Br. Curtis Almquist

Palm Sunday

Philippians 2:5-11
John 12:20-33

When I was a young boy, I hated lima beans.

Now I love lima beans.

But I have always loved my mother more than I love lima beans.

Strong words – hate, love – used hyperbolically to catch our attention and to make a point. We do this a lot with English. And it also happens in the Greek of the New Testament. So we need to interpret here Jesus’ words about hate truthfully but not literally. He says, “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” Jesus is not a hater. Here in the Gospel according to John, Jesus has only just said, “For God so loves the world . . .” And that includes you, and me, and everyone-everything else to which God has given life, God loves.[1] Eternally. God is love.[2]

But Jesus gets our attention and his contemporaries’ attention saying, “those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” This Greek verb translated “hate” is not as bad as it sounds. This Greek word “hate” can also be translated comparatively, meaning to strongly value something that is more rather than something that is less.[3] In the strongest possible language, Jesus is affirming love for the full expanse of life; however, he is setting his gaze beyond just this life to include the life-to-come. That is the ultimate goal, what Saint Paul calls “the prize.”[4] Don’t live your life only clutching at what is at hand; live your life open-handed, as a generous offering of love for all that God loves, now and forever.[5] Jesus is demonstrating this on his ride into Jerusalem.

In the Near East and Mediterranean world of antiquity, palms were used to symbolize victory, triumph, peace, and eternal life. In ancient Greece, then subsequently in Rome, coinage and medals were engraved with palms. Also, winners of great events would be holding a palm “trophy” as they were publicly presented to the crowds. Whether it was Pharaoh or Caesar being heralded after a military conquest, or whether it was an athlete who was the winner of a great contest – like the Olympics – the winners would be appointed with palms and the victor’s parade carpeted with palms. Which is what we see with Jesus on Palm Sunday.[6] Sort of.

Jesus enters Jerusalem on a roadway covered with palms and riding on a donkey, which is no Roman chariot, and Jesus is no Caesar. His perceived flirtations with being divine were blasphemous to the Jews and seditious to the Romans. In the first century, Caesar Augustus had already claimed the titles “Divine,” “Son of God,” “Lord,” “Redeemer,” and “Savior of the World.” Those titles already belonged to the Roman Emperor, not to this itinerant and poor rabbi on a donkey, this Jesus.[7]

Jesus here is making a very symbolic identification with the poor and powerless. He is messing with the symbols of conquest and victory, and a lot of people are watching. So here it’s as if Jesus is teasing the principalities and powers. He knows what he is doing.[8] There are curious bystanders including some of Jesus’ faithful followers, and there are his twelve apostles. His apostles had already begged him not to do this. They had predicted if he entered Jerusalem he would be killed by the authorities. Of the twelve, it had only been the apostle Thomas who had said, “Let us go that we may die with him.”[9] Death was in the air. His apostles mostly desert him. In the end, it is only the Beloved Disciple and the holy women who would stand with Jesus at his crucifixion.[10]

We remember Jesus’ Palm Sunday provocation not as an historic reenactment. The point of Palm Sunday is a clarion call for us who are followers of Jesus, what Saint Paul calls “counting the cost.”[11] What actually are we to follow in Jesus’ example? Two things that are apparent, and one thing that is disguised.

What is apparent is that those whom Jesus lived for, he dies for. What he and society identified as “the least” in society most captured his attention. The poor are not a problem; they are a primacy. How we think, pray, and act has to include those who are among the least, and last, and lost.[12] All of us have some reach to bring God’s blessing to some person, or to some people whom Jesus called “poor in spirit,” or “those who mourn,” or “those who are persecuted” or “reviled”[13] for whom Jesus gave his life and we, by extension, ours. Identifying with the troubled, those who are victims of oppression, injustice, and tyranny is what got Jesus in such trouble, and that, too, is our call. To be troubled by the troubled. To taunt insidious power.

Secondly, Palm Sunday reminds us is how we must be on good speaking terms with life in this world and the life to come. We rehearse this in the prayer Jesus taught us – what we call the Lord’s Prayer: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it shall be in heaven.” Jesus is serious about this, using “love” and “hate” language for us to galvanize our priorities on earth as a trajectory into God’s future, what we call “eternal life.” It’s either give or take. We either live our life giving our life, which is eternal, or we live taking our life, hoarding, clutching, which is infernal.

A third reminder on Palm Sunday is about people being scared to death: first and foremostly his own apostles from before Palm Sunday until after Good Friday. Something dramatic changes in them. They became able to hear Jesus’ words, which he spoke endlessly, about not being afraid, not being anxious. Jesus did not say these words in a scolding way; he said these words in a reassuring way. Not to be afraid. Why? Because Jesus is with us always, to the very end. We are not abandoned. Ever. If you are afraid of life, or are afraid of death, that is your prayer. Jesus will meet you, understand you, love you, carry you.

On Palm Sunday, there is one word we repeat again and again: the Aramaic word “Hosanna.” “Hosanna” is a prayerful plea. “Hosanna” means to “save us” and to “help us”: the very thing that Jesus promises us, and which we most need: to be saved and helped. We, at our lowest, can cry out, “Hosanna, in the highest.”[14] And Jesus hears us.

