The stone is rolled away and death does not have the final word.

Christ is risen! God meets us on the way and leads us toward life. Alleluia!

Reflecting on your own life, how has God held you through the darkness of the tomb and led you to life?

Risen Christ,
you meet us beyond the tomb with grace and peace.
Lead us into the life you have opened before us,
that we may walk in resurrection hope.
Amen.

So often, we arrive at moments in life assuming this is the end of the story. But then the earth shakes, the stone is rolled away, and an angel in glory speaks from within. “He is not here.”

This is not a gentle moment. Mary had been prepared. Her eyes still red and swollen from weeping, she came to the tomb with the spices and the community of women who stayed and watched, holding each other through the horror of the trial and execution, through the long night of waiting, and now they were to prepare for the burial.

But, again God disrupts the narrative. Easter morning not only breaks open to an empty tomb, but the empty tomb breaks open all expectations, assumptions, even death itself. Easter morning is not just a revised ending, it is an invitation beyond all endings we can imagine.

The prophet Jeremiah reminds us of God’s promise, “I have loved you with an everlasting love…again I will build you.” Again, and again, and again. God’s pervasive faithfulness has been poured out fully in Christ’s surrender on the cross, to go to death and back in resurrection. Resurrection does not erase what came before, rather it transforms it.

Christ’s hands are still pierced, he still bears the mark in his side, and yet he lives! Not only does he live, but he has gone ahead of the women to Galilee. The women leave the tomb running with fear and great joy to tell the disciples, as the angel said. They do not have answers, they do not understand, but they have seen enough. The tomb is empty! And as they go, Christ meets them on the way. ‘Do not be afraid.’

To let go of all that resurrection cracks open can be scary. To let go of fear, expectation, even all logic, to trust that God’s ending is greater even than death - it takes both the angel and the resurrected Christ to share the message with the women.

‘Do not be afraid,’ Christ says, followed by a second command, ‘Go and tell.’ Resurrection then, isn’t just the transformed ending, it is also God’s sending into all that lies beyond. For Christ goes beyond, always ahead, calling, leading, drawing you into God’s resurrection promises.

The Lenten journey has come to an end this glorious Easter morning. The Signposts have guided us through wilderness and longing, through longing and thirst and blindness, and though we have come to the end it turns out the end is just another beginning into all that lies beyond. God brings us into life—beyond what we feared, beyond what we imagined, beyond even death itself. Christ is alive! Alleluia!

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*Wesley, Frank, 1923-2002. Mary at the Tomb, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59189. Original source: Estate of Frank Wesley, http://www.frankwesleyart.com/main_page.htm.

God is our refuge and strength,
  a very present help in trouble.
 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved,
  and though the mountains shake in the depths of the sea;
  though its waters rage and foam,
  and though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
  the holy habitation of the Most High.
 God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be shaken;
  God shall help it at the break of day.
  The nations rage, and the kingdoms shake;
  God speaks, and the earth melts away.
  The Lord of hosts is with us;
  the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
 Come now, regard the works of the Lord,
  what desolations God has brought upon the earth;
  behold the one who makes war to cease in all the world;
  who breaks the bow, and shatters the spear, and burns the shields with fire.
 “Be still, then, and know that I am God;
  I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth.”
 The Lord of hosts is with us;
  the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
~ Psalm 46

We wait in silence between death and dawn, holding hope we cannot yet see.

If Lent has taught us anything it is trust. Trust that God is still at work in the dark and depth of grief. Trust that God’s promises come to life and that God’s imagination finds infinite possibilities in the face of impossibility. Trust that God meets us on the way and leads us toward life.

On this Holy Saturday we are called to keep vigil. We wait, we watch, we remember, we tell the story. The cries of ‘my God, my God, why have you forsaken me’ echo off the sharp edges of our broken pieces, until, after the long hours of waiting, the echo dies and in the silence the stillness begins to tell a different story.

Be still and know.

The tomb is real, death is here, but we wait and we watch, in stillness, for the rest of the story.

May the stillness of this Holy Saturday soften the hard edges of your fears and sorrows as together we wait and watch for the resurrection dawn.

