Holy Saturday

Psalm 27 • Lamentations 3:37-58 • Hebrews 4:1-16

He descended into hell. The third day he rose again from the dead. . .

Apostles’ Creed, Rite I

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When I was a small child in church I got chills whenever we would recite the part of the Creed that proclaimed Jesus went to Hell. I wanted to crawl under the pew when I heard that line in a creed. Did the adults know what they were saying? Stop and listen to those words of the Apostles’ Creed: “He descended into hell. . . .”

What on earth did they mean by that?

It was not until the fifth decade of my life that I began to understand the line. And when I did it was for me an amazing moment of clarity.

The event called Holy Saturday is the fulcrum between Jesus’ death and his resurrection. On Holy Saturday, the second day of the Easter Triduum, Jesus smashes open the gates of Hell to let everyone out. On Holy Saturday, Jesus has suffered with us, gone to Hell, and robbed it of its power. Death is the enemy, and death is vanquished. The great mystery of Easter—the mystery of the Christian faith— requires Holy Saturday to get there. Holy Saturday connects the crucifixion of Good Friday to the resurrection of Easter. By grasping the reality of Holy Saturday, we can catch a glimmer of new life by passing first through death, whether it is the physical death at the end of our mortal life on earth, or in all of the little deaths we suffer on the journey of life.

The death of Jesus Christ on the Cross does not have much to do with us without Holy Saturday; without Holy Saturday, it is the unjust death of a good and holy man. With Holy Saturday, Jesus not only dies for us; Jesus dies with us and Jesus dies like us—he shows himself as the God-become-human savior to show us a different way to live. Easter becomes not just about the One, but about all of us.

— Jim Richardson

Good Friday

Psalm 40:1-17 • Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-33 • 1 Peter 1:10-20 • John 13:36-38

“O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me” (Psalm 40:13)

With these words the sisters at Our Lady of the Angles Monastery in Crozet intone the office of Compline, the last worship service of the day before bed time. On Good Friday we can be especially attentive to the way God answered this prayer sounded through the ages not only on the lips of monks and nuns but in the hearts of all who find themselves in conflict with other people, within themselves, and with God. These two plaintive statements point to the deeper reality of the human condition that Jesus’ death on the cross lays bare: the fundamental rupture in human existence that alienates people from each other and God can only be repaired by God himself.

Indeed, on Good Friday as Jesus hung dying on the cross, God came to our assistance. He suffered the deepest depths of alienation, taking onto himself the sin of the world: all of the shame, powerlessness, helplessness, contempt, scorn, abandonment, greed, fear, and hate that rightfully belonged to generations past, present, and yet to come. Uncoerced, he freed us from the accretions of sin that obscured His image in each one of us, a feat no human could accomplish. Ironically, by taking on our ugliness and relieving us of its estranging burdens, he made it possible for us to see and be enlivened by the beauty of His love and the image of His beauty in one another—a beauty of centripetal, reconciling force that draws us closer to Him and each other.

On this day we can proclaim with the psalmist, “may those who love your salvation say continually, ‘Great is the Lord!’” (40:16b). Let us also offer our thanksgiving of praise: “Glory be 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.”

— Heather A. Warren

Maundy Thursday

Psalm 102 • Lamentations 2:10-18 • 1 Corinthians 10:14-17, 11:27-32 • Mark 14:12-25


The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? (1 Corinthians 10-16)

The day’s old light is dying now, bleeding in through the windows cut into the walls of the upper room where we have gathered. Orange squares stretch out across the mat on which the elements of the Pesach Seder are carefully arranged – bitter herbs, cups of wine, matza bread, and the lamb. In the dark, following the sun’s burial behind the Judean hills, Mary lights the lamps to mark the beginning of the first day of Pesach – Passover. And as we eat, we recall with wistful words the story of our ancestors’ liberation from bondage in Egypt, and how – on this night – the angel of death passed over the houses that bore on their lintels the blood of the lamb.