[1] John 3:16.

[2] 1 John 4:8, 16; Romans 5:8.

[3] The Greek verb μισέω, miséō, appears 41 times in the New Testament: to hate, to detest, or (by extension) to love less.

[4] “I [Paul] press on toward the goal, toward the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:14)

[5] Saint Paul also writes: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1-2)

[6] John 12:12-16.

[7] J. D. Crossan, God and Empire (San Francisco, 2008), 28.

[8] Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is remembered in all four Gospels: Matthew 21:1-17; Mark 11:1-11; Luke 19:29-44; John 12:12-19.

[9] John 11:7-16.

[10] At the crucifixion are Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, Salome, and the Beloved Disciple.

[11] Philippians 3:7-11.

[12] Matthew 25:40-45.

[13] Jesus’ Beatitudes in Matthew 5:3-12.

[14] Matthew 21: 9, 15; Mark 11:9-10; John 12:13.

Br. David Vryhof

Ezekiel 37:21-28
Psalm 85

During the time I served the community as its Novice Guardian, I often encouraged the newer brothers to articulate their vision of monastic life. I asked them to reflect on why they had come to the monastery, what it was they hoped to become here, what principles and values they treasured in their hearts that life in this community might help them realize. It was that vision, I believed, that would keep them going when times were tough.

It’s important to have a vision that sets out for us a clear direction and focus for our lives. “Where there is no vision,” the author of the book of Proverbs reminds us, “the people perish.” (Proverbs 29:18, KJV)

The prophet Ezekiel lays out such a vision in the passage we heard read today. It is a vision of a restored Israel, in which a divided people are brought together by God as one nation and people. God cleanses them from their sin and removes idols from among them so that they can become a consecrated people under one Shepherd, God’s servant David. In this vision, they live in the land forever, in a covenant of peace with God. “I will be their God,” God promises, “and they shall be my people.”

And there are times when the vision becomes reality, when Israel lives in union with God and in restored fellowship one with another; but there are also times when this vision unravels, when they prove unfaithful towards God, when God withdraws the blessings they have been promised. Then, like the psalmist in Psalm 85, they need to ask God to restore them again:

“Lord, you were favorable to your land; you restored the fortunes of Jacob. You forgave the iniquity of your people; you pardoned all their sin. . . . Restore us again, O God of our salvation, and put away your indignation toward us. . . . Will you not revive us again, so that your people may rejoice in you? Show us your steadfast love, O Lord, and grant us your salvation.” (vv. 1-2, 4, 6-7, NRSV)

It is important for us to have a vision, but it’s also important that that vision be renewed and restored from time to time, especially when the vision seems to be unraveling before our eyes and we find ourselves calling out to God for help and for hope.

What is the vision that inspires you and gives you hope? What is the vision that propels you forward with confidence into the future?

• Perhaps it is the vision of a God who loves you unconditionally and who has promised never to leave you.
• Perhaps it is the vision of life eternal, the new life that is promised to us in this world and that continues forever.
• Perhaps it is the vision of a Savior who knows our human weakness and our struggles and who offers to save us, not only from our sins, but from our blindness and our foolishness and our self-centeredness.

Whatever our vision is – of God, of the human communities of which we are a part, of ourselves – we will from time to time need this vision to be restored, through prayer, through the support and encouragement of others, through the grace of God that permeates this world and the next.

Our vision may need not only to be restored, but also to be extended. Is our God too small? Is it difficult to imagine a God who is greater than the problems we face in this world? If we have lost sight of the God who can unite divided peoples, who can gather us under the protection of peace, who can be our God in every trouble or difficulty . . . If we have lost sight of this God, we need to lift up our hearts once more and ask God to restore our vision and renew our hope.

Cling to the vision. Keep it always before you. Renew and strengthen it whenever it falters or fails. And remember always that “where there is no vision, the people perish.”

Br. James Koester

The Fifth Sunday in Lent

John 11:1-45

You can’t walk there anymore. One morning, on my first visit to Jerusalem, nearly 30 years ago, I walked from East Jerusalem, where I was staying, over the Mount of Olives and on into Bethany. I was going to visit the tomb of Lazarus and the home of Mary and Martha. A few years later that walk was impossible. The security wall had been constructed, separating Bethany from Jerusalem. Now, the only way between the two communities is to drive several miles out of your way, through various checkpoints, and then loop back on the other side of the Mount. What took a couple of hours to walk, now takes a couple of hours to drive. What had been a pleasant walk there and back, has become a frustrating all-day drive.

It is that walk I remember. Once I got off the main road, I mostly had the way to myself. When I arrived at the tomb of Lazarus, I had it all to myself. I could sit there quietly and feel the emotion that was so evident in the place, as I heard in my heart the weeping of those gathered there that day long ago. It was just 6 months after my father had died, and my own grief was still fresh. As I sat there with my grief, I remembered Jesus’ grief for his beloved friend. John (11:35) tells us that “Jesus wept.”[1] I did not, that day, find his tears hard to imagine, as my own were just below the surface. Clearly the crowds noticed. See how he loved him! the crowds whispered among themselves. See how I loved him, as I thought of my own father.

