This year, we’re le.ng the Gospel of Luke guide us through Lent. Beginning with Jesus se.ng his face toward Jerusalem (Luke 9:51), this devoFonal flows through several familiar stories the Good Samaritan, Mary and Martha, the fruitless fig tree, the Lost Sheep, Zacchaeus, and more. Many of these stories are well-known in both sacred and secular imaginaFon, carrying cultural relevance and lore. For example, have you ever idenFfied yourself as either a “Mary” or a “Martha?” The “Good Samaritan” Ftle alone could reference a hospital, a charitable organizaFon, a type of law, or a good deed. Perhaps you grew up singing “Zacchaeus was a wee liVle man” in Sunday School. So many of these scriptures hold significance in pop culture, church history, poliFcs, and everything in between.
As we studied these scriptures, we were struck by how Jesus’ ministry disrupted the established social, poliFcal, and religious divides of his Fme. Jesus intenFonally pointed out cultural and poliFcal extremes to emphasize the radical, inclusive, and surprising love of God. When we study these stories in their historical and cultural context, we see how they mirror the divisions many of us experience in our families, churches, and communiFes today.
Our theme, “Everything In Between,” invites us to navigate the polariFes in our lives with more faith, intenFon, and openness to be transformed. You will see that each weekly sub-theme explores two supposed binaries, like “faith & works” or “rest & growth,” or “grief & hope.” We o^en consider these ideas to be opposing. However, as we explore these concepts within the scriptures, we find nuance and complexity. We find that these dichotomies are false. We might begin to see a full spectrum instead of black and white. We might find that God is present in between.
And so, this season, we invite you to look beyond black and white binaries and easy answers. We encourage you to engage in the weekly art and reflecFons at your own pace, imagining where God might be meeFng us beyond the categories we create. This Lent, we're trusFng that God shows up in shades of gray, rainbow hues, and everywhere in between.
Araully yours,
The SancFfied Art CreaFve Team
Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed
Hannah Garrity
Rev. Lauren Wright PiVman
Rev. Anna Strickland
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About the SA creative team
Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Founder | Crea*ve Director of SA
Lisle Gwynn Garrity (she/her) is a Pastorist (pastor + ar6st) and crea6ve entrepreneur seeking to fill the church with more color, paint, mystery, and crea6vity. She founded A Sanc6fied Art with the convic6on that, in order to thrive, the church needs more crea6ve expression and art-filled freedom.
Rev. Lauren Wright Pi6man
Director of Branding | Founding Crea*ve Partner of SA
Lauren (she/her) is an ar6st, graphic designer, and theologian. She uses paint, metallic inks, and Apple pencil to image the layered complexity she experiences in scripture texts. As the Director of Branding, she visually packages, designs, and formats all of the Sanc6fied Art materials.
Hannah Garrity
Founding Crea*ve Partner of SA
Hannah (she/her) is an ar6st and an athlete, a daughter and a mother, a facilitator and a producer, a leader and a teammate. She is the Director of Chris6an Faith, Life, and Arts at Second Presbyterian Church in Richmond, VA, an art in worship workshop leader wherever she is called, and a liturgical installa6on ar6st at the Montreat Conference Center, Montreat, NC.
Rev. Sarah A. Speed
Founding Crea*ve Partner of SA
Sarah (Are) Speed (she/her) is the Head of Staff/Senior Pastor at Second Presbyterian Church of Kansas City, MO. Sarah feels called to welcome people into the church by using her energy and passion for beau6fully scripted words, raw and relevant liturgy, and hands-on worship experiences to engage our longing for God and the need for jus6ce in this messy world.
Rev. Anna Strickland
Crea*ve Partner | Opera*ons Support
Anna Strickland (she/her) looks for the Divine in the everyday like treasure in clay jars and first encountered God in the integra6on of her spiritual self and ar6s6c self. She is a former teacher and college minister, a proud Texas Longhorn and graduate of Iliff School of Theology, a Bap6st to the core ministering in ecumenical spaces, and a lover of chaos anchored by the belief that the Spirit is most ac6ve in the spaces between us.
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About our guest contributors
Guest Writers
Guest Ar+st
Rev. Jeff Chu Jeff Chu (he/him) is an award-winning journalist, author, preacher, and teacher. He serves as an editor-at-large at Travel+Leisure, teacher in residence at Crosspointe Church in North Carolina, and Parish Associate for Storytelling and Witness at the First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley in California. He is also the co-author, with the late Rachel Held Evans, of the New York Times bestseller Wholehearted Faith (2021). byjeffchu.com | @byjeffchu
Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp
Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp (she/her) is Associate Professor of Prac6cal Theology and Pastoral Care at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia. Mindy is the author of Misunderstanding Stories: A Postcolonial Pastoral Theology (2013), CreaAng Resistances: Pastoral Care in a Postcolonial World (2019), as well as book chapters on intercultural and decolonial spiritual care including “Phoenix Poetry in a Flammable World” (2020) and “Literacies of Listening” (2016).
Steve Prince
Steve Prince (he/him) is a na6ve of New Orleans, LA, and currently resides in Williamsburg, VA. He received his BFA from Xavier University of Louisiana and his MFA in Printmaking and Sculpture from Michigan State University. He is the Director of Engagement and Dis6nguished Ar6st in Residence at the Muscarelle Museum of Art at William and Mary University. He has created several public and private commissions na6onally and he has received numerous honors for his art and scholarship. Prince has shown his art interna6onally in various solo, group, and juried exhibi6ons. steveprincestudio.com
Photography by: M.
Reflec%on & prayer
Throughout this devo6onal, we invite you to explore the following polari6es in the scripture readings, art, poems, hymns, and commentary. At the beginning of each week, return to this page to discern where you might place yourself on the weekly spectrum of values. Maybe you feel strongly aligned with one end or the other, or you’re somewhere in between. Consider how your loca6on on the spectrum reflects where you are in your faith journey. Is God calling you to move in a par6cular direc6on? As you journey through the week, or through the season, does your loca6on change? When you are finished discerning, mark your loca6on with a pen or pencil and write a short prayer of supplica6on, asking God to grant you what you need as you journey ahead. Use this as a tool for journaling or group conversa6on.
inten%on & ac%on
Both, Please
It’s one thing to speak of love. It’s another to hold a newborn in your arms, to sing someone to sleep, to lean down and listen for their breathing.
It’s one thing to speak of faith. It’s another to press your forehead to the floor, to cry out in prayer, to ask the hard ques>ons and s>ll thank God for the meal.
It’s one thing to speak of the Divine. It’s another to walk under a tunnel of wisteria, to stand barefoot at the edge of the sea, to hear the birds sing as the sun returns and whisper, Thank you, thank you, thank you.
It’s one thing and another, so I pray, Give me both, please. Show me both, please.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
inten%on & ac%on
Read Luke 9:51-62
Commentary | Rev. David Haun
I remember a road trip I once took with a friend, we packed our bags so quickly and jumped into the car, certain we had forgoien something crucial our toothbrushes, maybe, or the chargers for our phones. He said he knew the way and we didn't even check our GPS before leaving. S6ll, there was no 6me to dwell on it and no 6me to look; the engine was running, and we were on our way. In many ways, Lent can feel like that an urgent, holy journey where we might not feel fully prepared, yet the call to go forward is unmistakable.
In Luke 9:51-62, we see Jesus seong his face toward Jerusalem, with a determined urgency. Along the way, he meets poten6al followers who have plenty of reasons to postpone their commitment: “Let me bury my father first,” says one. Another wants to say goodbye to family at home. But Jesus’ response is startling he urges them to go without delay. It’s as if he is saying, there is a sacred road ahead, and there’s no 6me like now.