If you would like to spend some time in stillness recounting God’s salvation and goodness, you are invited to read any of the Easter Vigil texts which trace the arc of salvation from creation to Christ:
Easter Vigil Scripture Readings

*Neuharth, Spencer. Sunset sets the sky ablaze at South Dakota's Waubay National Wildlife Refuge, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56414. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Waubay_NWR_Sunset_(9737733990).jpg.

And so we come to the cross.

As the story unfolds over the hours, we see time and again Christ’s surrender to what is unfolding before him. It is not a surrender he cherishes, rather, we find that his soul is troubled. But, it has become clear that the cross is the inevitable end to God’s intention to bring God’s kingdom. God’s kingdom simply crosses too many barriers, pushes too many boundaries, asks for too much trust and surrender in the name of love. (If you’d like a glimpse into how this might be, take a look at the 2026 Stations of the Cross compiled by the Guatemalan-Maya Center. The Stations reflect Christ’s suffering and pain through the eyes of immigrants today.)

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” the desperate cry of Christ in the midst of deep suffering. Good Friday shows us that even and especially here - in the midst of suffering - God has come. Love, into the deepest pain and sorrow. Love, an eternal presence, has entered completely into the human experience.

Christ’s surrender on Good Friday showed us - became for us - the way: trusting God in the deepest dark, even unto death. Christ crucified is God glorified, and the cross stands central to our faith not as defeat but as the very place love refuses to turn away. The cross required everything from Christ. Power is relinquished, control is released, love poured out completely.

At the end Christ does not grasp or cling, he surrenders in trust. “Into your hands I commend my Spirit.” In full surrender he has shown us the way, and become for the world the one to bear all suffering and sin.

It is here that we cry in the shadow of suffering and the darkness of death, “It is finished.”

Christ’s own surrender allowed him to take sin and suffering to the grave with him. How does his gift of carrying your sin and suffering free you to surrender in trust of God’s love poured out?

God of love,
walk with us through praise and pain,
through table and cross,
through silence and dawn.
Lead us through death into life,
for you are faithful on the way.
Amen.

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*Dottori, Gerardo, 1884-1977. Crucifixion, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58876. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/midnightglory/2308830348/.

Years of oppression and slavery have led to this moment. God has heard the people’s cry, and salvation is near. God’s people will be delivered and there is no time to lose. Lambs are prepared for slaughter, bitter herbs and unleavened bread adorn the table, and the blood of the lamb spread on the doorposts. In haste, prepared to run, Israel eats this nourishment for the journey out of Egypt into freedom. Yet this meal is not just nourishment, it is a meal that forms identity. This meal is salvation. This meal is God’s answer to years of suffering. This meal is shared practice, generation to generation, the story of God’s salvation handed down.

Jesus, with his friends and disciples, gathered for the Passover meal in Jerusalem the meal forming them over and over as God’s people. Christians, too, gather around the table, and hear the story of Christ’s body broken, blood shed, love outpoured. ‘Do this in remembrance of me,’ we are taught. But at this table it is neither simple memory nor nostalgia, it is bringing the past into the present. At the table where bread is broken, Christ’s body is broken again. We become the disciples not just as remembrance of Christ’s life, but in order to participate in it. At this table lines between past, present, and future are blurred and Christ’s self-giving love becomes our own story.

But in John’s gospel it is not just memory at the table. After supper Jesus got up from the table, removed his outer robe, “and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.” (John 13.4-5) It is not his body broken that is John’s concern, but his body bent, kneeling at the feet of the disciples.

In John’s meal, the Lord becomes servant and love becomes action. “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, slaves are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.  If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them…I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13.14-17, 34-35)

Communion continues from the table to the towel, from nourishment alone to sustenance for the road ahead. If at the table we are a people fed, and in remembering we are a people formed, it is in our loving that we become the people of God. Christ has called us to follow him. He, love incarnate, has shown us he is worthy of our trust and love. As disciples on our earthly journey we strive to live as Christ lived, to love as Christ loved, to give as Christ gave.

From the table to the towel and on to the cross is the journey we follow now. Christ calls you today: Come to the table, your empty hands ready to receive the greatest gift of love in bread and wine. Come, find nourishment for your soul that you may follow Christ and kneel at the feet of your neighbors, to bow in humble love and service to God’s beloved. Come, find sustenance for your journey, to rely on God’s love for the hardest-to-love neighbor, to rely on Christ’s faith for the hardest-to-hope days.