Tears can be signs of many things: love, loss, disappointment, frustration, even anger and rage. We have all shed tears for many reasons. I certainly have. Jesus’ tears on this day were a manifestation of his very real love, and we are told that, in the gospel: “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus” (John 11:5), so his tears should not surprise us. These three were clearly precious to Jesus, and it showed, and he wept. He wept, not simply because someone had died. He wept because someone precious to him had died. Imagine that! Imagine God weeping when someone precious to the heart of God dies. Yet weep God does, because as Isaiah (43:4) reminds us, “[we] are precious in [God’s] sight” . . . and God loves us.

This is the good news of the gospel, that we are all precious in the sight of God who loves us, not in a general way, but in a particular way; in the way that Jesus loved Lazarus. Imagine that! Jesus loves you in the same way he loved Mary, and Martha, and Lazarus. And if that is true for you, it is true for every single person alive today, for every single person who has ever lived, and for every single person who will live in the future. Every single person is precious and loved by God, no matter what. You are precious in my sight . . . and I love you. That being the case, I find it impossible to reconcile some of the things we have heard recently, with what Scripture tells us.

Last September at Charlie Kirk’s memorial service, Donald Trump stated, “I hate my opponents, and I don’t want the best for them.” Yesterday he said, “Good, I’m glad he’s dead,” in a social media post about Robert Mueller’s death. Two weeks ago, Pete Hegseth promised to “rain death and destruction from the sky” on the people of Iran. Two days ago, he asked that we all pray “every day on bended knee, with your family, in your schools, in your churches, in the name of Jesus Christ” for members of the armed forces, whose task it has become to rain destruction on Iran from the sky. To date between 3,000 and 4,000 people, mostly civilians, including hundreds of children, have been killed in Iran, Lebanon, and Israel as the promised destruction has rained down upon them. How any of this reflects the Christian values this administration purports to uphold, is beyond me.

How we as faithful Christians, in whose name this evil is being said and done, can respond, is however something entirely different. That is not beyond me. So, what can our response be to this culture of hate and death in which we are entombed?

First, we can weep. Jesus was not ashamed of his tears, and nor should we be of ours. We need to give ourselves permission to shed tears of frustration, grief, repentance, and even rage. But mostly, we need to shed tears of love for the world which God loves, for “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him” (John 3:16-17). Our tears can be our prayer.

Second, we can love. Jesus did not stop loving because Lazarus had died. Indeed, it seems he loved him more, so much so that the crowds noticed. See how he loved him, they said. Our love should not be limited to what we can control, and God knows there seems to be no control today, when a war can be begun simply because someone had a gut feeling. As Christians we are called to love until our hands are bleeding, and our knees aching, even when we have been betrayed. Our love, even in the face of evil and betrayal, can be our prayer.

Finally, we can act. “Unbind him, and let him go” (John 11:44). The world is in the grip of death and hate. The burial shroud immobilizes us. The stench of decay lingers in our nostrils. Yet all is not lost. Into this Jesus cries out, unbind them, and let them go. So it is with us. Just as Lazarus needed to be unbound by others from the trappings of death, so too does our world. Any action, great or small, that loosens death’s grip on the world, can be our prayer, and allow us to emerge once again unrestrained and free, from the tomb. Our action to unbind can be our prayer.

And it all begins with the simple recognition that you are precious in God’s sight, and that God loves you, just as Jesus still loves Lazarus. If we know this, death and hate will loosen its grip on your heart, your life, and the world. And that friends is good news, and will one day, lead us out of the tomb in which we find ourselves today.

[1] AV/KJV; “Jesus began to weep” (NRSV).

Br. Lain Wilson

Jeremiah 11:18-20

Here in the Chapel, you will never hear chanted portions of several psalms, or even the entirety of two. Our Society’s practice follows other monastic communities in “mak[ing] provision for optional omissions of imprecatory verses” as an expression of hospitality.[1]

Imprecatory, meaning “to invoke evil upon” or “to curse,” certainly captures the thrust of much of my prayer as I look out on our troubled world. I see evil and suffering, and find myself wanting those perpetrating it to suffer in return. I’d like to say that I’m above that, but I’m not. It has been shockingly easy for me to get there in my prayer. I’ve found a real invitation in praying imprecatory verses – not to discover new horrible things to wish on others, but to discover that what I feel is distinctly human.

Jeremiah, in today’s short passage, echoes the language of our psalm (7) in calling on God as righteous judge to exact retribution on those who have planned evil against the prophet. The word translated “retribution” is often also translated as “vengeance”; it’s the same word that appears in the stunning opening verse of psalm 94: “O Lord God of vengeance, O God of vengeance, show yourself. Rise up, O Judge of the world; give the arrogant their just deserts” (vv. 1-2). This word appears in Jeremiah more often than in any other book of scripture and there signals punishment for an action that is incompatible with, or transgresses, God’s sovereignty, rather than personal revenge.[2] We might think of this as God’s messenger asking God to punish these men for ignoring diplomatic immunity.

