispelled any sense of tradition or authority.

Light is creeping in even now, and there’s no stopping it.

Because love is a powerful motivator and catalyst, covering a multitude of sins. Or maybe we could say causing a multitude of forgivenesses. Or even dispelling a multitude of encumbrances. The love of Christ, extended to Joseph and Nicodemus, releases them from fear and reframes their positions of power.

For us too, we have that same heritage of love available, both in Christ’s example and as a resource, that helps us overlook the right way of doing things or the agreed-upon definitions or the reciprocal actions. Love that relinquishes our sense of justice and authority or our need for security. Love that extends our patience… three days is a long time to wait and wonder in the silence and absence, after all. Love that casts off our pride and releases our offenses. Love that softens our answers and expands our generosity.

So as we follow Christ, we take up the command to love one another, enduring what is required, but now also with the hope and great courage of what love will dispel in us. And it is with this hope and anticipation, this small glimpse of what is coming, that we await the glory of Christ resurrected.

A Prayer for Each Moment:
God our Strength,
In the long waiting, in the uncertainty of silence and absence, we cling to the hope of Your unwavering love and kindness. Equip us with the same mindset as Christ, that in our struggles we would find the power of sin broken and our old limiting ideas dispelled, and we would be spurred to love each other deeply.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You know the frail needs of Your children. Lead us and guide us that when You call us from our dead past, we would courageously answer and embrace life as You always imagined it. Strengthen our roots in the moments where we are unsure what will happen next, and remind us of our confidence and security in Your love.
Amen

Blessing:
May we hold our heads up, face shining, as we experience deep, earnest love from the Father and extend the same to each other.

Reading:
Mark 14:1–15:47

Devotion:

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross
He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the Heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon His face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails.
The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear.
We venerate Your Passion, O Christ.
Show us also Your glorious Resurrection.
–Sēmeron Kremātai Epí Xýlou, 15th Century Greek Orthodox Hymn

Today’s passage is long, covering the entire sequence of events from the woman anointing Jesus with perfume all the way through His burial. In many Good Friday traditions and services, we spend hours considering these moments in the story, pausing to consider and reflect on the effort and anguish of Christ. The Way of the Cross, for example, presents fourteen images of Christ as He experiences His condemnation, crucifixion and burial, arranged on a path, each offering a moment to stop and pray.

In our reflection and retelling of the sequence of events, we get a larger picture of all that Christ is experiencing. As the woman anoints him, the effort is ridiculed, its expression of devotion fully misunderstood. As Judas plots to hand over Jesus, he experiences backstabbing, even denial and disbelief from the other disciples. He is betrayed with Judas’s duplicity. He experiences accusation, lies, injustice, powerlessness, voicelessness, disrespect, abuse, assault, violence—all as he is with his accusers. He is abandoned, deserted and renounced by Peter. The crowd casts merciless hatred and rejection toward him before Pilate, mocking and despising Him as he carries the cross. He is taunted and disregarded in his pain before his death and burial. The range of sorrows is wide.

And near the middle of this passage, Jesus is in the garden, also taking moments to stop and pray. Anxiety, distress, grief, discomfort, exhaustion, frustration… the emotions aren’t hidden in the story, but palpable. He says directly, “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death.”

Then He prays a curious request to the Father, one that should make us stop and pause a little longer. “All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.” All things are indeed possible for Him. The option for this to happen a different way seems reasonable. Because, really, is God indebted or enslaved to sin? Is God beholden to any rule system that He doesn’t have complete authority to overturn? Of course not.

Even at the cross, when Jesus cries in desperation, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”, this isn’t a statement of God being powerless to engage with sin. After all, it was “we” who thought of him as smitten by God. No, God hasn’t forsaken Him. This is a declaration of trust, the affirmation that trust in God does not disappoint (as it says a few verses later in the passage Jesus quotes). Of course God doesn’t reject him. It only makes sense that sin didn’t—can’t—coerce God into a change of character; redemption and resurrection have always been His heart.

So in the garden Jesus asks to do this another way, but it’s not a desperate, dead-end ask where the outcome can’t change due to a requirement of sin. It’s a sincere request, which means the question here isn’t a question of what can be done about sin—all things can be done. It’s a question of for whom is Jesus taking this cup? Why this path?

There’s no trick answer here: it’s still for us, just a changed motive. As we explored yesterday, Jesus models how to follow Him, and therein how to follow the Father, explaining that it’s demonstrated in our love for one another. Is the cup, the journey to the cross, an expression of love to us like we’ve always known it, but offered to us freely instead of as a demanded price? And if solely offered in love, how now do we look at the Sorrows of the Cross?

Loving one another endures a lot, often silently, even from those closest to us. It’s not just Jesus’s enemies that mistreat him, but it’s his friends and disciples too, misunderstanding and misrepresenting, doubting and denying. Over and over, Jesus chooses to respond with love, to endure the painful moments before Him.