You do not journey alone. From the table to the cross it is Christ who feeds you, Christ whose love lives in you, Christ who meets you on the way to bring you to life.

How does the gift of communion, Christ’s body and blood, empower you to embody a life of love?

God of love,
walk with us through praise and pain,
through table and cross,
through silence and dawn.
Lead us through death into life,
for you are faithful on the way.
Amen.

Share

*Swanson, John August. Washing of the Feet, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58579. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.

Jesus was troubled in spirit and declared, “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. One of his disciples—the one whom Jesus loved—was reclining close to his heart; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, “Lord, who is it?” Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” ~ John 13.21-27

Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.
  Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary in your souls or lose heart. ~ Hebrews 12.1-3

Christ is steadfast to the end. Even with a troubled spirit he faithfully gathered with the disciples for this final supper. He knows what is to come: betrayal, suffering, death. And still he tells Judas, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” There is an inevitability to Christ’s demeanor, and as we will witness during tomorrow’s Gospel, even that does not stop his love.

The author of Hebrews uses Christ’s steadfast faith as a beacon to all of us. Christ, along with the cloud of witnesses, have run their race with perseverance. In the face of his own death he did not lose heart. Though his spirit was troubled, his soul did not grow weary.

How does Christ’s perseverance in the face of such suffering come to you as gift as you live a life of faithful perseverance?

God of love,
walk with us through praise and pain,
through table and cross,
through silence and dawn.
Lead us through death into life,
for you are faithful on the way.
Amen.

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*Bergner, Joel. Global Refugee Mural, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56930. Original source: Joel Bernger, https://joelartista.com/about/.

And now the Lord says,
  who formed me in the womb to be his servant,
 to bring Jacob back to him,
  and that Israel might be gathered to him,
 for I am honored in the sight of the Lord,
  and my God has become my strength—
  he says,
 “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant
  to raise up the tribes of Jacob
  and to restore the survivors of Israel;
 I will give you as a light to the nations,
  that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”
~ Isaiah 49.5-6

 [Jesus said] “whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say: ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
~ John 12.26-32

Christ is not just the Savior of God’s chosen people Israel, but of the nations, to the ends of the earth. His own life, given that he might draw all people to himself, is the beacon which calls disciples, ‘follow me.’ God’s glory given in the fullness of love poured out is for you, and we find it in the cross where the ruler of this world is driven out.

Christ promises that where he is, there his servant will be. How does that statement draw you into discipleship this week where we find Christ among the suffering?

God of love,
walk with us through praise and pain,
through table and cross,
through silence and dawn.
Lead us through death into life,
for you are faithful on the way.
Amen.

Share

*Wesley, Frank, 1923-2002. Altar of God, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59260. Original source: Estate of Frank Wesley, http://www.frankwesleyart.com/main_page.htm.

Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains;
your judgments are like the great deep;
you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.
How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
~ Psalm 36.5-7

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’s feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said,  “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)  Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.
~ John 12.1-11

The Psalmist used the word ‘precious’ to describe God’s steadfast love. In the John text we see an intimate gathering of Christ and his friends, anointing and washing, and preparing for what is to come. Perhaps it was a moment of refuge for Christ as Mary anointed his feet, and as they shared in a meal. Each of these events of the night might be something we would call ‘precious moments.’ How has God’s precious love held you? Looking back, in what moments of your life can you see God’s presence and love as a refuge?

God of love,
walk with us through praise and pain,
through table and cross,
through silence and dawn.
Lead us through death into life,
for you are faithful on the way.
Amen.

Share

*Pittman, Lauren Wright. Anointed, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57085. Original source: Lauren Wright Pittman, http://www.lewpstudio.com/.

The day begins with Jesus telling the disciples to go and get the donkey and colt for him to ride. It begins with the disciples taking off their cloaks for Christ to sit on, with others laying cloaks on the road, and still others up in the trees to cut palm branches.