The important thing here is that Jeremiah knows; God has revealed the situation to him.[3] By contrast, most of us, maybe all of us, will lack this firm assurance of what the sides truly are. We may be reassured by imprecatory verses that we aren’t alone in feeling these very human feelings in our prayer, but we are equally convicted by the inadequacy of our own knowledge and understanding, and the shackles that inadequacy place on us.

Nicodemus recognizes this when he replies to the Pharisees’ fierce questioning of the temple police and denunciation of the crowd: “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?” (John 7:51). We don’t have all the facts, and therefore we can’t exercise judgment.

This is the crux of the matter. What we can know for sure is so limited in this life – our understanding of God and God’s plan for us; our perception of the “mystery present in the hearts of our brothers and sisters, strangers and enemies,” as we say in our Rule; indeed, our awareness of the movements of our own hearts. Only God can know, and when we rush to judgment, when we find ourselves desiring a sentence to be imposed, we are putting ourselves into the place of God. “Beloved, never avenge yourselves,” Saint Paul writes to the Romans. “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord. . . . Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:19, 21).

Jesus surely models Paul’s exhortation. “When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgiven them; for they do not know what they are doing’” (Luke 23:33-34). God is the righteous judge . . . and Jesus, who of anyone who has ever lived had the right to demand retribution from that judge, instead asks his Father to forgive. Jesus sees the shackles of their own ignorance and urges compassion.

This may be beyond our own power. We do not know or understand, and we will still be limited humans and desire and pray for vengeance and violence and suffering. . . and Jesus, who suffered from that very same human impulse, and who redeems all human experience, redeems even that.

Jesus, the Savior of the world, saves us, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, from the shackles of our own short-sighted ignorance, offering us freedom in the example of his own life and death.

Amen.

[1] “About the Daily Office Psalter,” in SSJE, The Ordo for the Daily Office and Holy Eucharist.

[2] The Hebrew word neqamah appears in the book of Jeremiah 11 times, out of a total of 27 occurrences in the Hebrew Scriptures. On its meaning in Jeremiah: W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Philadelphia, 1986), 374, citing an article by Mendenhall: “‘It is a command that the sovereign authority of Yahweh should be placed in action in order to punish/redress an action that is incompatible with the sovereignty of that same ultimate authority.’”

[3] Jeremiah 11:18: “It was the Lord who made it known to me . . . [who] showed me their evil deeds.” Holladay (ibid., 363) underscores Jeremiah’s God-given knowledge in his rendering of the conclusion to verse 20: “for to me you have revealed my adversaries” (commentary at 374).

Br. Luke Ditewig

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

What’s the vision? How does it help living now?

After Jerusalem was conquered, the temple destroyed, and people taken far away in exile, amid much loss and grief, God sent prophets to renew and prompt the people. God gave Ezekiel a five-chapter detailed vision of the Temple restored, where God dwells. The vision prompts looking with faith to what cannot be seen, God restoring all.

As we heard tonight, it’s not just a restored building or dwelling but water flowing from it, water that expands and deepens into a large river ankle-deep, knee-deep, waist-deep and beyond. Water, the source of life, in the desert where it is most valuable. A living river that brings the dead to life. It flows into the Dead Sea where most fish and plants can’t live and changes it into fresh water “where every living creature that swarms will live . . . and everything will live where the river goes.” Not only live but thrive and far more than usual. Healthy trees along the river bear fruit and not only in harvest season but every month. Fruit for food and leaves for healing.

It’s a bountiful, glorious vision. God will dwell in a restored temple from which living waters flow bringing new and abundant life. What image comes to your mind for such bountiful vibrancy where everything will live where the river goes? Ezekiel pulls from imagery like the Garden of Eden and like Psalm 46: “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High.”

Jesus goes to a man who had been ill 38 years near a pool of water known for healing. “Do you want to be made well?” He replies: I have no one to take me to the water. Long-suffering. Resignation. Trapped. Despair. How have you experienced this?

Jesus goes to people personally and directly with mercy and compassion asking, listening, and freely giving. “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” How have you experienced such mercy and compassion?

Like water soaking into parched ground. Like fresh water entering stagnant water and restoring it fresh. “Everything will live where the river goes.” Psalm 46 says: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Jesus comes personally with mercy. Asking, listening, and freely giving. God comes amid our loss and grief, ravaged in exile.

What’s the vision? God will heal and restore all. Cling to the vision as one way of experiencing refuge and help. We believe in the restoration! God will heal and restore all. Like water soaking into parched ground. Like fresh water entering stagnant water and restoring it fresh. “Everything will live where the river goes.”

Br. Curtis Almquist

The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Psalm 23

Our psalm appointed for today, Psalm 23, is for many people the most familiar of the 150 psalms in the Hebrew Bible. Psalm 23 is the first psalm I memorized as a young child – maybe also true for you? – and it has been the last psalm I have prayed aloud with those who are “walking through the valley of the shadow of death.” The comfort and veracity of Psalm 23 has been tested across the millennia.

Jesus knew Psalm 23. Jesus would have known this psalm from his earliest childhood.[1] He would have sung Psalm 23 in his participation in high holy days at the Temple in Jerusalem, and in his weekly attendance in the synagogue on the sabbath.[2] Jesus grew up in a culture which lived much closer to the ground than we do. Sheepherding abounded in Palestine, sheep being a necessity for Temple sacrifice, an important meat in the Jewish diet, and their wool, a staple for clothing and blankets. There are more than three hundred references in the Bible to sheep and shepherds.