During the meal, the wine and food carry us away from the anxieties of the past days. However, as Jesus takes into his hands the afikomen – the last piece of matza – something in his countenance quiets our raucous banter. He speaks, and his words waft through the warm air weighed heavy with the smell of roasted lamb: “This is my body.”

 Holding a piece of the blessed and broken matza, our senses reject the Lord’s words – this looks, feels, smells, tastes like bread. Still in the silence after he speaks, his words begin to transubstantiate us, first our hearts and then our souls and bodies – Mortal, eat what is offered you; eat this scroll that I give you and fill your stomach with it (Ezekiel 3:1-3). So we eat . . . and are consumed.

What sense can our senses make when they are not consumed by desire for the Word of truth? What more can our words be but webs of power and weapons for the Pharaohs and Emperors of every age by which others are kept enslaved unless our words are liberated by the Word of God? What nourishment can bread and wine bring to a world under the dominion of death unless it is the flesh and blood of the Lamb?

— Nicholas Forti

Wednesday of Holy Week

Psalm 55 • Lamentations 2:1-9, 14-17 • 2 Corinthians 1:23-2:11 • Mark 12:1-11

In each of today’s readings, misfortune, abuse, hostility, and even betrayal abound. In Psalm 70, physical abuse and misfortune are the plight for which protection from God is requested (and “hurry, please!”). Insults, being spat upon, and beard being yanked are described in Isaiah 50: 4-9a. Hebrews 12: 1-3 reminds us of the hostility and suffering that Jesus endured. And John 13: 21-32 provides the setting in which Jesus identifies the man who will betray him.

Pain, abuse, ridicule, and suffering could be viewed as the major focus of these readings, and they certainly were clearly depicted in the texts. But to focus on them and the negative emotions they conjure may divert us from understanding what actions we contemporary Christians should undertake based upon today’s lessons.

What might those actions be? Perhaps the first is an attitude check rather than a specific action. Isaiah says it clearly: “The Lord God helps me. . . . Who will declare me guilty? Stand against the attacks. Do not hide your face. Who are my adversaries? Let them confront me.”

Isaiah also offers insight into the second action to take—to have the “tongue of a teacher” and to sustain the weary with a word. How will the Truth be carried forward into the next thousand years if today’s believers do not sustain the weary with the words describing the teachings of Jesus?

The third action, also suggested in Isaiah, is to have “the ear of a listener.” Listen to the word, and listen to the needs of those around you. Eyes to see, ears to hear, mouth to speak, and hands to work.

— Diane Wakat

Tuesday of Holy Week

Psalm 6 • Lamentations 1:17-22 • 2 Corinthians 1:8-22 • Mark 11:27-33

A few years ago at Shrinemont the program leader used poetry to direct our reflections and discussions. This poem by Mary Oliver engaged me powerfully:

IN BLACKWATER WOODS
By Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond
no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it

to let it go.

— Betty Kerner

Monday of Holy Week

Psalm 51:1-20 • Lamentations 1:1-2, 6-12 • 2 Corinthians 1:1-7 • Mark 11:12-25

Based on John 12: 1-11

I am learning to “be in the moment” to be fully present. In her book Loving-Kindness, Sharon Salzberg writes, “The simple act of being completely present to another person is truly an act of love.”

In today’s Gospel lesson we find Jesus having a meal at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. The preceding verses tell us that Jesus is being pursued. People have been ordered to be on the look-out for him and to report his whereabouts to the chief priests and Pharisees. They plan to have him arrested. Ultimately, secretly, they plan to kill him.

 I wonder about the mood at this particular meal. I can imagine a scene where everyone around the table is filled with anxiety and worry; one where the mood hangs heavy as a shroud. Perhaps it is in her heaviness —grief —that Mary leaves the table and returns with the jar of perfume. I wonder at the emotions she experienced as she cleaned Jesus’ feet with it. What did she feel and think as she used her own hair to dry them? It seems to me that Mary knew something about being in the moment—about being fully present.