This passage can challenge our ins6ncts. Our culture open tells us that readiness is everything that we need to perfect our skills, gather enough resources, make a thorough, detailed plan, and only then act. But the kingdom of God operates on a different clock. Some6mes the call arrives precisely when life is messy when rela6onships feel strained, when tasks are unaccomplished, when grief or disappointment lingers. That may be the moment Jesus says, Follow me.
Perhaps we cling to the idea of being “perfectly ready” because it feels safe. We want our hearts to be seiled, our ques6ons answered, our baggage neatly tucked away. But Jesus shows us that the path of discipleship is not a maier of having it all figured out. Instead, it’s a step into trust—a willingness to walk forward even when we suspect we’ve forgoien something vital back home.
During Lent, we might feel the desire to press pause on spiritual commitments un6l we’re “sorted out” un6l we’ve read the right books, prayed the right prayers, or resolved the anxie6es in our hearts. But Luke’s story reminds us that the road to Jerusalem isn’t paved in wai6ng. It’s lined with urgency, with messy human reali6es, and with the unwavering invita6on of Jesus to walk forward in hope.
So how do we respond? We begin by acknowledging that our hesita6on is real. We might not feel prepared for the roads ahead, especially if they run through valleys of grief or over mountains of uncertainty. S6ll, we take the next step, trus6ng that God’s presence meets us in the stumbling and striving.
Lent is our invita6on to step onto the road maybe clumsily, maybe fearfully, but wholeheartedly. If Jesus is nudging you onward, take a deep breath and go. Trust that you haven’t truly forgoien anything you need. God’s grace will supply the rest.
inten%on & ac%on
Read Luke 9:51-62
Commentary
| Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp
Lent calls us to step forward, even when we’re not fully ready Are you ready to move toward transformaFon? Are you ready to listen for good news in seemingly impossible spaces, even as a divided people and planet? Ready to set Lenten intenFons, even with this year’s challenges? Ready, even with some good reasons to wait a liVle longer to begin?
Ge.ng ready shi^s intended journeys to acFve pracFces of packing, strengthtraining, and starFng farewells. The disciples had already asked about iFneraries: Where will we sleep? What will we eat? Whom should we trust or fear along the way? They raise concerns about rejecFon and prepare to retaliate.
Regarding readiness, the more I research listening, the more I rethink it. It’s tempFng to consider listening a skill set: don’t cross your arms, make eye contact, be curious, avoid intercultural offenses. Learn the skills, then you’re ready to go.
If mastering skills precedes listening well, how long will that take? Is it possible to be completely ready? How are we supposed to listen for good news in the absolute worst, most inconvenient Fmes?
But zoom out to communal readiness: acFvaFng intenFons to change while the fresh death of old, harmful yet beloved ways of life hasn't even begun to be collecFvely buried and grieved. In this scripture, I don’t hear Luke denying the grief work that keeps ge.ng bumped off our to-do lists that are uVerly overwhelming. I hear: How long will this humanity ask for extensions? How long will we say, “Hold up, I’m almost ready.”
When important preparaFon remains undone and fresh deaths remain ungrieved, the Fme to move is today. What if listening is a pracFce on the move, a learning as we go, a birth crowning at the gravesides of yesterday? This is the day. Lent is here. Are you ready?
Reflect
As Lent begins, how will you align your intenFons with your acFons?
Toward Jerusalem | Rev. Lauren Wright Pi:man
Digital pain*ng
inten%on & ac%on
Read Luke 9:51-62
Ar6st statement |
Rev. Lauren Wright PiCman
The relaFonship between the Jews and Samaritans at the Fme of Jesus’ ministry was defined by centuries of poliFcal upheaval resulFng in foundaFonal cultural and religious differences. Instead of centering Jerusalem as their religious and cultural hub, Samaritans built their temple on Mount Gerizim.1 I think that Jesus’ unwavering focus on Jerusalem was a non-starter for the Samaritans. Perhaps feeling disrespected or even judged, the Samaritans were unable to receive Jesus. Their intenFon to remain faithful to their religious tradiFons made it difficult for them to embrace Jesus’ message.
When James and John saw the Samaritans reject Jesus, they were enraged. It is certainly not difficult for me to imagine being triggered by people with different worldviews, as I find myself similarly dealing with lots of anger that is difficult to process. In their fury, James and John seek to call down a consuming fire from heaven upon the Samaritans, an acFon anFtheFcal to their intenFon as disciples to follow the way of Jesus.
Jesus is central to this image, urgent in his stride, with his eyes set on Jerusalem at the horizon line. His clothing is paVerned with doves and olive branches as he faces the city of peace. Behind him, James points accusingly at the Samaritans while John tugs on Jesus' garment. Their clothing holds paVerns of fire raining down from heaven. In front of Jesus, a group of Samaritans are altogether unrecepFve. Their clothing is paVerned with Samaritan disFncFons like mountains represenFng Mount Gerizim, and scrolls, stone tablets, and shapes in sets of five to reference the Pentateuch as their holy scripture.2
What might trigger you toward unproducFve rage or to resist the work God is doing in the world? How can we be resolute in our calling, like Jesus, despite distracFons and adversity? What would it look like to align your acFons with your intenFons?
1 For historical context on and discussion of the Samaritans (Strong’s G454), please visit: bluele@erbible. org/lexicon/g4541/esv/mgnt/0-1/
2 Ibid.
everything between stranger & neighbor
Never Met a Stranger
When we talk about God, we say she’s never met a stranger.
She makes friends at the airport.
She waves to babies in the check-out line.
When we talk about God, we say she’ll leave the porch light on.
She’ll have warm bread in the oven.
She’ll have all the >me in the world.
When we talk about God, we say she’ll look you in the eye.
She’ll love you as you are.
She’ll call you by your name.
When we talk about God, we never have to talk about which side of the road she might walk down. Wherever you are, that’s where she’ll be.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
THE FIRST WEEK IN LENT everything between stranger & neighbor
I Saw a Stranger
stranger & neighbor
Read Luke 10:25-37
Commentary | Rev. Dr. Jeanne Anderson
We stood in the family cemetery on the side of the mountain, hanging onto the sloping ground with one foot higher than the other. I hadn’t been there since my early 20s when my grandfather passed, and this Fme, we were there for my cousin, Mikey. He’d died as a grown man in his 30s, but he’d always be Mikey, age 10, to me.
Along with his sister, Vicky, Mikey made childhood stays with my grandparents truly magical. My brother and I would run through the woods with their dogs, build forts out of what we could find, and be wilder and freer than we ever could be in the liVle downtown area where we lived. For a tomboy who loved the outdoors, these visits were some of the best Fmes of my life.
Now, here we were adding another memory. Family, nearby neighbors of my grandparents, and strangers, too, gathered around my Aunt Mary. We cousins were introduced. Stories of love for others started flowing. “Your grandmother always baked and sent something to us when we were sick as kids. We told her we were sick a lot!” “Your grandfather always carried candy in his pockets for us.” “They helped us when we were hungry.” A coal miner and a homemaker, my grandparents shared what they had and then some, even money every month with the wife and children of a miner friend who had died.
In a difficult part of our family journey, love from long ago found us in the form of neighbors and strangers. Love was on the road with us to pick us up and comfort us, reminding us that death didn’t have to be the end of our stories. Mikey was not gone; he was taken up into the generaFons who loved, were loved, and sFll lived on because of love.