How Psalm 23 begins – “The Lord is my shepherd” – is not an exactly a compliment. Sheep are very dependent creatures and require an enormous amount of care and work from the shepherd, day and night.[3] Some years ago my Br. David and I spent several weeks living alongside a shepherd. The shepherd was constantly looking and listening, being attracted by a certain bleating sound, by the wandering of a stray sheep, by a limp, by a lamb’s being separated from their mother, by conflict shown in head-butting, by the circling of a hawk in the air or a predator on the ground. The ewe would allow our friend, the shepherd, to hold a young lamb. The shepherd’s perceptive care was never ending. We were in the presence of a good shepherd who knew the needs and vulnerabilities of the beloved flock of sheep.

Sheep are prone to get lost, and to be lost. No bearings. Quite clueless. If the shepherd takes their eye off the sheep, sure enough, they will wander. They get stuck on brambles. They fall into ditches and ravines. Which is why the shepherd’s rod and staff are absolutely essential. The staff – which is a shepherd’s crook – is used to hook either a back leg or hook the neck of the sheep. The shepherd will use their staff to rescue the sheep from rocks or thickets, or to catch a sheep in need of care because of sickness or a wound. The rod, which is a straight pole, is used to prod the sheep along. The rod also serves as a long club to ward off predators. Except for head-butting, sheep have no ability to defend themselves.

It is revealing that the psalmist does not say, “your rod and your staff, they protect me,” nor “your rod and your staff, they rescue me.” The psalmist is saying something more: “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Why comfort? Because of the shepherd’s interventions. Incessant, necessary interventions every day. Some of these interventions can be difficult, even painful for the sheep, and yet they’re ultimately for the sheep’s good. “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Do you remember the etymology of the English word “comfort”? com + fortis; fortis is strong (like in “fortitude”). Comfort, which is “with strength.” This is about the shepherd’s tough love. So it is also for us “human sheep.” The good shepherd will intervene to rescue us when we need it. Loving interventions may sometimes be quite difficult for us, even painful for us, too. We will ultimately find comfort, find strength, in the good shepherd’s intervention in our lives with the rod or staff.

Sheep are hopeless without help. Sheep are so dependent on the shepherd, not only for protection but also for provision. Sheep do graze and move on to wherever the pasture seems greener. But if they are confined, or if the “greener” grass is gone, sheep will gnaw the pasture clean, right down to the roots and thereby destroy the pasture. And sheep have no ability to find water on their own. The shepherd must lead the sheep to water, to “still water,” as we just prayed in Psalm 23. If the water is not still, they will not drink. If sheep are fearful, or hungry, or thirsty, they will not rest; they will refuse to lie down. For sheep to lie down in a green pasture, “they shall not be in want” or otherwise they remain standing and bleating. [4]

The Middle Eastern scholar, Dr. Gary Burge, writes how shepherds know their sheep intimately.[5] “Shepherds don’t simply know the terrain, they know how the flock will react. They understood the endurance of particular sheep. They know if any are ill or wounded. . . . They listen with skilled ears, knowing when the flock is agitated or when it is at rest. And when they lead, they sing to them or play a flute, and the sheep are comforted by the familiarity of these sounds.”

Jesus ultimately says of himself: “I am the good shepherd.” “I go ahead [and] my sheep follow me because they know my voice. They will never follow a stranger; in fact they will flee because they do not recognize their voice” (John 10:4-5, 14). I once asked a shepherd why sheep will follow? The shepherd answered, “The sheep will follow me because they know and trust me.” I heard another shepherd say: “My hunch is they follow because they think I am one of them,” which, of course, makes for a very good sermon. Jesus ultimately said about himself: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own, and my own know me” (John 10:14).

The good news about Jesus’ ultimately claiming his identity as our good shepherd, is the assurance that Jesus will seek us out and find us when we are like a lost sheep. Lost sheep do not find themselves; they are found. Jesus will find us – will find you – when you are lost.

You can get lost in childhood and adolescence.

You can get lost in the academy or in your work.

You can get lost in a midlife crisis.

You can get lost in the terror of war, persecution, and discrimination.

You can get lost in old age and in the face of death.

The Prophet Isaiah reminds us, “All we are like sheep” (Isaiah 53:6). We have in Jesus, our good shepherd: his power, and provision, and protection. Jesus incarnates – that is, makes real to us – the promise that he prayed, that we pray, in Psalm 23, that God Emmanuel is with us. Psalm 23 ends with a picture that spans eternity: “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

“A sheep found a hole in the fence.” This is a parable told by the Jesuit priest, Anthony de Mello.[6] “A sheep found a hole in the fence and crept through it. It wandered far and lost its way back. Then the sheep realized they were being followed by a wolf. The sheep ran and ran, but the wolf kept chasing, until the shepherd came and rescued the sheep and lovingly carried the sheep back to the fold. In spite of everyone’s urgings to the contrary, the shepherd refused to nail up the hole in the fence.”