What cues can we take from Mary? From Jesus? He also knew something about being fully present, didn’t he? What shape might life take—might the world take—if we turned fully towards one another in a mindset of loving compassion?

It has been my practice to give up things I enjoy during Lent. As I write this, I’m still thinking about whether or not I will keep to this tradition this year. One thing I know I will do is to continue to work on honoring each moment of each day.

— Christie Thomas

Palm Sunday: The First Day of Holy Week

Psalm 24 • Zechariah 9:9-12 • 1 Timothy 6:12-16 • Luke 19:41-48

One of the most profound truths in any psalm is the verse that begins the 24th Psalm:
“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.”

Man’s relationship to God and to God’s creation is starkly and beautifully put in this humbling, respectful and poetic way.

Man isn’t mentioned. Neither are butterflies, smolts or scorpions—or any other specific pieces of the fabric that knits all life in the world together.

People who inhabit the earth are here as a part of the Lord’s creation, and he founded it “on the seas and established it on the waters,” a biological truth taught by science and scripture.

Ownership is not man’s for we are but stewards of the Lord’s creation. We are in it and of it —not above it.

The Lord is above it, and, the psalm asks and answers “who may ascend the mountain of the Lord?”

Those with clean hands, a pure heart and who worship no idols or false god, a tall order.

Most of us will be imagining God. Most will be praying, unknowing and unseeing.

We should lift up our heads and our gates and doors that the Lord may come in.

We are a part of God's creation and should look up.

We are but knots in the fabric that clothes creation.

We are a flash on the runway of life.

— Bob Gibson

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 144 • Exodus 10:21–11:8 • 2 Corinthians 4:13-18 • Mark 10:46-52

We begin, with industromilitary encouragement, to think like Psalm 144 so long ago, that God’s solidly our rock and deliverer. Yet this psalm moves on to a distant Almighty God who brings mankind to truer mindfulness within, questioning his significance before God: “. . . what is man that thou dost regard him. . . . Man is like a breath, his days are like a passing shadow.”(Timed) King David praises their ultimate champion, because of [the] Israelites’ faith in Him. Faith in justice by oppressed Jews is marvelous, Arab Spring uprisings too, but do they still get justice, or grace, fighting?

Yahweh avenges through pestilence, and finally dead firstborn. Only then Moses, with the Israelites, angrily leaves Pharaoh. God is evidently just, and decisively giving a new Time to them; here’s no Arab Spring, but Massive Resistance, when God did command distantly to their leader —training them to wait, pack, vacate.

2 Corinthians: “Since we have the same (age-old) spirit of faith, as he had who wrote, ‘I believed, and so I spoke’” (referencing Psalm 144: “I kept my faith, even when I said, ‘I am greatly afflicted.’”) Paul adds: “our inner nature is being renewed every day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an internal weight of glory beyond all comparison . . . things that are unseen are eternal.” On the scales (Justice), the eternal glory within us will outweigh “our outer nature.” So it is with Anne and all our dear ones who have died in faith and personal affliction; so “as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving.” That grace raises unified voices in praise.

Be careful: Bartimaeus, a blind roadside panhandler, called out for Jesus’ mercy. Many shushed him for his disunified voice—think Downtown Mall. Resistance. Louder. Jesus stopped. Looked. Listened. For Bartomaeus’ faith, He gave sight. Note Bartimaeus, upon receiving sight, joining that crowd.

