Daily Devotions

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’ For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. Mark 6:30-34

Many thanks again to the folks from Faith Lutheran who provided our devotions through Lent.  And now, after all of the excitement of Holy Week, and after a week of post-Easter vacation, we return today to our leisurely stroll through the gospel of Mark.

It is really interesting to watch all that happens in this 6th chapter of Mark.  It began with Jesus being rejected by the folks at home after his guest stint at the local synagogue.  Then he sends the disciples out on their own missionary journey in teams of two (which we read on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.)  This was followed by an interlude, the report of the death of John the Baptist (which we read on Ash Wednesday.)  And then that is followed by the verses we are reading today.

This is like watching biblical MTV!  Spirituality multi-tasking extraordinaire.  BAM BAM BAM.

It is no wonder then, after hearing the reports of all that the apostles, the “sent out” ones, had done and taught, that Jesus suggests they take a break.  Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while. 

We do well to take note of these rhythms of work-reflection-rest. We can’t keep what Jesus has given to us to ourselves but we also can’t give away what we don’t have.  There is a time to be active and a time to be reflective. 

What we need to notice is that we don’t need to encourage the Herod’s of our lives to oppose what God might be up to and we don’t need to encourage the crowds to clamor for our attention.  Both will happen all the time, without our prompting.  But the quiet places never force themselves upon us.  Going off by ourselves to rest is much more difficult than responding to the next call for help.

Thus we, and the disciples, are reminded that following Jesus will mean rejection but it will also mean renewal as we respond to his invitation to find time to rest and reflect.

Only then will we be prepared to face the crowds with compassion and the willingness to give what we have to give.

Let us pray:  Gracious Lord, thank you for the opportunities you give us to be helpful as we serve others in all the demands of our lives.  Thank you also for inviting us into quiet times, and quiet places, where we can be refilled and renewed.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

For many years a couple of my friends would take the week after Easter off. We would go to a state park, rent a cabin, play golf, eat meat, and talk theology late into the night. I’ve lost track of how many years…fifteen or so. As the years went by, we went to bed earlier, got up later, and every once in awhile came up with a new story that had not been told. Mostly we listened to the same stories year after year.

This year the trip won’t happen as it has in the past. This year we lost one of those friends, Pastor Larry Keene, to pancreatic cancer. Think “George Carlin” of Lutheran pastors. We’re going to miss everything about him but nothing more than his wit, his wisdom and his laughter.

So this year the trip won’t happen as it has in the past. This year the other side of Easter will feel different.

I have noticed something over the past couple of years. Time has turned around. It feels like just yesterday I thought about life stretching off into the future. I had plenty of time to do what needed to be done. But now, more and more, it feels like I’m living life “from” the future. I’m looking backwards from the future and there is only so much more time.

A few months ago I would have told you that this twisting of time has brought a new urgency to life. Today I’m realizing that it is merely a different kind of urgency. Today I have a greater urgency to savor time, a greater urgency to be quiet (which is hard for me to do). I have far less patience for some things and far greater patience for others.

I see the faithful saints in my congregation with different eyes today. They have walked where I’m heading. They have been there. I’m realizing how much courage it takes to live life as it comes. How hard to hold on to love when so much is lost along the way.

I plan to spend most of next week by myself. I’ll listen to the saints through the books I’ll bring with me. I’ll play golf with whoever shows up at the first tee when I do. I’ll go to bed early and wake when I’m ready. I’ll think much about Larry and the other guys who have touched my life. And, when I get back from a week of reflecting on the other side of Easter, I’ll start my Monday morning with a devotion.

God bless you all through this Easter season. May the wonder of the resurrection fill you with joy, with gratitude, with purpose, and with hope.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Elijah.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!”  Mark 15:33-39

What does it take for someone to come to faith in Jesus?

Why does this person – who has some very good reasons not only to doubt but to vigorously deny the existence of God – still believe in the face of all evidence to the contrary?

Why does that person – perhaps raised in a loving Christian home, given all the advantages of experiencing a vibrant Christian community, suffering no real pain in life other than the self inflicted type – reject the faith and go there own way?

These are very difficult questions to answer.  They aren’t hard to ask.  We ask them and wonder about them all the time.  As a pastor I would love to have a quick, easy and accurate answer to them…but I don’t.  It is a mystery.

People who lack faith say some version of “show me real evidence and I might believe”.  People who live by faith say some version of “I’m not sure.  I just know that I believe it.”  Everyone is (seemingly) troubled by the theodicy question – “Why, if there is a kind and loving God at the center of the universe do such horrible things happen to good people?” 