The good Samaritan is remembered not because of his bloodline but because of his “love-line.” As he journeyed, he acted with love the love of God who sees, hears, and responds to flourish the life of the world. Love is what remains.
stranger & neighbor
Read Luke 10:25-37
Commentary | Rev. Jeff Chu
To love is what it takes to truly live
In his last speech before being assassinated, the Rev. Dr. MarFn Luther King, Jr. spoke about the story of the Good Samaritan.3
King had visited the Jericho Road in 1959. He saw its twists and felt its turns as it wound through the hills and sank into a valley outside Jerusalem. Along the way were so many potenFal hiding places for robbers to lie in wait, ready to ambush weary travelers. “I’m going to tell you what my imaginaFon tells me” about the priest and the Levite, he said. “It’s possible those men were afraid.” Perhaps, he suggested, they fearfully asked themselves, “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’”
The Good Samaritan, King said, “reversed the quesFon: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’” Then he urged his listeners to imagine themselves on contemporary Jericho Roads. Could they would they ask that same quesFon when they saw others struggling?
King’s speech offered a master class in wrestling with complexity. He empathized with the Levite and the priest how uVerly human to be fearful on the Jericho Road! He also praised the Samaritan’s “dangerous unselfishness.”
Another layer to King’s complexity: Privately, he had misgivings about the story. “I of course like and respect the Good Samaritan, but I don’t want to be a Good Samaritan,” King told a friend. “I am Fred of seeing people baVered and bruised and bloody. . . . I want to pave the Jericho Road, add streetlights to the Jericho Road, make the Jericho Road safe for passage by everybody.”4
King’s reading rebukes Fdy delineaFons between us and them— and I’m going to tell you what my imaginaFon told me when I pondered it: We’re all fellow travelers. Some might be more neighborly than others. But there are no strangers in this story.
Vulnerability appears in manifold ways in one short passage: The Samaritan’s risky mercy. The humanity of the priest and the Levite. Also, the innkeeper’s trust; he takes a small down payment, believing the promise of more. There’s the boldness of the legal expert too; he insFgates this whole thing by asking a tesFng
quesFon and it’s quintessenFally Jesus to meet even the selfrighteous by staying in conversaFon.
Candor invites us to see ourselves in each of these characters. Some days, I covet vindicaFon of my own goodness. Other days, I have only enough courage to scuVle down the road, afraid of what might lurk in the shadows. On my beVer days, I’ll meet others in good faith, believing their promises. On my best days, I’ll encounter the world mercifully, staying tenderhearted enough to be “moved with compassion,” even on roads that fill others with fear.
I suspect Jesus recognizes all these aspects of what it means to be human. I imagine, too, that he extends us the same grace he offered the legal expert, remaining ever-paFent and always eager to remind us: To love is what it takes to truly live.
Reflect
Consider each character with compassion. Do you see yourself in any of them?
3 An annotated transcript of King’s final speech can be found here: nyKmes.com/interacKve/2018/04/02/ us/king-mlk-last-sermon-annotated.html 4Author John Hope Bryant recounts this conversaKon between Rev. Dr. MLK, Jr. and ambassador Andrew Young in his arKcle, "Fixing the Jericho Road, published on HuffPost, May 25, 2011. huffpost. com/entry/fixing-the-jericho-road_b_422612
Neighbors | Steve Prince Pen and ink on paper
stranger & neighbor
Read Luke 10:25-37
Ar6st Statement | Steve Prince
Each individual carries generaFons within them, made up of billions of people who have occupied this earth before us. We have an individual and collecFve responsibility to be good stewards (Good Samaritans) of our bodies, neighbors, and communiFes, rooted in love. Every day we make a dance of life and death celebraFng the entrance and exit of life, the progression of age and maturity, and the expansion of our tent, gra^ing to people who share our blood and our beliefs. We are the structures, those temporal buildings that weather the storms, that creak and wither away daily, but are forFfied by our relaFonships to each other and with the sharing of the good news planted by the Heavenly Father. This dance is an open profession of our vow to live by God’s commandments and find a way to collecFvely preserve the truth of our origin while moving as one communal body into an untouched future.
Prompts for contemplaFon
• Observe the figures’ posture and movement. Do you see connecFon, conflict, or both? How does this reflect your own relaFonships?
• Focus on the textures and shading. What story might these elements tell about resilience or fragility?
• Pay aVenFon to the empty spaces around the figures. What do these spaces evoke for you?
• Imagine yourself as part of this scene. What role would you play in this dance of connecFon, tension, and movement?
stranger & neighbor
Commentary | Marsha Stewart
Who is a stranger, who is our neighbor, who is our friend? What defines these groups and how do we interact with each of these groups of people? I have been known to come home from standing in line at the grocery store or some other place where people gather with a life story from someone standing around me. I know my husband finds this a liVle odd to say the least. Does this consFtute a friendship? Is this person sFll a stranger at the end of the day? How did my interacFon with them change their life or mine? I want to be someone who makes a difference in the lives of those around me. I want to be more like the good Samaritan and step out into the unknown to help those who are in need. Unfortunately, fear o^en stops our efforts to be more like Jesus. Are we afraid of ge.ng hurt, ge.ng dirty, ge.ng too close? How do we create ourselves in God’s image to bravely be someone who is willing to be the face of Christ in our community and our world?
Wildfire
I can picture it—salty sweat, accumula*ng in her bangs. The scent of toasted sesame seeds, crushed oregano, sumac, and cumin. Flour on her hands, pain*ng streaks of white in her hair when she *es it back. The sweet date she samples—the way it stretches and clings to the back of her teeth, leaving the taste of honey in her mouth.
I can picture Martha in that kitchen, pla*ng meals, eager to see their eyes close. Their heads nod. To hear the swell of approval that rises from their lips. And I can picture her sister. Brows scrunched. Fingers fidge*ng, wishing for a pen, for paper, for a way to write it down. I can see her mouth part like a fish in the air, ques*ons forming and reforming on her curious lips. I can see her lean in, knees tucked, eyes bright. I can see her imagining the world he dreamed of.
And I can picture how, for genera*ons, this story of two brazen women in scripture, a story of two women so close to Jesus, may have felt like an untamed wildfire. I can picture the way we put these women in boxes. I can imagine how people saw their full hearts, their untamed energy, and decided to label that as good and bad, beMer and worse. I can imagine how Martha’s ques*ons were interpreted as nagging, or the interrup*on interpreted as needy.
I can picture how it happened, but what if it was all more beau*ful than that? What if these sisters discovered a ministry of cooking? What if they discovered the faithfulness of learning, the kind of friendship that allows you to ask ques*ons, or something in between?
I can imagine it. Can you?
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
THE SECOND WEEK IN LENT everything between faith & works
Ministry and Presence
EIN FESTE BURG
(“A Mighty Fortress is Our God”)
Commentary |Rev. Dr. Chris Ryder
Worried.
Distracted.
How o^en do these words describe our state of being? We worry about things that we need to do, or things that we haven’t done. We worry about world problems that we feel we can do nothing about. We are distracted by the acFons of others, by social media or by the news of the world. We are even distracted by our own worrying, and worried about our own distracFons!
The story of Mary and Martha is familiar to most of us, and all of us have likely at some point found that we related to one sister or the other. While Jesus’ response to Martha may seem like scolding, it seems to make more sense, at least to me, that they can also be interpreted as comforFng. Perhaps Jesus is making sure Martha understands that her work is important, but Mary’s choices are important as well. Perhaps what Jesus means is: “To each their own,” or “you do you.”