We are like sheep, and that dependency will never change. We are rescued and provided for by the good shepherd. We will need that help for the whole of our life, God knows. The name for that help is love. God’s love for us all, who are like sheep. Receive God’s love. Our life’s vocation is then to participate in the work of the Good Shepherd in our country and world which is so full of need and so encompassed by predators.[7]

[1] References to Jesus as shepherd and us as sheep are found, e.g., in Matthew 2:6, Matthew 9:36, Matthew 25:32, Matthew 26:31, Mark 6:34, Mark 14:27, John 10:2, Hebrews 13:20, 1 Peter 2:25, 1 Peter 5:4, and Revelation 7:17.

[2] Luke 4:16 – “When [Jesus] came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom.”

[3] The shepherd and sheep metaphors appear repeatedly in the scriptures, e.g., Psalm 79:13 – “For we are your people and the sheep of your pasture; we will give you thanks for ever and show forth your praise from age to age.” See also Psalms 78:52; 95:7; 100:2; 119:176. Jesus ultimately calls himself a good shepherd: “I know my own and my own know me” (John 10:14-16).

[4] Insight drawn from W. Phillip Keller, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 (Zondervan, 2007).

[5] G. M. Burge, The Bible and the Land (Zondervan, 2009).

[6] “The Lost Sheep” in A. De Mello, SJ, The Song of the Bird (Image Books, 1984).

[7] Matthew 7:15.

Br. Lain Wilson

Luke 18:9-14

One thing I struggle with is getting out of my head when I’m trying to talk with God. I’m sure that may be familiar to some of you as well. I’ve found something helpful is checking in with my body – how I’m feeling, what my posture is. I find that it often mirrors what’s going on in my own heart and in my soul.

One thing that always strikes me when I hear this familiar parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector is that we are given details, not only of what is on their lips and in their hearts, but what they are doing with their bodies.

The Pharisee stands upright. We can imagine him with his shoulders back, chest up, chin square; his chiropractor would be proud. And what is on his lips and in his heart is upright and proud – he’s doing pretty well, fasting and tithing. Both good things. His error is in couching them in terms of competition, lording his own actions over others. It is as though this man has forgotten what, or rather who, allows him to stand upright.

The tax collector, meanwhile, is afar off, looking down. We might imagine him hunched over, feeling on his shoulders the weight of his sin. He confesses and asks God for mercy. Both good things. And his very posture captures something true and fundamental of our relationship with God – that it is by God’s grace and mercy that we can come through all that weighs us down, all the burdens that cling to us or that we drag behind us; that it is God, and not our own actions or achievements, that makes us worthy to stand upright.

The image I come back to again and again in prayer with this passage is from chapter 19 of John’s gospel, of Jesus on the cross seeing his mother and the beloved disciple standing nearby. Those of you on retreat with us this weekend will have seen this image several times, as it’s depicted on the icon currently in the Holy Spirit Chapel. I can’t imagine what strength would’ve been necessary to stand while one’s son and beloved friend was dying on a cross. I can only imagine that this strength had to have come from God.

I come back to this image, because while the parable of the Pharisee and tax collector is about right relationship before God and neighbor, and it’s about humility, it’s also about more than that. It’s about what the true source of our strength is when everything is going wrong, in our world and in our hearts. Our Collect today puts it this way: “O God, you know us to be set in the midst of so many and great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature we cannot always stand upright.”[1]

How does your body feel today?

Do you feel tall and proud? Recognize how God’s grace is working in you, and ask how you might bear others up with that strength.

Or do you feel hunched over and withdrawn because of the weight of sin or the burden of anxiety? Hand it over to God, hand it all over to God, who will give you strength and courage and allow you to stand upright.

Amen.

[1] Weekday Eucharistic Propers 2015 (New York, 2017), 33.

Br. Jack Crowley

Mark 12:28-34

A friend of mine got married right around the same time I joined the monastery. Over the years we’ve chatted about the ups and downs of vowed life. Although he is married and I am celibate, we still have a lot in common. We are both in love, we both live with other people in close quarters, and we both have our own shortcomings that make the vowed life rocky at times. I asked him once if he had just one piece of advice to give to someone in the vowed life, what would he say? He looked me in the eye and said the key to a successful marriage is knowing that not every day will be a home run.

I often think about that quote when I hear our Gospel passage from today, especially when Jesus tells us to love God with all our hearts. Yes, I do follow Jesus’ commandment here, but I’m not gushing, head over heels in love with God every day. Not every day is a home run, some days are just quiet days at the ballpark, and I’ve grown to love that.

On the days that Jesus’ commandment to love God with all my heart is just too much for me to bear, I ask myself can I at least be attracted to God? Can I at least be curious about God? Can at least lean towards God?

When we are worn out, tired, stressed, and busy, loving God with all our heart can feel like just another thing on the to do the list. We may even feel shame as if we haven’t kept up our end of the bargain with God. We may feel distraught that we haven’t fully shown up for God in the way we wanted to.

The good news is that God loves us unconditionally, which means no matter what condition we show up in, God’s love is there and fully available to us. God’s love is available to us in sickness and in health, good days, and bad days, and even after our inevitable quarrels.