The command begins easily on this day, a day when it is exciting and thrilling to follow Christ, coming into the city as if for a coronation. Yes, I will go fetch a donkey and take off my cloak. Yes, I will cut these branches in honor and praise of the new king. Yes, I will follow the crowds and get caught up in this moment of disruption against the oppressive empire.

And as the week unfolds, though the commands remain easy, the following gets tougher. Follow me, is easy when the crowds are cheering. Follow me is harder when the tables are overturned and the grumbling begins. Stay with me even harder when the soldiers near and the danger of the moment is lost on misunderstanding hearts.

To commit to a life of discipleship is to follow Christ in the way of the cross. This week we enter with Christ into his passion, in love and service, suffering, and sorrow, to hell and to life again. It is the journey into which we are baptized, and it is the journey we take every day as we die to self and rise to new life in Christ.

Like the disciples and the crowd may we follow Christ’s command, not only in praise, but in the way of the cross.

How will you follow Jesus—not only in praise, but in the way of the cross?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

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*This piece comes from Lithuania and dates to 1844.
Ruseckas, Kanutas. Girl with Palm Sunday Fronds, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56500. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lithuanian_Girl_with_Palm_Sunday_Fronds.jpeg.

Christ is Lord.

Coming into Holy Week we join the throngs whose praises echo through the millennia, “Hosanna!
Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’

God’s deliverance is at hand, God’s kingdom near, and our voices join the throng of those who have bent the knee and confessed that Christ is Lord.

To the millions upon millions of acts of kindness and love, our love joins the song.

Within the cries of sorrow and lament reaching through the centuries our own cries are woven as threads of humanity bound together in Christ.

To Christ the magi bent the knee to worship. At Christ’s feet Mary knelt to wash and anoint. The lepers prostrated, the woman reached for the hem of his cloak, and today we, too, kneel to confess, pray, receive Christ’s very body and blood.

As you take up your palm branch and join your own shouts of ‘Hosanna!’ you respond to God’s goodness with your own praise. Not only in the triumphant times of easy joy or peace, but as you continue to follow Christ from the city gates to the far off hill where grief, sorrow, and suffering reign.

And as you follow, though the palms of praise may turn to ash of ruin, even in the ash God continues to make all things new, for it is out of ash and dust that God creates. Confessing Christ is to follow him all the way to the grave, so that in him all might be reconciled and brought to new life.

Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

How are you entering Holy Week this year?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

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*Swanson, John August. Entry into the City, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56544. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.

The crowds had gathered, spread their cloaks and palms, shouted, “Hosanna!” Yet his entry was not universally welcome. The whole city was in turmoil, and not for the first time. At Jesus’ birth Jerusalem was afraid when the Magi came seeking the new king. Now, as the king returns the city is in turmoil.

Who is this?

Christ had been teaching, preaching and healing, everything he did revealing himself as the Messiah whom God sent as Savior. Why was it so hard to see? Precisely because the God we look for is not the God who is. Didn’t Christ come for rebellion and reestablishment of a throne? Wasn’t the Messiah the one who would form alliances with the rich and powerful, rebuild the temple, and accumulate wealth to rival that of King Solomon?

Yet this man, Jesus of Nazareth, is a homeless, wandering teacher whose company is the sick and unclean. He turns the other cheek, prays for his enemies, shares tables with sinners. Christ, eternal Son of God, prepared to suffer and die the death of a criminal rebel, all that humanity might never be alone, even in death. All so everything that is broken might be made whole, so sin and suffering never have the final say. All for you.

Who is this to you?

It is a question of discipleship and commitment. We have explored Christ’s identity the last weeks: in wilderness wanderings and risky questions, in honest-longing and clarity-seeking, in thresholds and at crossroads. Jesus, teacher, healer, Son of God, Messiah.

Where do you recognize Christ entering your life right now?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

Share

*Koenig, Peter. Palm Sunday, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58531. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.