— Frances Lee-Vandell

Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 141 • Exodus 9:13-35 • 2 Corinthians 4:1-12 • Mark 10:32-45

As I write this, I am thinking of a friend who took her own life a week ago. In 2 Corinthians 4, Paul speaks of carrying the light of God . . . “So death is at work in us, but life in you.” It is not in our nature to ponder at length on those who have died. Death is sad, but you grieve and must move on. Pray tell, though . . . how can death work in us? Upon hearing of my friend’s departing, I was keenly aware of how I am not present to those in my life, especially her. I would ‘someday’ get around to having lunch with her when work was not so busy . . . I’ll read the draft book of her life she sent me via email (marked that as a to-do) . . . would join her for those philosophical discussions. Someday. The dark side of the “what if’s” is within reach to hold on to. I can count myself as one of those “perplexed, but not driven to despair.”

I can almost empathize with Pharaoh not listening. I was not listening to her and probably am not hearing many friends in need, much less God. How do I let the light shine out of the darkness on a daily basis? I choose to let the life of Jesus be manifest in my body, as well as all those whom I have loved, and live within me . . . they shine for all who are left on this earth within me. “But my eyes are turned toward you, O God, my Lord; in you I seek refuge; do not leave me defenseless.” Amen.

P.S. For this Lent I plan not only giving up television, but each day taking on meeting with, calling, or writing (computer-related communication not counting) a friend or relative I regularly do not have contact with.

— Denni Conner

Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 140 • Exodus 7:25–8:19 • 2 Corinthians 3:7-18 • Mark 10:17-31

When Jesus says to his disciples, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” is he speaking to me about the modest, relative wealth that I “have”? Or is he speaking about the wealth of options and choices I have in my life—the plethora of opportunities for my life that I still imagine is mine to enjoy? And, as I consider how I want to be and what I want to be doing during life’s third act, as Jane Fonda puts it, is it actually even my choice or one of my options?

I think that time is like the plant, whose flower is love. And I think that the seed is an heirloom to hold as treasure for the future.

I pray that I treasure the plant, the flower and the seeds from this time of inner reflection and outward seeking, lest I confuse these gifts with the material comforts of wealth, which have done little to feed my faith or my capacity to love.

I pray that I may experience enough time, not just as a respite from work, but also as another step in the journey toward and aligned with my God-given purpose on this planet. Amen.

— Leslie Middleton

Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 130 • Exodus 7:8-24 • 2 Corinthians 2:14–3:6 • Mark 10:1-16

In Mark 10:1-16, Jesus discusses marriage and divorce. Does this passage forbid divorce, or did Jesus trump the Law in Matthew 22:39-40, when he offered “Love your neighbor as yourself” as one of the two commandments on which hang the law and the prophets? I don’t know, but I do know that marriages die in our Church despite the best intentions, and divorces result. And when two parishioners divorce, one or both may leave the parish family, sometimes feeling that the Church has failed them, or that they have failed the Church. Can we reconcile divorcing Episcopalians to, and in, the Church?

Bishop Spong described a “Service for the Recognition of the End of a Marriage.” Two people faced each other in pain and grief, surrounded by friends. They prayed Psalm 130 (coincidentally, today’s psalm): “Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD; hear my voice.” They asked each other for forgiveness, and pledged to remain friends. Bishop Spong reported: “. . . it was painful for everyone there. All shared the excruciating pain of human brokenness. The divorced couple wept, and so did every member of that gathered group. Hearts cried out for an easy answer. But this service took place in real life, not in fantasy. The pain could not be removed; it had to be endured and transformed.”

One priest ended such a service with these words: “We affirm you in the new covenant (coincidentally, a phrase from 2 Corinthians 3:6, today’s Epistle) you have made: one that finds you separated but still caring for one another and wishing each other good will. On behalf of the church which blessed your marriage, we now recognize the end of that marriage. We affirm you as single persons among us, and we pledge you our support as you continue to seek God's help and guidance for the new life you have undertaken in faith.”

As one minister remarked on reading of Bishop Spong’s experience, “Now that’s a church.”