Some days when I’m not head over heels in love with God, I just spend time with God. I say God, here I am, stay with me buddy.

Sometimes just being with God is loving God, in the same way that spending time with someone you love is a form of love. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, God knows when we are trying our best. After all, isn’t that all you can ask of someone you love?

Jesus knew the importance of love. Jesus knew the power of love. Jesus knew that love, no matter what the circumstance, propels us towards God. Love is a force beyond our understanding, yet in the best of our moments, we always seem to be on the verge of understanding it all.

Finally, remember that the pursuit of love is a lifelong adventure. It’s a cat-and-mouse game in a house with many rooms. Keep searching, keep trying, keep praying, and keep loving. Amen.

Br. David Vryhof

Matthew 18:21-35

It’s no wonder that Jesus made such a big deal of forgiveness in his teachings and in his parables. Forgiveness is essential to healthy human relationships. The French Jesuit and theologian, François Varillon, once said, “People cannot live together unless they forgive each other just for being who they are.” We all need to forgive and be forgiven, over and over again, if our life together is to be life-giving, and if we are to be the agents of healing and reconciliation in the world that Christ calls us to be.

Sometimes it’s easy to forgive. We find no difficulty in setting aside the incident and moving on. But at other times we may find it extremely difficult to forgive the one who has hurt us. We may believe that we should forgive; we may even want to forgive. But we recognize that our heart is so full of anger and pain that we cannot yet say, “I forgive you,” and mean it. A declaration of forgiveness at this point would be dishonest and premature. In circumstances like these, we can at least set ourselves on a path towards forgiveness, recognizing that arriving at forgiveness is a desirable and necessary goal, not only because we are commanded to forgive one another “seventy times seven,” but also because forgiveness will rid our hearts of the toxic presence of resentment, anger, and bitterness.

Why is it so important to forgive? First, let’s consider the costs of withholding forgiveness. “When you hold resentment toward another,” Catherine Ponder writes, “you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link and get free.” Without forgiveness, the hurt we have experienced is perpetuated and passed on to others. Anger, bitterness and resentment take root in our hearts and gradually change us from within. We stay mired in the past and lose our ability to be present in the moment and to be hopeful about the future. We may become bitter and cynical, or we may be tempted to seek revenge, which will lock us into a cycle of violence that will bring on a whole series of disappointments and misfortunes. Withholding forgiveness is not a healthy option.

Second, let’s consider the benefits of forgiving. Forgiveness is essential to our spiritual well-being; it is the necessary outcome of loving one another as God has loved us. “Forgive us our sins,” we pray, “as we forgive those who sin against us.” Jesus commands us to forgive, repeatedly, just as we have been forgiven. Forgiveness allows our broken hearts to heal and sets us free; it enables us to cultivate a loving heart towards others. It will afford us a clear conscience and bring us peace. There is every reason to set out on the path to forgiveness.

There are several important caveats that we have to mention in regard to forgiveness.

First, it is essential at the outset to rule out the possibility of taking revenge. Even if we feel that revenge is justified, in the end it will lead only to further misery and guilt, and will deepen our resentment, hostility and anger. We must do our best to avoid it at all times. So before you start on this path, rule out the possibility of taking revenge.

Second, remember that this path leads to forgiveness, but not necessarily to the restoration of the relationship as it was before. Sometimes we realize that we cannot and must not try to restore a relationship. If it was abusive, we must not risk putting ourselves back in a vulnerable place. We can still forgive the person; but we can choose not to allow that person back into our life.

Third, we must put a stop to the offensive actions of the other. As long as the offensive behavior continues there can be no possibility of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not mean giving up our rights or cowering before the offender. Putting an end to offensive behavior may mean confronting the person, or seeking outside assistance, or even appealing to the justice system. But their hurtful actions must stop.

Forgive then, even if your offender accepts no responsibility for the offense, expresses no remorse for their actions, and refuses to change. Forgiveness is not dependent of their words or actions.

Forgive, even when you know you cannot return to the way things were.

Forgive, because it is necessary for your own health and well-being, and because withholding forgiveness poisons your soul.

Forgive, even when you recognize that at present you can only begin the journey. You want to arrive at a place where you can recall the one who hurt you and feel the power to wish them well. But it may take time to get there. Keep moving forward, keep trying to arrive at forgiveness. The rewards are well worth the effort.

“We love because God first loved us,” the author of 1 John reminds us. So, too, we forgive because God has first forgiven us. Remembering that God has forgiven us gives us the power to forgive one another.

Br. James Koester

Preached at the Church of St. Augustine and St. Martin, Boston.

The Third Sunday in Lent

John 4:5-42

There is a small porcelain figurine in a church sacristy that fascinates me. It depicts this encounter between Jesus, and the Samaritan woman.[1]

Jesus sits on one side of the well. He is tall, handsome, masculine, and has lots of shoulder length hair. He is deep in conversation with the woman. She stands, leaning over, with her elbow resting on the wellhead. She looks directly at Jesus. Her hair is loose and flowing, and her dress is falling off one shoulder. Her hand is under her chin, just so. She is enticing, alluring, and attractive.