The disparity seems to grow by the day. Glory in suffering, greatness in service, allegiance to God whose promise is not to make the way easy, but to never leave us as we walk it. God in human flesh, Spirit in breath, life in death. This Palm Sunday as Christ’s own journey nears an end, this disparity is on public display, and artist and theologian Lauren Wright Pittman offers this reflection:

“Jesus offers the crowd (us) a layered and complicated choice, one that is as complex as his own dualistic nature. The first option is self-denial, a heavy burden, and a lost—but saved—life. The second is gaining the whole world, but forfeiting life. It’s easy for a seasoned Christian to take this choice for granted. This choice that Jesus calls us into may even seem like a no brainer, but in this moment, Jesus teaches of the terrors that will befall him and invites the crowd to knowingly face that path alongside him. If we’re honest, it is extremely difficult to reject the tempting power and wealth this world has to offer and allow our life to take the shape of good news for all.

The choice isn’t an obvious one. One side looks like an opulent pile of riches, a crown, and endless power, while the other looks like tattered and worn hands with new life blooming out of wounds, work, burdens and relationships. This choice may seem like a distant decision made long ago, but it’s a decision to be made every single day, one moment at a time. In working for and with the downtrodden, poor, orphaned, widowed, ostracized, and oppressed, we will find ourselves.”

How have you found your life in emptying yourself to be filled with the love of Christ?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

Share

*Pittman, Lauren Wright. A Choice, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57082. Original source: Lauren Wright Pittman, http://www.lewpstudio.com/.

“Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

~ Matthew 21.6-9

Last week the residents of Boston celebrated the 250th anniversary of ‘Evacuation Day,’ the day when British troops and loyalists fled Boston after an 11-month siege, marking the first major victory for Washington and the Revolutionary Army (or the Rebel Army, depending on who you ask). While there were no canons or harbor in Jerusalem that week, there was a revolution starting. Or rebellion, depending on who you ask.

Jesus, who rode in on a donkey had openly declared that he was the Messiah, the Anointed - a title reserved for the emperor alone. The crowds who had been following, witnesses to Christ’s miraculous deeds and recipients of his teachings, laid their cloaks on the ground, called him king, and showed their allegiance - not to Rome, but to Christ. Calls for allegiance are loud these days, asking us to declare who it is that we worship and follow.

As baptized children of God, citizens with the saints, and heirs to the kingdom of God, our allegiance lies with Christ. Not with power and might, not with military tyranny or economic superiority. With Christ.

To claim Christ as king is a revolutionary statement. To follow Chrst is to set aside all other allegiances for the sake of following the One who meets you in wilderness and risk, in longing and at thresholds. To profess Christ crucified and risen is to cast off all other identities to embrace the one that unifies all people and creation: child of God.

How do you sense a pull for allegiance? How do you faithfully follow Christ in the noise?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

Share

*Morgner, Wilhelm, 1891-1917. Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=54247. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wilhelm_Morgner_001.jpg.

Again and again Jesus sets his kingdom at odds with the one in which the disciples lived. Greatness and tyranny were synonymous, power and oppression a mere fact of life. Given the world in which the disciples lived, it was no surprise then, that the mother of the sons of Zebedee asked for a place of greatness for her children. Those in power were safe, and her sons had given everything to follow Jesus. They were committed to his cause and intent on ushering in the kingdom of God alongside this Christ.

However, upon hearing their mothers’ request, Jesus asks James and John, “Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?”

Can we truly learn to love our enemies? Can we bide sitting at the table of grace with those who have hurt us and those we love? Do we trust enough to give up control of outcome in order to find the life God intends? Can we embody this new kingdom where the greatest is the servant of all?

So many questions in this life of faith, as we get nearer and nearer the cross.

Yet God’s love for you and all creation has committed Christ to this act of love and service: giving of himself to show you the way. His is the hand guiding you in service. His is the voice cheering you on as you become the disciple God intends. His are the arms wrapped around you as you serve, live, and love in God’s grace.

How do you sense God calling you to a life of service?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

Share

Jesus, Savior, Lord. This was the one who had come to save them!

Moses, in deeds of power and might, led the Israelites out of slavery. God delivered them from tyranny and provided new life.

Elijah, in works of wonder and awe, proved God’s sovereignty over other gods. God’s mighty hand protected and guided God’s people.

Of course Jesus would do this - and more! He had already healed the blind, fed the hungry, spoken out against injustice, and even raised the dead to life again. Think of the victory they would taste when they came to Jerusalem again, to unseat the powerful and deliver God’s people once again.