— Lloyd Snook

Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 122 • Exodus 5:1–6:1 • 1 Corinthians 14:20-33a, 39-40 • Mark 9:42-50

Bricks without straw. That was the harsh, angry command from Pharaoh to the captive Israelites. How often do we try to make our own lives without straw? Multitasking, work, home, children, doctor, dentist, music lessons, sports. Oh, don’t forget church! Oh, don’t forget prayer! How easy it is to throw away our straw, the binding agent for our lives. Why do we allow so much into our lives and forget why we’re really here? Others, as Pharaoh did, might call us lazy. Our own guilt may tell us we’re not doing enough.

But the straw. How can we make our lives, families and happiness, our church, neighborhood, city, country and world better without the straw of God’s love and presence? God told Moses to say, “Now you will see what I will do to Pharaoh.” God says to us, “Now, you will see what I am doing for you.”

May we pray to restore the spiritual straw we need in our lives that we may perfectly love Him and worthily magnify his holy name in all that we do.

— Lawrence Elliott

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Psalm 35 • Exodus 4:10-20(21-26)27-31 • 1 Corinthians 14:1-19 • Mark 9:30- 41

In the gospel reading for today from the Daily Office, the Disciples are heading down a wrong path, something which happens frequently in Mark. They are arguing about who is the greatest among them. In response, Jesus admonishes them by saying, “Whoever wants to be first must place himself last of all and be the servant of all” (Good News Bible).

This is a message we have all heard in church but we might easily overlook how incredibly radical it is. In trying to come to terms with Jesus’ words I can’t help thinking of a very different expression: “Nice guys finish last.” This cheerful message is generally ascribed to Leo Durocher, the long-ago manager of the New York Giants baseball team, but I think it is much more than one man’s opinion in the context of sports. It is an underlying theme in how affairs of the world are conducted much of the time.

Throughout the New Testament a contrast is often drawn that is sometimes seen as a contrast between earth and heaven, or “flesh and spirit.” But at a deeper level it is really drawn between the ways of the world and the ways of God’s kingdom here on earth. Christians who try to “be the servant of all” will often find themselves swimming against the tide of how the world operates. As we think about this period of Lent, a cynical view could assert that Jesus “finished last” by going meekly to his own death. And yet, in truth, it was the greatest victory of all, overcoming the worst that the world could do, defeating the powers of sin and death. Thanks be to God.

— John Zuck

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Psalm 118 • Exodus 3:16-4:12 • Romans 12:1-21 • John 8:46-59

Psalm 51 embodies the truth of our human experience and the core of our Biblical faith. We read it at the beginning of Lent in the Ash Wednesday liturgy and now again on the fifth Sunday as we look toward Palm Sunday and Holy Week. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving kindness; in your great compassion blot out my offenses.”

The Lenten season asks us to pause and look with a terrible honesty at our offenses, the things done and things left undone, the words and deeds that separate us from God, from one another, even from ourselves, and that bring such harm to the entire creation. If that were the whole story it would be cause for profound and crippling despair as we look into our hearts and remember our acts. But in complete trust and faith, with the Psalmist we pray, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Give me the joy of your saving help. . . .”

The joy of your saving grace. Lent renews in us the confidence in God’s grace that is the very foundation of our faith. The Psalmist assures us that we put our trust in the God who comes to us as the God of mercy, of loving kindness and compassion, the God who looks beyond my failures, my sins, my blindness to the needs of others and acts to heal and strengthen me, “for behold, you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly.” Deep within us is the knowledge, the assurance that in forgiving us God frees and strengthens us to bring the joy of God’s saving grace into the world.

— Paula Kettlewell

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 33 • Exodus 2:23-3:15 • 1 Corinthians 13:1-13 • Mark 9:14-29

"I believe; help my unbelief!"

Mark 9:14-29

The life of faith is one of yes and no (or maybe . . . ); of advance and retreat; of yearning and suspicion. The Word has been spoken: I am with you always. Do not be afraid. Come unto Me. We want to believe that it is really that simple, but nothing in the world as we know it is that simple. People have agendas, sometimes evident, sometimes hidden. We ourselves have agendas, some noble, some not.