What this figurine says about Jesus and the Samaritan woman is no mystery. It may be pure white, but the message is in technicolour: a seduction is happening.

But then, this is how the story has been told to us. After all, the story is of an encounter between Jesus and a woman who has had five husbands, and the one she has “now is not [her] husband” (John 4:18). Why else would she find herself at the well in the middle of the day, when the heat is most intense, and no one else is around? Because of her lifestyle, she is humiliated, isolated and ostracized. It’s clear, she’s someone with few morals, someone to avoid.

That’s what the figurine tells us. That’s what John tells us. Or is it?

Recent biblical scholarship has begun to see things differently. This is especially true as women examine gospel texts through the lens of their own experience, to discover the experience of the women in Jesus’ inner circle of friends, intimates, and disciples. With that in mind, how might we read this story differently than we have read it in the past?

“The same day some Sadducees came to [Jesus], saying there is no resurrection; and they asked him a question, saying, ‘Teacher, Moses said, “If a man dies childless, his brother shall marry the widow, and raise up children for his brother.” Now there were seven brothers among us; the first married, and died childless, leaving the widow to his brother. The second did the same, so also the third, down to the seventh. Last of all, the woman herself died. In the resurrection, then, whose wife of the seven will she be? For all of them had married her.’” (Matthew 22:23-28)

One reading is that she is the unfortunate widow of five brothers. She finds herself widowed once again, this time with no one in the family left to marry her. No one else in the community dares marry her, fearing she is somehow cursed. All she can do is to abandon hope and seek the protection of any man who will take her in, even if it means living outside the bonds of marriage.

Another reading suggests she is equally unfortunate, having married five men, all of whom divorced her.

“Some Pharisees came, and to test [Jesus] they asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’ He answered them, ‘What did Moses command you?’ They said, ‘Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.’” (Mark 10:2-4)

Divorce was simple. While a man could divorce his wife, a woman could not divorce her husband. Perhaps childless, her husbands divorced her one by one, to marry another, hoping to secure an heir.

Whatever the reason, it is not her morals, but her situation which has left her reputation in ruins and forced her to allow herself to be taken in by anyone who would offer the security of a home.

In these interpretations, the Samaritan woman’s visit to the well in the heat of the day retains its power. Alone, isolated, craving kindness, goodness, sympathy, even intimacy and companionship, she makes her way to the well. To her surprise she finds Jesus, a man who takes her seriously; doesn’t condemn or demean her; and offers her the “one thing necessary” (Luke 10:42): “[To] those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” (John 4:14).

Laying aside the woman’s husbands; the numbers of them; why she had five and was currently living with one not her husband; and her reasons for being at the well alone, during the heat of the day, what other details in the story bear significance to its meaning as a whole?

There are details in the story like other gospel stories which tell of the call to discipleship.

“Then the woman left her water-jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, ‘Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?’” (John 4:28-29)

After the conversation about water, husbands, and worship, the disciples return. At this point that the woman leaves her water-jar and returns to the city, telling people to come and see. It’s important to note that in other encounters with Jesus, others also leave things behind.

“As [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers . . . Peter, and Andrew . . . casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him.” (Matthew 4:18-20)

Like others who left all to follow Jesus, the Samaritan woman leaves behind her water-jar, and calls others into an encounter with the Lord. Like other disciples she invites her neighbours to encounter Jesus: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?’” (John 4:29).

While her profession of faith, He cannot be the Messiah, can he? is not quite that of Andrew: “‘We have found the Messiah’”; or Nathaniel: “‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!’”; or Martha: “‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world’” (John 1:41, 49; 11:27), it is nonetheless a step toward faith, and she begins to see Jesus as the Messiah, and invites others to see for themselves.

In this way, the Samaritan woman invites others into an encounter with Jesus, just as do other disciples.

“Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I have ever done.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there for two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, ‘It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.’” (John 4:39-42)

Read in this way, the story of the Samaritan woman is a story of discipleship, of conversion, of confession. It is a reminder that God’s invitation to belief and discipleship is not for the select few, but for all who long to drink deeply from the well of living water and eternal life. It is a story of longing for connection and reconnection, not only to the communities from which we come, but to God who calls us from our past, into a future, God’s future, where we know ourselves to be loved by God. It is a reminder that we too have been invited to become God’s children, and like the Samaritan woman, to drink from Jesus, the living water of eternal life. And that is good news, no matter where you are from, your situation in life, or what others think of you.

So rather than seeing scandal in this story, we instead see it as a story of profound faith, and eager discipleship as the woman invites others to come and see what she herself has found in the person of Jesus. Having discovered Jesus as the source of eternal life for ourselves, we can then follow the lead of the Samaritan woman and invite others to come and see who Jesus is for themselves.

[1] For a fuller analysis of the Samaritan woman, see the essays by Harold Attridge, Steven Hunt, and Peter Phillips in Character Studies in the Fourth Gospel (Eerdmans, 2013), 269ff, as well as Judith Kay Jones, The Women in the Gospel of John (Chalice Press, 2004), 13ff and Adeline Fehribach, The Women in the Life of the Bridegroom (The Liturgical Press, 1998), 45ff.