In her reflecFon on Mary and Martha, Rev. Julie Long admits that she idenFfies more with Martha, whose acFons are o^en interpreted to be the wrong ones. Rev. Long notes, however, that it is Martha’s hospitality and Freless work that makes Mary’s focused Fme with Jesus possible in the first place. Jesus was encouraging Martha to conFnue her good work, but to steer clear of the anxiety about the contribuFons of others and the expectaFons of society. Jesus is, as we know, a rule breaker. “Perhaps Jesus was empowering Martha the break the rules and follow Jesus’ example.”*
In this story, Jesus reminds all of us to consider the rules that we follow. Do we let the expectaFons of others or the convenFons of society define our acFons and moFvaFons, or do we defy those rules when necessary to love as Jesus loves, offering that love to everyone, regardless of their social status, their gender, or even their life choices? Jesus accepts the devoFon of both Mary and Martha, and so should we.
Despite our best efforts, we will sFll at Fmes be worried and distracted. In this familiar story, Jesus encourages all of us to leave our own worry and distracFon behind and to focus our aVenFon and acFons on loving God and one other.
“Are you a Mary or a Martha?” is the wrong quesFon
Are you a Martha or a Mary? This familiar quesFon reminds me of two former bosses. The first valued photographable work: build something tangible, make something quickly, sell something profitably. Don’t just stand there, do something!
The second valued relaFonal depth and learning across differences: linger with people, let it disrupt other tasks, for this is the work. Don’t just do something, sit there!
The first go-geVer had poraolios of success, but lacked depth and mutuality. The second sit-with-er had stories, but no material buildings to show for it. Which is beVer?
At first glance, this text forces an either/or, especially when we read Jesus’ words with dripping condescension in translaFons that choose “the beVer part”5 to describe Mary’s acFons (Luke 10:42). Should we be a workhorse or build relaFonships? Surely, no one has Fme to always do both well.
Recall what happens in Luke just before. When asked about what a disciple has to do, Jesus’ Good Samaritan story screams, “Don’t just stand there (or pass by), do something!” Receiving Martha’s frustrated quesFon about unshared labor (where theological educaFon was being counter-culturally offered to a woman), Jesus appears to scold, “Don’t just do something, stand (or sit) there!”6
This could lead to a simple discernment one choice beVer, one worse: choose beVer. But, when we read the Good Samaritan alongside this text, we see that Jesus blesses both: do something and sit there.
Further, Mary and Martha are sisters. They’re related. My second boss was right about working hard for right relaFonship. My first boss was onto something too: what are you making together?
Rather than showing, which is beVer, my back-to-back bosses raise deep quesFons about producFvity and relaFonality. “Are you a Mary or a Martha?” is the wrong quesFon.
What might it look like to shi^ our imaginaFon from the evertempFng mode of sibling rivalry aiming to outdo each other, a tendency found in sacred texts and in contemporary families, cultures, and countries? What might a faith/works, works/faith healthy sibling relaFonship look like? What pracFces and habits would that require?
Decades a^er two very different bosses, I sFll have quesFons. What kind of relaFonships do the works we produce, photograph, and celebrate reflect? Is there shared labor and fair compensaFon? Does everyone get enough Fme and space to rest, reflect, and learn? Is theological educaFon accessible to everyone across genders, sexualiFes, races, naFonaliFes, abiliFes, ages, and every other difference? How would we know?
What new work could we create together with the benefit of si.ng with each other, listening and learning each other’s stories? Don’t just work, reflect on what your faith requires: sit and listen. Don’t just rest in faith, put it to work: respond through just relaFonal networks. Repeat.
Reflect
In your own life, how are you valuing both producFvity and relaFonships, acFve faith and faithful works?
5 A more literal translaKon of the Greek might be: “Mary has chosen the good porKon.”
6 “Don’t just do something, stand there!” is also a foundaKonal saying in family systems theory.
Mary & Martha | Lauren Wright Pi:man
Digital pain*ng
Read Luke 10:38-42
Ar6st statement | Lauren Wright PiCman
Growing up, I felt I had to decide whether I was a Mary or a Martha. I never idenFfied with Martha because the culturally-prescribed roles of a woman were my weakness, and I didn’t idenFfy with Mary either because she seemed more earnest than I felt.
Diving into the Greek of this text helped me work through my very wellworn opinions to find some nuance. Martha’s work was not limited to cooking and cleaning; the Greek word used for her many tasks is διακονία which also means “service, ministering, and promoFng religion.”7 With this layered meaning in mind, it is clear to me that Jesus’ response is not about Martha’s ministry, but her preoccupaFon with Mary.
I think the most pivotal shi^ in translaFon is found in v. 42 where it is o^en translated, “Mary has chosen the beVer part.” When you look at the Greek, however, it can also be translated as, “a good porFon” or “a useful share.”8 In light of this, I believe Jesus is not offering a value judgment between them, but assuaging Martha’s worry by affirming that Mary is doing a good porFon of the work too.
Mary sits at the feet of Jesus, a place that was reserved for men. I wonder if Martha was concerned about what might happen to Mary for being out of “her place.” Jesus’ response is radical because he affirms she has chosen a good porFon of the work, and even though she is not where she is expected to be, no one can take that away from her. Jesus protects her right to assume the posiFon of a disciple.
In this image, Mary eagerly reaches toward Jesus. Her clothing is paVerned with mustard seeds and flowers because her faith may seem small, but her boundarybreaking faithfulness will nurture her faith to grow beyond what seems possible. Martha reaches toward Mary to pull her into more “appropriate” work. Martha’s dress is paVerned with open hands to image her vital ministry of welcome, service, and culFvaFng space for Jesus’ message to take root. I imaged Jesus equally affirming both Mary and Martha’s lived-out faiths. He is green, the combinaFon of Mary and Martha’s colors (yellow + blue), showing that he embodies the integraFon of both faith and works.
7 bluele@erbible.org/lexicon/g1248/kjv/tr/0-1/ 8 Strong’s Greek Lexicon, G18 and G3310.
Commentary |Fred Rankin
This week’s text is Luke 10:38-42. In this passage, Luke tells the story of Mary and Martha. This is one of those bible passages that have always troubled me, because I can relate to Martha.
I have always had a fascinaFon in the role that “good works” play in the life of a ChrisFan. I’m not sure why, but maybe it was because of my early church experiences growing up in the Methodist Church. I remember learning about the history of Methodism and the important roles of John and Charles Wesley. For some reason, I disFnctly remember being taught about the role that “works” play in the life of a ChrisFan.
For most of my life, I have been the guy who can’t say no. Not maVer what was going on in my life, no maVer how stressed I was at home or at work, if someone asked me to take on a task, I said yes. Why, do I do that? SomeFmes I think it goes back to my childhood and young adult Methodist understanding of “good works.”
I’ve had the privilege of worshipping in three different protestant denominaFons during my life. In addiFon to aVending a Methodist Church, I spent my early adult life worshiping in a Presbyterian Church. Then when I moved to Fredericksburg, I started aVending Fredericksburg BapFst Church.
All three of these denominaFons believe that salvaFon is achieved through Faith alone. However, each of these three denominaFons have a slightly different interpretaFon on the role of “works”. The Methodists believe that faith without works is dead. Presbyterians believe that good works is the appropriate response to faith, and BapFst believe that good works is a consequence of faith. Are these differences significant or not? I’m not sure.
A^er years of stressing about the roles of faith and works, I have come to understand and accept that my salvaFon is achieved through my unwavering faith in God and his son, Jesus. I have further come to accept that good works is the outward manifestaFon of that faith.
So, I accept and lean into the fact that I am a Martha. I like being a Martha. I’m good at being a Martha and I am grateful for the opportunity to offer my good works as thanksgiving for my salvaFon.
Slow Growth
There’s a vine in the South that covers everything. It chokes out the light. Grows up to twelve inches per day. In a maEer of years, it will blanket a forest. If you saw it from space, you’d marvel at its reach. If you saw it from the passenger seat, you’d weep at what it covers.