I say “seemingly” there because I think there is something else going on, even with that question, because we seem much more troubled when bad things happen to people we love, or when bad things happen to us, than we do about bad things happening in general.  It bothers us most, at least it seems to me, when it hits us close.

Which then leads to back to the faith/unfaith mystery.  We could draw a continuum on this question, with “faith” on one end and “unfaith” on the other.  Wouldn’t it be the case that, rather than saying we are “at” a particular place on that continuum, we seem to dance along it, back and forth, as we live our lives?

Which then leads to the next question – so what do we do with that?  How does our faith/unfaith affect us?  How does it influence our sense of ourselves and our behaviors toward others?  To what extent do we live out of selfishness and self-centeredness?

And that, I believe, is where the rubber hits the road.

Today we remember Jesus giving himself into the hands of those who reject him, torture him, humiliate him and crucify him.  He doesn’t protect himself, doesn’t justify himself.  He speaks of forgiveness, of care and concern for others.  He gives voice to the inner torment of abandonment.  He suffers and he dies.

What does it take to bring a person to faith?  For a hardened Roman soldier, one who had repeatedly done unspeakably horrific things, it took seeing, with his very eyes, this death of Jesus.  “Truly this man was God’s son.”

For me, it takes his witness and the witness of others along the way, fed by daily Word and weekly Sacrament, within the topsy turvy laboratory of Christian community, struggling to surrender and let go of my own self-centeredness. 

I believe.  And I believe that God believes in us.  God believes we are worth it.  God believes we are capable of carrying the story of love and hope into a world that crucifies the innocent and seems hell bent on going its own self-centered and self destructive way.

Let us pray:  Dear Jesus, you took our sin, our rejection, our pain, all that is broken, to the cross.  May remembering your death for us guide us in living for others.  May your Spirit draw near to those who have rejected you and keep our hearts soft.  May the broken and rejected ones come to know of your brokenness and acceptance of them.  Jesus, our rock, our redeemer and our hope.  Amen.

As soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council. They bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate. Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then the chief priests accused him of many things. Pilate asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was amazed.

Now at the festival he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. Now a man called Barabbas was in prison with the rebels who had committed murder during the insurrection. So the crowd came and began to ask Pilate to do for them according to his custom. Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that the chief priests had handed him over. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release Barabbas for them instead.

Pilate spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” Pilate asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.  Mark 15:1-15

This story always comes back to the same places. 

Religious leaders using politicians to secure their own positions of religious power and maintain their influence over the people. 

Political leaders who prefer peace as the absence of conflict rather than peace as the presence of justice.

And the crowds, caught up in the hysteria of “crowdness”, killing the Healer and freeing the killer.  When two or three gather together in a pickup they are far more likely to do very cruel things than when they travel alone.

The story never changes and Jesus remains ever silent.

Silent.

The silence in this story is deafening.

We hear so clearly the bitter voices of the accusers with their ridiculous accusations.  We hear the harsh words of the Roman soldiers, their strange accents and their barking orders.  We hear the dismissive, sarcastic tone that Pilate directs at everyone except his superiors.  We hear the hoots and hollers of the raucous crowd.

But Jesus says nothing.  He doesn’t defend himself.  Doesn’t justify himself.  Doesn’t scream in anger at his accusers.  The time will come for Jesus to speak but, for now, the silent lamb is led to the slaughter.

Let us pray:  Gracious Lord, we remember today your last day among us.  The meal.  The conversation.  The walk.  The late night prayers.  The crowd.  The calloused hands which grabbed and twisted and hit.  May we never forget this.  May the stories of these days keep us from floating away on some spiritual cloud and keep us grounded here in the real human lives we lead, the life you lived, the lives you have redeemed.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

While Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant-girls of the high priest came by. When she saw Peter warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jesus, the man from Nazareth.” But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the cock crowed. And the servant-girl, on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Peter, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Galilean.” But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the cock crowed for the second time. Then Peter remembered that Jesus had said to him, “Before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.  Mark 14:66-72

People who grew up in small towns and close-knit neighborhoods tell stories of how it was hard for them to get away with anything.  Word would spread from parent to parent and reach their home before they did.  In those days, and in those places, “what the neighbors thought” mattered.

People who grew up in prominent families were often told (especially as they headed out the door as teenagers at night), “Remember who you are and who you represent.”  Once again, “what the neighbors think” mattered.