If I say, “I believe,” I reach out for God. I perceive that there is something bigger beyond myself, with which I desire connection. And then comes the unbelief —“Silly fool, those myths are for the uneducated, the masses who need an anesthetic, who need to hold on to hope against hope.” I’m not one of them.

What is happening in this passage is Jesus’ demonstration of the simple fact that we can choose to participate in God’s healing work, no matter how imperfectly.

Jesus never called on people to believe ideas or creeds, only to believe in Him, and thereby to bring God’s realm of wholeness, known as Shalom, into being.

Do we have to wait until we’ve got all the theology worked out, all the questions answered? I don’t think so. In the words of Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D., “Over the years I have learned that ‘cleaning up one’s act’ may be far less important than consecrating one’s life. It may be possible (for God) to use everything.”

It’s only a couple of weeks until Easter. Consecrate your life to God, and the belief will come.

— Ann Willms

Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 102 • Exodus 2:1-22 • 1 Corinthians 12:27-13:3 • Mark 9:2-13

I haven’t read Jefferson’s Bible, but I’m pretty certain the Transfiguration doesn’t appear there, because it’s a miracle, one of many we encounter in the gospels. Singular, however, without any “healing.”

When I was a teenager in the ‘60’s, the Bedford Presbyterian Church dominated the Village Green in my town. They ran an afterschool program for teens in the church basement, known as “the Pit.” I decided to go to the Pit to see what the Bible was about, since I knew nothing about it, having never been taken to Sunday School or church. That particular day they were talking about the Transfiguration. I never returned, since I thought if they believed that, they must all be nuts.

I joined Trinity Presbyterian Church in 1980 so our son, Thomas, could be baptized. I joined the Young Mothers’ Circle, meeting monthly for Bible study. That year, Senior Circle members led our studies; one leader was a widow named Alice Magness. Alice, an Elder, was first woman Moderator of the Mid-Atlantic Synod. She recognized my infant faith as needing guidance, and took me under her wing. One day, I asked Alice, “Do you believe that the Transfiguration really happened? Just the way it’s written?” She looked at me directly, and replied in a single solemn word, “Yes.”

Her faith infused mine, and I believed, because Alice believed. I grew to love the vision of Christ’s garment, “glistering white,” as I chose my word from among the many translations. Yes, it really happened.

Just as the half-faith of the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 became more than whole, inspiring an entire people to believe after she met Jesus, so mine met his transfigured form, the booths, the patriarchs, the whole 9-yards, in the zeal of my dear friend, Alice. Can yours?

— Margaret Lee

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 73 • Exodus 1:6-22 • 1 Corinthians 12:12-26 • Mark 8:27-9:1

As I read through the texts for today for the second time I was reminded of why I declined the opportunity to write a Lenten reflection the first time I was asked. “What would I possibly have to say that would be meaningful to someone else?” or more directly, “I don’t understand the message in most passages so how could I possibly write about them?” Today’s readings land me in that uninspired place.

And in sitting with that I have been reminded of something important: faith is about showing up, especially when you are uninspired. There doesn’t have to be deep meaning or insight, whether it is a passage, a service, any holy event, or really any life event. Being present, whether it is at church, with a friend, at home, at work, with yourself—showing up—can be enough. And if we do that, even in the most uninspired times, the grace that is faith will bring meaning and insight when and where we least expect it. May we all have the courage to show up and receive God’s grace.

“My faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another.


Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew.
Each prepared me for the next leaf on which I would land and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear.” – Anne Lamott

— Erika Viccellio

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 109 • Genesis 50:15-26 • 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 • Mark 8:11-26

“Do you have eyes, and fail to see? Do you have ears, and fail to hear? And do you not remember?”

— Mark 8:18

Jesus is frustrated with his disciples who are still worrying about daily needs like having enough food to eat. Have they not been paying attention to any of his teachings?