Those looking for fast shade plant this invasive vine. Who can blame them? We’re all impa@ent. But if it’s fruit you want— the tart cherry, the s>cky sweet kumquat, the soH side of a peach, the crisp bite of an apple— then bless the rain.
Thank the sun.
Put your hands in the dirt, and wait.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
THE THIRD WEEK IN LENT everything between rest & growth
Beneath the Soil
WINCHESTER OLD ("God Is Our Refuge and our Strength")
Commentary |Rev. Erin Silver
What does rest mean for you? I imagine that if you asked a room full of people that quesFon you might have several different answers. Some would equate rest with sFllness- perhaps in the form of sleep, while others might define rest as the chance to engage in a life-giving acFvity. When we are injured, we are o^en directed to “rest” whether that means stay in bed so your body can fight an infecFon or stop running because of a swollen joint. And yet, rest isn’t always found in the cessaFon of acFvity or inacFvity in of itself. SomeFmes rest means doing. Doing something that breathes renewal into your soul.
The same goes for growth. What does growth mean to you? We all have our own answers to this quesFon, too. Growth might come in the form of more educaFon, opening our minds to new ideas, obtaining wisdom from lived experience or it might just come from sFllness- giving yourself space to hear the sFll small voice whispering to you.
No maVer how you define rest and growth, they are cyclical and mutualisFc. They benefit from each other, and they move together in reoccurring paVens. The paVerns are not always the same, but they shape our humanity, our environment, and our relaFonships.
Typically, it is in our best interest to pay aVenFon to our rest and growth cycles. Being in tune with our own individual ideas or paVerns of rest and growth can help us thrive but what responsibility do we have to each other and to our world to parFcipate in their cycles of rest and growth? Could that care and aVenFon bump up against our own personal best interest, and if so, what then?
When I think about the parable of the fig tree, I can’t help but to be thankful for the gardener. His call to parFcipate in the rest and growth cycle of the tree not only saved it but also potenFally saved the other organisms who depended on that tree for shade, habitat, or soil forFficaFon. What if the landowner returns in the next year and sFll no fruit? Will the gardener sFll have a job? Will the animals who sought its shelter die along with the tree?
We don’t know these answers, but when I wonder about them, it reminds me that I have a responsibility to parFcipate in the care and advocacy of others even when it might not be in my personal best interest. The gardener provided the things the fig tree needed to thrive in hopes, that it would. He couldn’t be sure of the
outcome and yet, he sFll chose to do his part in giving the tree it’s best shot. We can do that for our neighbors and world! As faithful ChrisFans, we have some responsibility to give them their best shot to be successful members of society and to bloom in a world that wants to cut them down. How might you advocate and parFcipate in the cycles of rest and growth for yourself and for others during this season of Lent?
We need rest, we need growth, we need each other, and we need to remember that God meets us in between- desiring flourishing life for all people.
Read Luke 13:6-9
Commentary | Rev. Jeff Chu
Slow down. Do your part. Remember the promise.
Two years ago, I planted asparagus crowns. The farmer who sold them to me said, “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”
Of course I did. I had Googled: “how to grow asparagus.”
SFll, the next spring, when a slender spear rose from the midst of the previous autumn’s fallen leaves, I could barely restrain myself from harvesFng it. I immediately imagined charring asparagus, and squeezing some lemon and graFng some parmesan over the top. Ooh and how about a slightly runny fried egg?
Then I remembered the farmer’s counsel: “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”
A^er briefly congratulaFng myself for my self-control, I tucked my dream back into the vault of future possibility. It wasn’t yet Fme for our homegrown asparagus. It needed that year, then another, to concentrate on its largely invisible labor: finding purchase in the soil, extending its roots, gathering strength to flourish.
Like my asparagus, the fig tree can’t be rushed. Jesus’ original, agriculturally sophisFcated audience would have known that a fig seedling needs several years to bear fruit. They might even have found the vineyard owner’s quesFon laughable. They would have understood that absence of fruit on a young tree wasn’t a sign of failure. Maturity requires Fme and care, aVenFon and paFence.
It has always struck me as odd that a common reading of this 1parable imagines the vineyard owner to be God. (Such is our temptaFon toward hierarchical thinking that the most seemingly powerful figure in a parable must always be God.) That interpretaFon runs up against our belief that God is “slow to anger and abounding with steadfast love.”9 And surely a call to faithful waiFng seems more apt and necessary for God’s everimpaFent people. As God reminds Habakkuk, “There is sFll a vision for the appointed Fme. . . . If it seems to tarry, wait for it.
1 Exodus 34:6
It will surely come.”2
Faithful waiFng doesn’t mean doing nothing: The gardener waters, weeds, and ferFlizes. And modern science is teaching us what happens in the meanFme. Contrary to the peevish vineyard owner’s asserFon, nothing is wasted. Down below, the fig tree isn’t just gathering strength; it’s also building relaFonships. Soilborne fungi are finding home in its roots, boosFng the tree’s capacity to resist disease and take in nutrients. In return, the tree feeds the fungi.
Perhaps this parable is beVer read as a gentle rebuke against those of us who are all too comfortable with our on-demand, instant-graFficaFon culture and who believe the lie that we can control more than we actually do. Perhaps, too, this parable was a word that Jesus needed to preach to his very human self. A^er all, he’s the one who, in MaVhew and Mark, curses a fig tree for failing to give him fruit when he wants it.3
Perhaps this is our invitaFon: Slow down. Do your part. Remember the promise. Whether asparagus or fig, the harvest will come.
Reflect
In your own life, what do you need more of: rest or growth, or a liVle of both?
2 Habakkuk 2:3
3 Ma@hew 21:19; Mark 11:13-14
Fig Leafing | Hannah Garrity Paper lace with watercolor
Read Luke 13:6-9
Ar6st statement | Hannah Garrity
At our church retreat a few months ago, we offered a session on eco-spirituality. Our instructor led an exercise that focused our aVenFon on a single, natural object. I selected a wilted flower. We were to draw it, then tell its narraFve. We were to refer to it as a “one.” This one. We were to affirm the one and be affirmed by the one.
That exercise resonates with me here as I revisit the parable of the fig tree. In this circular image, two figures lean in over the tree; their heads are full of ideas for fruiFng, their bodies are full of dead fig leaf paVerns. 4 Their ideas and dreams have not born fruit. They converse about how to culFvate growth. Then one pushes back against the other and creates tension, discord. From that tension comes an opening, le.ng the fig tree have its Fme and space to thrive.
In this paper lace piece, the fig tree is full of life, represenFng its potenFal when given the Fme and space to grow. As I wonder about God’s presence here in the parable, I see that the God figure could be the fig tree. “Let it alone for one more year, unFl I dig around it and put manure on it,”5 the vineyard keeper replies. As I breathe into the gi^ of another day, where do I see potenFal in need of my honor, my care, and the space and Fme to grow?
Or perhaps the God figure here is in the space between them all, between the three. The fig tree, this one, begins its leafing in the in-between.
4 The two circular shapes with fruit seeds inside of them represent the figures’ heads; the branch -like imagery beneath the heads represent their shoulders.
5 Luke 13:8, NRSV
The Good Shepherd
Jesus said, “Who among you wouldn’t leave the 99? Who among you wouldn’t look for the one?”
Someone in the crowd probably rolled their eyes. Someone squirmed and looked at their palms. Someone sighed and thought to themselves, “This man doesn’t understand the business. What fool would leave 99 to look for one?”
But maybe God was not talking about us. Maybe God was talking about her own reckless love. Maybe God was talking about her own willingness to turn the world upside down for me.