Loving one another, following Christ, allows us to endure much, for the joy set before us. The moments of miscommunication, the real and painful wounds, the falling out and lost contact in our relationships—all become moments we may choose to offer our love instead, following the example and inheritance Christ gives.

Today, may we read the story of Christ’s suffering, the events leading up to His death, and see the hope of the Resurrection already unfolding. May we take heart when we endure in love for one another, anticipating the life yet to come.

A Prayer for Each Moment:
Gracious Father,
We remember tearfully the journey of sorrows that Christ took to the grave, His expression of love that stoops to us in our needs and demands. As we imagine the weight of Christ crucified and in the tomb, remind us of the new and living way inaugurated for us, that we might live carrying each other in love, just as Your Son carried our own sins.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You hear our prayers of anguish and praise, and You listen to the real feelings in our hearts without turning away. Grant us sincere faith, trusting in You without disappointment, that we might have hope and encourage one another in Your faithfulness to us.
Amen

Blessing:
May today bring us gentle reminders of the kindness of God toward us and the ways His love endures on our behalf.

Reading: 
John 13:1-17, 31-35

Devotional:
Have you ever had a dinner guest start clearing and cleaning up their own dishes? And then they keep cleaning, putting the leftovers in your fridge, loading your dishwasher and hand-washing the pots… maybe they wipe down the counters or grab a broom and sweep under the table. Very quickly, the scene and relationships transform—where there was a clear host and guest, now the lines blur, and everyone is serving and receiving. Any formality has been replaced with familiarity as your guest willingly chooses to be part of the family, getting their hands dirty alongside you.

This is the scene I imagine with Jesus and His disciples at the Last Supper. They’re in Jerusalem, observing all the very specific details of the Passover Feast that require a specific dress code and food to be prepared in just the right manner. And abruptly, Jesus takes off his formal outer coat, hikes up his robe and tucks it into his belt, and starts getting a bucket of water. As if that wouldn’t have been shocking enough, he then begins to do the work of the servants, cleaning the dirty and dusty feet of His beloved disciples sitting around the dinner table. The disciples respond as we would expect, protesting and surprised.

Then Jesus has some fun with the language of washing, bathing and cleaning. Bathing is what you would expect someone to do to their whole body, as good hygiene. Washing here is the ceremonial word, the same word the priests would have used when washing their hands to consecrate them for the work of the ministry. And cleaning is both the literal and figurative sense: hygienic, and also set apart, made pure.

So Jesus consecrates their feet, saying, “A slave isn’t greater than his master, nor the one who is sent (an apostle) greater than the one who has sent him. If you know (see) these things, you are blessed if you do them.” In other words, they’re in it together, and the formality has been replaced with familiarity. Jesus is showing and telling them that rank doesn’t rank here, encouraging them to reassess what they see or know about a Lord or Teacher.

And with that newfound sight and awareness, now, Jesus says in verse 31, is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in Him. Now, we see Jesus for Who He really is, and through Him, we see the Father for Who He really is. He’s a Lord (or a Master) doing the work of His servant. He’s the theological Teacher learning what is pleasing to the Father alongside his pupil. And the disciples (us too) are invited to be there with Him, working as a servant, learning as the pupil. Except that He’s told them that where He is going they can’t follow.

He consecrated their feet to go, told them to do the work with Him, but then said that they won’t be able to go where He’s going. They’ve spent the last years literally following his footsteps, but now Jesus says they can’t. In a dinner of shocking reveals, this has to be the most surprising to the disciples’ ears. So what then? How will they go to continue the work of the ministry? How will people know that they are following Jesus if they cannot be with Him?

Jesus says it’s in their love for each other. Not their diligence to every religious ritual observance. Not their dedication to propriety and social hierarchies. Not their ability to explain the mysteries of God or replicate His teaching. It’s the example He’s just given them in washing their feet. It’s in their selfless, treated-as-family, preferential love for one another that picks up dishes, sweeps the crumbs, and comes alongside to carry the load.

Our love for one another tells the story of Who we follow, and this is the hope we have to share coming into Easter weekend. Having seen Jesus for Who He really is, how might we display our love in our family gatherings, our Easter dinners, our celebrations with friends?

A Prayer for Each Moment:
God Who Loves Us,
Who Sent Your Son that we might see and know You for Who You really are, lead our steps to follow after Jesus’ example, serving one another in love that those around us may know us as Your disciples and remember the work of Your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever.
Amen.

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You hear the voices and needs of Your children and respond with a life-giving inheritance. Remind us of how generously You care for us, how You rescue us from death, our eyes from tears, our feet from stumbling. Lead our steps that we may walk with You in the land of the living.
Amen

Blessing:
May today bring reminders God loves us to the utmost, listens to us, and responds to us with generosity and compassion.