We encounter so many obstacles that impede our understanding of God’s message: no time, too many distractions, too many commitments; pre-set ideas, unrealistic expectations, unfinished business. Greed, lust, envy, revenge. Ignorance, judging others. Illness, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and to food, sex, gambling, power. And fear, shame, pain, anxiety. We are unavailable to see, to hear, or to remember God’s word. How can it be otherwise?

When asked to identify times I have known the Holy Spirit, I return to childhood vacations spent in Wales where my family has a small cottage. To be outside there, looking at the hills, the hugeness of the sky, hearing and feeling the wind, the sound of new lambs, was a most precious gift for me. My mother would say, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my strength,” and I knew what she meant. I have had to learn to pay attention, to stay in the present, not to miss what is happening now by letting myself be distracted by the past or concerned about the future. I listen for my biases and judgments that prevent me from accepting how things are, from knowing people as they are.

I came across this short piece of Buddhist wisdom, reminding us that a troubled mind cannot know the way.

We are what we think,
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind and happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unshakable.
How can a troubled mind understand the way?

Can we hear God’s word in a new way? Can we clear away the cobwebs? Can we understand?

— Deborah Healey

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 99 • Genesis 49:29-50:14 • 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 • Mark 8:1-10

Feeding of the Four Thousand

What compelled four thousand people to follow, listen, be with Jesus for three days inadequately prepared? I can only try to imagine the magnetic force he was to them and guess that they did not anticipate staying three days. I can easily imagine his “compassion for the crowd” with nothing to eat as he prepared to leave them.

I recall an instance of being inadequately prepared on a hike into the crater of a quiet volcano in Hawaii. Four of us started in the cool of the morning. A couple of hours in, we arrived at a shelter from the hot sun. Taking stock of our situation I realized that I had precious little water to complete this twelve-mile hike which included ascending a zig-zag trail up the wall of the crater. Then I heard a voice of a young woman, “I have more water than I need or want to carry. Could you use some?”

Not only did we now have the water we needed, as we made our way up the crater wall, we each hiked at our own pace. I was alone and noted that I felt fear. I kept my left hand on the mountainside and resisted looking to my right. The distance down was dizzying. A misstep could mean disaster. The girl, well prepared with a personal guide, became a presence as I proceeded, sometimes in front, then behind. Once again I learned the meaning in a phrase I’ve known always, “the Lord will provide.” The girl, who I remember as an angelic presence, cheered as I emerged at trail’s end.

“Extol the Lord our God, and worship at his holy mountain, for the Lord our God is holy.”—Psalm 99:9

— Doris Greiner

Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Psalm 89:19-52 • Genesis 49:1-28 • 1 Corinthians 10:14-11:1 • Mark 7:24-37

“Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread.”

Very early one Sunday morning many years ago, I was awakened by crippling abdominal pains. Neighbors took me to the ER at 3 am. In less than 24 hours I was supposed to be on a plane to Italy! Instead, I was told, I’d need emergency surgery. I asked my neighbors to call a friend from St. Paul’s. When church began later that morning at 10 am, I was already on the prayer list.

By 11:30 am, two dear parishioner friends stood in my room as I was being prepped for surgery. Two more arrived as I was being wheeled down the corridor to the operating room. I was told the rector arrived shortly after I was taken to surgery. Many hours later I awoke in my room to find another parishioner keeping watch.

Throughout that day and for the next five days during my hospital stay, the people of St. Paul’s took care of me. Two took on the monumental task of cancelling all my itineraries for Italy. One friend arranged sign-ups for home delivery of meals after my discharge from the hospital. That same friend spent the night at my house the first night I was home. Throughout this whole time, I had no worries. I was disappointed about missing my trip to Italy, but what I got instead was much more—I got a lesson that the bread and body of Christ go way beyond merely standing around the Holy Table on Sunday mornings.

— Bonny Bronson