Poem
by Rev. Sarah Speed
THE FOURTH WEEK IN LENT everything between
lost & found
Lost & Found
BEACH SPRING ("Lord, Whose Love Through Humble Service")
Read Luke 15:1-7
Commentary | Stephanie Lunney
In Luke 15:1-7, we encounter the parable of the lost sheep, a profound story that speaks to the journey of life and our human experience of feeling lost. Jesus tells the story of a shepherd who leaves behind ninety-nine sheep to search for one that has wandered away. When the shepherd finds the lost sheep, he joyfully carries it home and invites his friends to celebrate with him.
Jesus tells this story in the context of criticism from the Pharisees, who disapprove of Him spending time with tax collectors and sinners. In this parable, Jesus challenges their narrow view of God’s love, showing them that God's grace is not reserved for the righteous alone, but for all who are lost, no matter how far they’ve strayed. But Jesus isn’t just speaking to the Pharisees; He’s speaking to all of us, inviting us into a deeper understanding of God’s heart for us on our journey.
The lost sheep in the parable is often thought to symbolize someone who is unchurched or not a part of the Christian community. However, the sheep is a part of the flock. He belongs to that community but is temporarily apart from it. This distinction is important, because it reflects how many of us, as Christians, can sometimes wander away from the path physically, emotionally, or spiritually. We may be a part of God’s family, but at times we feel distant or disconnected. The story reminds us that it’s not just the "lost" who need God's grace; it’s all of us who experience seasons of feeling lost or off-course, even if we are still technically part of the fold.
Life is a journey, and along the way, we all experience moments of being lost. To be lost is not just about being physically misplaced; it’s the feeling of uncertainty that can overwhelm us in various aspects of life. You might feel lost when you're facing a difficult decision and don’t know which direction to take. You might feel lost in relationships, wondering if you’ll ever feel truly connected. Or you may feel lost in your job, unsure of your purpose or where you’re headed. Even within your own church, where you’re surrounded by people, you may feel unseen and disconnected, as if no one notices you’re struggling.
In these moments, we’re tempted to believe that God has forgotten us or that God’s not near. But the beauty of the parable of the lost sheep is that it reminds
us that God always sees us, even when we feel invisible. The shepherd’s decision to leave the ninety-nine sheep and search for the one lost one speaks to God’s relentless pursuit of us. Jesus, the "Good Shepherd," understands our journey. Jesus knows that at times we will wander, that we will feel lost, and that we will long for guidance and direction.
God doesn’t wait for us to find our way back on our own. God comes to us, seeks us out, and carries us when we’re too tired, too confused, or too broken to walk. The shepherd didn’t just find the sheep and let it wander again he picked it up, placed it on his shoulders, and carried it home. Likewise, God doesn’t just find us in our lostness; God brings us back into God’s embrace, rejoicing in our return. Even in those times when we stray far from the fold, we are never beyond the reach of God’s love. We are always God’s, always belonging to God’s flock, and always welcomed back.
This parable isn’t just a comforting reminder of God’s grace; it’s a declaration that no matter how lost we feel, God is with us on the journey. The path may not always be clear, and there will be times when we feel like we’ve wandered too far, but God’s love doesn’t falter. God is always seeking us, always rejoicing when we turn toward God, and always ready to lead us back into God’s care.
When we return to God, we find that God’s arms are open wide. There’s no condemnation, no judgment just joy. The shepherd doesn't reprimand the sheep for wandering; he celebrates its return. This, too, reflects God’s heart. When we come back to God, God is not angry with us for the mistakes we’ve made along the way, but instead, God rejoices in our return to God’s fold. We are never too lost, never too far gone, for God’s love to find us.
We might be part of the flock, but there will be moments when we feel apart. And that’s okay. God doesn’t expect perfection from us. He expects us to come back, to return to God, and to know that God’s grace is always available. It’s a grace that isn’t based on our ability to find our way back alone, but on God’s unrelenting love that seeks us out.
Prayer:
Lord, thank You for being the Good Shepherd who always seeks me, even when I feel lost and alone. Help me to trust You on this journey, knowing that You are with me through every twist and turn. When I feel uncertain or far from You, remind me that You are always pursuing me with love and grace. May I find comfort in the truth that You rejoice over me when I return to You. Thank You for Your unending pursuit and Your embrace when I am found. Amen.
lost & found
Read Luke 15:1-7
Commentary | Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp
Maybe none are found unFl all are found
“I’ve found my voice!” The class beamed with excitement, sharing in palpable joy. This student had been quiet for years, almost never speaking. One day, they spoke, then again, building steam throughout the semester, deepening their vocal parFcipaFon and contribuFng mighFly to collecFve learning.
“How did I not know about this?” asked another student in a different class. They had been studying for years and had already devoted countless hours to various ministries. “Now that I found this out, I am free! And I am also mad!” That class joined in palpable joy and righteous anger.
How did these students find their voice and freedom? Both exclaimed that the assigned reading invited them in, showing that their voices were welcome, their freedom was at hand, and that people who look like them have been calling them through generaFons to find their voice and freely join the conversaFon.
For a teacher, bearing witness to a student who finds their voice is joyous. With newfound courage, freer students glow. What they did or didn’t realize was lost is now found! The whole room shi^s when a voice found adds something to the group that was lost without them. When a found voice claims its righaul power, there is almost always rejoicing.
But it’s also maddening. Voices aren’t disembodied uVerings, but embodied precious people worthy of being heard. Bearing witness to the joy of found voices also bears witness to obliviousness that voices were missing. Even with deep convicFon and contriFon, it’s painful when the almost-always-heard realize they never noFced anyone missing in readings, historical genealogies, or learning environments.
I assign readings from o^en-invisibilized theologians who honor their mentors, one generaFon to the next across mulFple generaFons. These readings also clearly describe the finding of the authors' own unique and powerful voices. Tracing generaFons of Asian Feminist, Womanist, LiberaFonist scholars in theological trajectories teaches about the kind of mentoring it takes to help scholars find their voices. Readings themselves become mentors to many students, including the two menFoned here. While diverse representaFon in readings is just a start, it’s not enough. I seek to read what has existed for
generaFons, but has been le^ out, lost, unread, unpreached, unassigned, unknown. Who noFced? Who searched?
One commentator suggests calling this the parable of the found instead of the lost sheep because this search conFnues unFl the final finding. It doesn’t stop, doesn’t Fre of noFcing the missing. Have you found your voice? Have you found your freedom? Have you found your anger? Have you found your joy?
Reflect
Whose voices have you not yet noFced? Which ones are missing, unread, unpreached, unheard?
Lost and Found | Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Newspaper & gold leaf collage with digital drawing
Read Luke 15:1-7
Ar6st statement | Lisle Gwynn Garrity
I began my artwork for this series by collaging together strips of newspaper arFcles. Along the torn edges, I added gold leaf. Then I photographed the result and edited the images in black and white. These photos became the backdrop for my pieces, as I wanted my digital drawings to emerge within the noise of the world’s deepest pains and divisions.
On September 27, 2024, I began drawing the Good Shepherd with the lost sheep tenderly wrapped around his shoulders. As I worked, rain pummeled our roof, saturaFng the ground with an endless deluge as tropical storm Helene6 reached my town of Black Mountain, NC. The next day, winds roared and threw trees to the ground like dominos. We lost power, water, and cell service. We didn’t know it yet, but every creek and river had swelled with enormous force, sweeping away everything in their path. Landslides and extreme flooding ravaged all of Western North Carolina, taking homes, towns, and lives.