Jesus has been clear about his mission and this third foretelling of Christ’s suffering in Matthew’s gospel lays it out plainly. Yet despite all the disciples heard, they still couldn’t fathom. Couldn’t know. Couldn’t understand.

“If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 16.24-25)

If we have learned anything these last weeks, it is that the life of discipleship has proven to be one of uncertainty and risk, of questions and longing, wilderness and wandering. And, the life of discipleship is one of deep joy, of meeting God in unexpected and holy places, of despair transformed to hope and death vanquished.

As the season takes a turn toward Jerusalem, I invite you to ponder how discipleship calls you to faith, trust, and commitment to the God who is always committed to you.

What does it mean to follow Christ when the road ahead is difficult?

God of the journey,
When the way is uncertain, give us courage.
When the cost is great, deepen our trust.
Turn our praise into faithful following,
and lead us in the way of love.
Amen.

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God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

There is a moment—just before everything changes—when you are no longer where you were, but not yet where you are going.

A threshold.

Lazarus stands there, though he does not yet know it.
Still wrapped in graveclothes.
Still surrounded by the scent of death.
Still held by what has been.

And then Jesus cries out:

“Lazarus, come out!”

It is not a suggestion.
It is not a question.
It is a call.

A call out of death.
A call out of what has held him.
A call into life he cannot yet see or understand.

This is what God does at thresholds.

God does not wait for you to be ready.
God does not wait for certainty.
God calls you out—while you are still wrapped in what was.

And somehow, impossibly, Lazarus moves.

Step by step, he crosses the threshold.

Not fully free.
Not fully unbound.
But alive.

Because resurrection does not begin when everything is resolved.
It begins the moment you respond to the voice of Christ.

And even then, you do not walk alone.

“Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus says.

The community gathers.
The wrappings fall away.
Life begins again.

You stand at thresholds like this more often than you realize.

Moments when something old has ended.
Moments when something new has not yet begun.
Moments when all you have is a voice calling your name.

Come out.

Come out of fear.
Come out of grief.
Come out of what has held you too long.

You may not see what lies ahead.

But the one who calls you is already there.

The Psalmist stands at the threshold of time, waiting with hope for the Lord’s steadfast love through a night of despair. It is a night of vigil, much like the nights of waiting when Mary and Martha sat in their grief. Like the ancestors of the dry bones, mourning for all that was lost. Like any of us today, who look with horror and wonder how long the night will last. Out of the depths we cry to you, O Lord.

At the threshold of time we stand and wait, watching for the morning light when God’s steadfast love makes all things new. In the space between God’s breaths, redemption comes.

How do you live faithfully when God seems to delay?

God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

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*Saint-Gaudens, Augustus, 1848-1907. Adams Memorial, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56583 . Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Smithsonian-Saint-Gaudens-Adams_Memorial-2264.jpg.

I remember being asked as a young person, “What would you do to follow Jesus? What would you face in order to give witness that Jesus is Lord?” Of course for a young middle school student hearing stories of Bible translators facing death in far off and exotic places, it sounded exciting and my shouts joined those of my friends and classmates, “We will follow!”

In adulthood these cheers for martyrdom and risking life at all costs to share about Jesus and his grace sits differently. I think about those who put their lives in danger for the sake of Jesus: the brave neighbors giving of their own resources to care for those sought by ICE. I think of so many witnesses before us whose outspoken faith in God and conviction of human rights cost them so much. I think of the thousands, tiny actions of the ordinary faithful that cost them something. And though Thomas and the disciples falter in their following, though we today tip-toe and side-step the way, the threshold to action beckons to us all.

Love for Lazarus, Mary, and Martha beckoned Jesus back to Judea. Love for humanity and God’s beloved children called to him in the midst of danger, and love for Christ called to Thomas. Each day disciples approach the threshold of action. Love calls to you, beckoning you to follow Christ into courageous action for the sake of the world he so loves.

What love calls you forward, even toward uncertainty?

God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

Share

*Rhodes, Beth. Straw - Malala Yousafzai, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57127. Original source: Beth Rhodes, https://www.bethmade.com/.

We are moving backwards in the story of Lazarus, getting a peek into Mary and Jesus’ conversation before she invites him to the tomb. Having heard Jesus’ promise that he is the resurrection and the life, Mary stands at the threshold of faith as Jesus asks her, “Do you believe?”