Like so many good gifts of God, there is a light side and a dark side to the social dynamic of “What will the neighbors think?”  As a deterrent to misbehavior, or as a goal of protecting a good name and reputation, it is actually a positive force.  It is a key thread in the social fabric of life. But when it becomes a fearful smokescreen it chokes us.

Peter denied Jesus because he was afraid of what the neighbors would think, not to mention what they might do.  To him. 

In a very real and undeniable way, Peter knew that guilt by association would mean that he would be brought into the same room as Jesus and subject to just what Jesus was going through.  To protect himself, Peter denied knowing Jesus.  Just as Jesus had said he would.  Peter broke down and wept.

Once again Holy Week strips us of the pretensions we might hide behind that would suggest that we are any different than those earliest disciples of Jesus.  How many times, for fear of what the neighbors might think (from teen peer pressure to adult social climbing), have we said or done things that go contrary to our principles, against our best intentions, drawing forth the worst in us?

None of this surprises Jesus.  None of this prevents him from loving us anyway.  Or from using us, like Peter, to do wonderful things on the other side of confession, repentance, and surrender.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, forgive us for our fickleness, our fearfulness and our self-centeredness. Forgive us for harshly judging our neighbors and from allowing others to be god in our lives.  And thank you for these stories, painful though they be, for they expose us and the depth to which you love us.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.  

They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

He came and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

And again he went away and prayed, saying the same words. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him. He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”  Mark 14:32-42

On Thursday this week much of the Christian world will gather for worship to remember the events around this last night that Jesus spent with his disciples. 

We will remember Jesus’ words – “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another even as I have loved you.” 

We will remember his words over the bread and the cup – “This is my body, given for you…This cup is the new covenant in my blood, shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sins.  Do this in remembrance of me.“

But, strangely enough (or maybe not), there is no room in the liturgy for remembering these other words that Jesus spoke that night – “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Those words remain true.  Our spirits might indeed be willing but our flesh is weak.  Yesterday morning I had a banana for breakfast.  I gave some thought to fasting for the rest of the day, perhaps doing that each day of Holy Week, waiting to eat until I get home or until the evening meal at church.  By 1:00 pm I was sitting in a Thai cafe close to the office with a couple of guys from church. So it goes…

“Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

These words form Jesus’ prayer.  His path was to follow God’s will, not his own desire, not the pull of heavy eyelids or the pangs of an empty stomach.

The service ends Thursday night by stripping the altar.  All the religious decorations are removed from the sanctuary.  All the colorful cloth, the finely polished brass, the flickering light of the candles, even the weight of the worship book and Bible.  All gone.  All stripped away.  Nothing left but an empty table and a cross. 

Perhaps we are remembering the words of our weakness and unwillingness.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, our flesh remains weak.  We are tired.  All we can do is cast ourselves upon the promises of your love; all we can do is thank you for doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves.  Set us free to do what we alone can do – take up our cross and follow you into the brokenness of this world as ambassadors of your love.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”  Mark 14:3-9

As we come now into Holy Week, remembering those events in the last week of Jesus’ life, and their implications for our lives, we can ask ourselves a Monday morning question: Will we “observe” Holy Week or will we “enter” Holy Week? Will we be passive observers or active participants?

Clearly we realize we are 2000 years removed from the actual historical events.  We cannot and will not ever know exactly what happened.  To the hymn, “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” our answer will always be, “No.”  But we do have the opportunity to listen so closely to the story that it once again gets under our skin.  Where it can then find our hearts.

NOTICE:  Jesus spends the night in the home of “Simon the leper.”  I have no idea how Simon acquired that name nor do I have interest in learning more.  It is enough for me to see that name attached to the man who hosted Jesus this week.  Anything to do with leprosy means unclean, unwelcome, avoid at all costs.  But Jesus found his way to Simon’s home, Simon’s table, Simon’s life.

If we ever feel ourselves so unclean as to be passed over by God, remember the lesson of Simon the leper.

NOTICE:  Some of the dinner guests are shocked when a woman “wastes” an expensive jar of ointment on Jesus.  As you smell the rich scent of that ointment filling Simon’s home, as you feel the touch of her hands on Jesus’ skin, listen and you will hear their critical voices.

Coulda.  Woulda.  Shoulda.  Yada. Yada. Yada.  There will always be critical voices.  Yet how rare are the tears that are shed for Jesus, or for those who have been so touched by his love that they would spend all that they have for a chance to but touch and anoint his feet?

NOTICE:  Mark says that her devotion will be remembered as long as the gospel is preached.  We just proved it.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, soften our hearts as we walk behind you into this Holy Week.  Open our ears and our eyes to your story, that we might see our own lives more clearly.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.