We were miraculously spared, with no flooding or trees on our roof. As soon as the storm relented, we set out to find family and friends by foot. We walked through our town, which had become a mazelike wasteland, changing routes due to downed trees, power lines, and washed-out roads. When we found loved ones and neighbors, with relief and urgency, we asked: “Do you have enough water? Do you need food?” It would be nearly 6 days before emergency relief arrived. Meanwhile, neighbors survived by the help of their neighbors. Churches opened their doors. Firefighters persisted, despite perilous rescue missions. Helicopters air-li^ed people to safety.
When I began this artwork, I naively hoped to gain insight into Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. I did not wish to become the lost sheep and live through the greatest natural disaster to hit my hometown in over a thousand years. Now, over 6 weeks a^er the storm, what strikes me is the shepherd’s singular pursuit of the lost and vulnerable. He steadies the sheep on his shoulders and steps out of the frame toward us. His gaze finds mine, and I almost hear him whisper, “I will never stop searching for the lost. I will never stop rejoicing when one is found.”
6 At the end of September 2024, Hurricane Helene hit the Southeastern US, devastaKng many regions, parKcularly Western North Carolina. Catastrophic flooding caused billions of dollars of damage, took hundreds of lives, and lel many lives unaccounted for
Read Luke 15:1-7
Commentary | Robin Overby
In this season of Lent, we take Fme to reflect on our journey with God. He is always there to lead us, protect us, and bring us into a deeper relaFonship with Him. In our family, we always say that everyone’s life journey is different, and I believe that to be true with our faith journey. Some start out younger and others are older. We all have struggles on this path. Let us remember that no maVer where we find ourselves in our spiritual journey, He is with us. The Good Shepherd’s love is not only for the strong or the faithful but also for the lost and the weary. He has love for us all, and Lent is Fme for all of us to return to His care and embrace the hope that He offers and know that He is with us.
THE FIFTH WEEK IN LENT everything between righteousness & mercy
Righteousness & Mercy
As children, we were taught to tell the teacher. (Jus>ce was dealt when we spoke up.) As children, we were taught to always be kind. (Friends were made when we spoke with love.) As children, we were taught that Zaccheaus climbed a tree. (But we cut that tree down a long >me ago.) So what are the rules for this day and age?
Can we turn black and white into shades of gray? Do we call each other out, for righteousness’ sake? Do we call each other in? Do we grab something to eat? As always, love is somewhere in between.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
THE FIFTH WEEK IN LENT everything between righteousness & mercy
Righteous Mercy
HYFRYDOL (“Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus”)
Read Luke 19:1-10
Commentary
| Rev. Beth Bailey
When I read the story of Zacchaeus, I am reminded of the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of MaVhew with specifically this line: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy” (MaVhew 5:7; NRSVUE). Time and Fme again, Jesus has a way of showing us that someFmes being “right” or “correct” about someone or a situaFon is not always the most loving. In our story of Jesus’ encounter with Zacchaeus, I would like to think that I would give mercy and grace to the Zacchaeus’s of our Fme (insert any corrupt person in power, people who are hateful and huraul, etc.), just as Jesus did. But as I take a more realisFc look, while that might be the way that I would strive to be, I honestly think I would place myself as the crowd, as “all who saw it.” It is hard for my Enneagram 1 self (“The Reformer,” likes to have clear right and wrong), to find space in the grey areas of who receives grace. It can be difficult for me to see that hateful and despicable people deserve to be treated with mercy, despite them not necessarily “deserving it.”
Nadia Bolz-Weber, Lutheran minister and public theologian, postulates this about Jesus giving out boundless mercy in his Sermon on the Mount: “Maybe Jesus was simply blessing the ones around him that day who didn’t otherwise receive blessing, who had come to believe that, for them, blessings would never be in the cards.”7 For the folks that we have a hard Fme giving out grace, that one provision of blessing, the one word of welcome and inclusion, might be the avenue for transformaFon. It just might be the gateway toward a more whole and abundant life for that person, and by the grace of God, it might just change us too.
Reflect: Think about a Fme when you recognized or learned something new about yourself when you gave mercy. Who did you give mercy to? Did they give mercy back? How did that experience make you feel?
7 Bolz-Weber, Nadia. Accidental Saints: Finding God in All the Wrong People (p. 184). Random House Publishing Group.
THE FIFTH WEEK IN LENT everything between righteousness & mercy
Read Luke 19:1-10
Commentary | Rev. Jeff Chu
A love so aHenFve and so offensive that it healed
“God has a really bad habit of using people we don’t approve of,” Rachel Held Evans8 once said. “What makes the gospel offensive is not who it keeps out, but who it lets in.”
I might tweak Evans’s formulaFon and put it this way: God has a really bad habit of loving people we don’t approve of. Or maybe this: God has a really bad habit of showing mercy to people we don’t approve of. Or maybe: God has a really bad habit of extending grace to people we don’t approve of.
All are true, as is evident in Jesus’s encounter with Zacchaeus.
In those Fmes, tax collectors were loathed. The phrase “tax collectors and sinners” appears mulFple Fmes in MaVhew, Mark, and Luke, and in one testy exchange with the chief priests and elders, Jesus tosses a rhetorical grenade into their midst, saying, “The tax collectors and the prosFtutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.”9
Tax collectors were stooges of the Roman Empire. They betrayed their own people and enriched themselves in service to the oppressor. And Zacchaeus was no average corrupt bureaucrat. He’d amassed immense wealth, climbing on others’ backs to the rank of chief tax collector. In other words, he was a senior deplorable.
So it especially galled the gathered crowds that, of everyone clamoring for Jesus’s aVenFon that day in Jericho, he would choose to stay with that man. Can you believe it?
The good teacher would want to be in the home of that despicable, unrepentant sinner? I say “unrepentant” because, before Jesus invites himself over, the verFcally challenged Zacchaeus has done nothing except climb a tree to get a beVer view, again se.ng himself apart from his people. He hasn’t admiVed
8 Rachel Held Evans was an American ChrisKan blogger and New York Times bestselling author. She died suddenly in 2019. The commentary author, Jeff Chu, was a close friend. 9 Ma@hew 21:31
wrongdoing, resigned his posiFon, or confessed his sin. SFll, Jesus says, I will abide with you.
It’s striking that Jesus never called Zacchaeus out no loud shaming, no public humiliaFon. Rather, this seems like the gentlest calling-in. Faced with Jesus’ tender warmth, Zacchaeus descends from the tree, rejoins the people, and immediately pledges resFtuFon—a two-pronged act of reconciliaFon with both God and neighbor.
ConfirmaFon of this remarkable turnabout comes in Jesus’s declaraFon: “Today salvaFon has come to this house.” 10 Our ears might be tempted to hear an absoluFon of individual sin. But Jesus says “to this house,” not “to this man,” which hints at something broader. The Greek word σωτηρία (soteria), translated here as “salvaFon,” also means “deliverance.” Woven into σωτηρία is a suggesFon not just of cleansing but also of wholeness. In the communal culture of Jesus’ day, salvaFon meant the wholeness derived from belonging. By repenFng, Zacchaeus had been delivered from broken relaFonship with his people back into the wholeness of community.
We can’t know how Zacchaeus would have responded if Jesus had instead tried loud condemnaFon. We do know that what worked was winsome grace, gentle mercy, and a love so aVenFve and so offensive that it healed.
Reflect
When have you witnessed or experienced someone being “called in” instead of “called out”?