This becomes the daily question of faith. Do you believe?

Troops and civilians killed in the war. More money squandered on the military industrial complex. Do you believe?

Families without access to proper nutrition and healthcare. Do you believe?

Neighbors turning on neighbors,
brothers falling ill and dying,
personal hardship and challenges.

Do you believe?

In the space between the question and the answer you find yourself on the threshold of faith. Do you trust the promise before the proof? Standing at this threshold feels like the culmination of all that has come before: of hearing God’s words of grace and love, of standing in risk, preparing to take that next step, of naming your longing and hearing again the words of life. I am the resurrection and the life, do you believe?

Before Lazarus was raised, before Jesus wept, before Mary saw life again, she boldly stepped into faith.

I believe.

Resurrection hope hinges on these two, little words. Though my eyes show me suffering and death, Lord, I believe. Though all is not yet as it should be, Lord, I believe. In the grace of God you are invited into the threshold of faith each and every day. God’s grace washes over you, again and again proclaiming the promise, Jesus is the life, and his life is for you.

Lord, I believe.

What does resurrection hope sound like in your own words?

God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

Share

*Messiah, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57321. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/thomashawk/4834469760/ - Thomas Hawk.

The valley is quiet. Bones stretch in every direction—bleached by sun, scattered by time. The prophet has seen the devastation. God has already asked the impossible question:

Can these bones live?

Now comes the promise.

“I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”

Not strategy.
Not power.
Not human effort.

Breath.

The breath of God is the beginning of life. The Spirit, God’s breath, hovered over the waters, at creation, bringing to heel the chaos of the deep. In the garden, God breathes into dust and a human being rises. In the valley, God promises to breathe again into what has long been lifeless.

Where we see only endings, God prepares beginnings.

You cannot see breath, you only notice its work. The fog on a window in the cold of a blizzard, as you look to see the snow. The stirring of leaves in the springtime breeze, promise of new life rustling branch and bough. The movement of God’s people, stirred and sent to witness to God’s grace and love, serving neighbors and welcoming strangers. The conception of a new dream, dared to be spoken aloud where silence once ruled. The rise of a chest, the quiet miracle of life returning from ash and dust. This is the work of breath—quiet, unseen, bringing life where none seemed possible.

Standing at the threshold of hope, the bones yet lie motionless, the bodies still signs of lost hopes. But the promise is already spoken: God’s Spirit will breathe new life.

Where do you need God’s Spirit to breathe life again?

God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

Share

*Cranach, Lucas, 1472-1553. You Shall Live, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57313 . Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lutherbibel_1534_Hesekiel_37.jpg.

Come and see.

This invitation is common in John’s gospel, and each invitation represents a threshold. Jesus invites the disciples to come and see where he is staying, an invitation to follow and remain with him. The woman at the well invites her community to come and see the man who told her everything, an invitation into the journey of seeking the Messiah. And today, Jesus is the one invited, come and see where Lazarus is laid, an invitation into the depth of grief.

Each invitation represents a threshold into faith, and these invitations reveal that faith is not always clean or easy, happy or excited. In the story of Lazarus, his sisters Mary and Martha invite Jesus to stand with them at the threshold of grief. Standing together in their sorrow they name their loss and express their frustration and anger that Jesus didn’t come to them. Lazarus, their beloved brother, is dead.

Jesus does not rush them past their sorrow, he does not chide them for their grief. Jesus meets them at the threshold of grief and shares in their tears.

Faith fully embraces each and every threshold in life. Faith invites naming loss, blaming God, anger that God’s power couldn’t have prevented what is now pain and grief. In Christ, God enters fully into your grief, weeping with you, standing with you at the threshold, looking into the depth of death. It is here, precisely at the threshold, that God’s grace meets you and carries your sorrow from death into life.

What losses need to be named and honored before new life can emerge?

God of life,
when we stand between fear and hope, meet us with your promise.
Breathe your Spirit into what feels dry and lifeless,
and lead us toward new life.
Amen.

Share

*Le Breton, Jacques ; Gaudin, Jean. Mary Kneels Weeping before Christ with Martha, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=29384. Original source: image donated by Jim Womack and Anne Richardson.