10 Luke 19:9
Zacchaeus | Lauren Wright Pi:man
Digital pain*ng
Read Luke 19:1-10
Ar6st statement | Lauren Wright PiCman
I had a lot of fun discovering new layers to this familiar story. I learned that Zacchaeus climbed a sycamore fig tree, which was a food source for poor people because the fruit was biVer and generally undesirable.11 I had always imagined a fruitless tree, but the presence of fruit opened up interesFng avenues to explore. The root word for sycamore tree is σῦκον, meaning “fig,” and as I did a study of other key words in the text, I noFced this same root word in συκοφαντεω, or “defrauded,” which was used to describe what Zacchaeus did to his community. It was curious to me that the root word for “defrauded” was “fig,” so I dug deeper to find that the Greek word was from the phrase “fig-informer” or a person who would noFfy authoriFes if one was exporFng figs from Greece without paying a tax. It seemed that these “fig-informers” would use the threat of exposure to extort money from fig farmers. This is where the word “sycophant” comes from, which evolved to more generally describe a “malignant accuser from love of gain,” which perfectly describes Zacchaeus.12
Jesus calls Zacchaeus out of his idenFty as “sycophant” into his new idenFty as “repentant host” who invites Jesus into his home and redistributes his ill-goVen wealth. Zacchaeus’s clothing holds a repeated paVern of four figs and halves of coins, referencing the fruits of his transformaFon.
The area where Zacchaeus sat in the tree is fruitless and dying. His acFons were destrucFve and oppressive to his own community. The crowd is correct in grumbling about him; their anger is righteous, but Jesus offers mercy. In this visual metaphor, Jesus removes him from the tree so it has a chance to heal and nourish the whole community. Jesus’ clothing is paVerned with suns, represenFng righteousness, and water, represenFng mercy, because it is through his merciful acFons that righteousness for the community is achieved.
11 Fauna and Flora of the Bible, by United Bible SocieKes. (United Bible SocieKes, 1980). 179-181.
12 For discussion of the word “sycophant” (Strong’s G4811), please see: bluele@erbible.org/lexicon/g4811/ kjv/tr/0-1/
righteousness & mercy
Read Luke 19:1-10
Commentary | Steve Gallahan
All of us have heard the gospel story of Zacchaeus. Surely, we can recall the opening lines of the children’s song, “Zacchaeus was a wee, liile man, and a wee liile man was he.”
Let us take a moment in today’s devo6on to remind ourselves about the interac6on between Zacchaeus and Jesus beginning when the two first spoke at the sycamore tree in Jericho.
Not only was Zacchaeus a tax collector, for the hated Romans, Zacchaeus was a “Chief Tax Collector.” He was corrupt to the core as he had indeed become very rich by chea6ng the system and making other government officials look bad for his own personal gain. Indeed, Zacchaeus was the worst of the worse.
The natural tempta6on would be to rebuke Zacchaeus and to lecture him as to what is right. In today’s gospel lesson the story is not about who Jesus keeps out of the kingdom, but rather who He lets in.
God has a way of loving people we may not approve of. A different way to consider the story of Zacchaeus is God has a way of showing mercy to people we do not approve of. Or considered yet another way, God has a way of extending grace to people we do not approve of. Certainly, all three considera6ons are true when we ponder Jesus’ encounter with Zacchaeus on the road to Jericho.
The people along the road were upset that Jesus had called on Zacchaeus that day. So how does this story speak to us? Why would Jesus want to be in the home of such an unrepentant sinner as Zacchaeus? Zacchaeus had simply climbed a tree to get a beier view of the teacher named Jesus. No confessions of Zacchaeus wrong doings have been made at this point.
Of note is that Jesus never called Zacchaeus out regarding his sin and chea6ng. Some say that instead Jesus called Zacchaeus in. In the face of Jesus, Zacchaeus pledges res6tu6on to both God and the people he has cheated.
Jesus confirms the new Zacchaeus by declaring, “Today salva6on has come to this house.” Jesus says to this house not to this man. In the original Greek, salva6on also translates as deliverance. The implica6on is Zacchaeus was not just cleansed but also made whole. In the ancient culture, by repen6ng Zacchaeus had been delivered from a broken rela6onship with his neighbors back into wholeness in community with them.
For many of us today certainly it would be temp6ng to call out Zacchaeus, to condemn his sin. Jesus instead offered grace, mercy, and love. No doubt many would be offended by how Jesus embraced Zacchaeus. Yet we are called to act as Jesus did on that day. Our faith requires us to “call in” rather than “call out” those who sin against us.
Let us Pray:
Holy God, as we con6nue our Chris6an Walk with you, help us to show the love, grace, and mercy to others as Jesus showed to Zacchaeus so long ago. We acknowledge this act is open so hard to do, yet it is required if we are to truly follow your example for us. Give us the strength we need to do your will.
This we pray in the name of your son, Jesus the Christ.
Amen
shou%ng & silence
If You Really Listen…
In the city you’ll hear horns, the claEer of the subway, mothers calling to their children, saying, “Take my hand before we cross the street.” You’ll hear church bells, Salva>on Army bells, people asking for spare change, while others ask for direc>ons.
You’ll hear the whistle from the traffic cop, the exhaust from the bus, that a train is arriving in two minutes. You’ll hear mothers selling fresh mango, theater kids selling >ckets, and religious groups selling ideas. But even with all that shou>ng, even with all that noise, the birds s>ll sing. Against all odds, thanks be to God, the birds s>ll sing.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
shou%ng
& silence
Read Luke 19:29-40
Commentary | Rev. David
Haun
I once watched a child while on a mission trip paint a sidewalk with water aper a rainstorm. She was lost in her own world careful brushstrokes, full of happiness, no words at all. Some passed by and tried to chat, but she barely glanced up. There was a quiet concentra6on, almost reverence. As I sit wri6ng this, I can’t help but think of how open we move through life either shou6ng or silent, rarely pausing in that middle space where real empathy and understanding can grow.
In Luke 19:29-40, we find Jesus entering Jerusalem on a borrowed donkey. The streets erupt in a swirl of palms, coats thrown down in welcome, and voices shou6ng praise. Nearby, religious leaders watch with disapproval. They demand that Jesus hush his followers. But he answers in a startling way: if the crowd fell silent, the stones themselves would cry out. It’s a moving image if human voices are suppressed, crea6on itself must speak for jus6ce and truth.
Palm Sunday open evokes a fes6ve atmosphere with parades and children’s processions, but there’s a tension in this passage that challenges us. The cheerfulness of the crowd clashes with the skep6cism of the bystanders who believe that this celebra6on is out of line. Beneath the surface joy, Jesus carries the weight of a coming confronta6on with injus6ce. He knows where his journey will lead and yet, he s6ll rides forward among the cheers.
Think about the 6mes your own voice has felt stuck somewhere between a shout and a whisper. Maybe you felt called to speak out in a mee6ng, but fear of rejec6on kept you silent. Or perhaps you tried to advocate for someone in need, only to find that anger drowned out your compassion. That middle ground can be tough to navigate. And yet, this is precisely the space where the Spirit nudges us to pay aien6on to the world’s wounds and to the ways we can help heal them.
The stones, the very ground beneath our feet, might not have a mouth, but they hold history. They’ve witnessed violence and peace, tragedy and renewal. Crea6on itself longs for something new, for something beier, for redemp6on. When we fail to cry out against injus6ce, or when we silence voices crying for dignity and mercy, the earth resonates with the sorrow and pain of those who cannot speak for themselves. Jesus invites us to join the chorus not as a mindless crowd, but as people who understand that praise and lament are open intertwined.
This Palm Sunday, pause to consider how and where you use your voice. Are you quick to shout your convic6ons, or do you hold back for fear of conflict? The invita6on of Luke 19 is
to let authen6c praise roll out of our lives in words and ac6ons, acknowledging both the brokenness around us and the One who comes to bring healing. If we do not, the stones themselves stand ready to tes6fy.
& silence
Read Luke 19:29-40
Commentary | Dr. Mindy
McGarrah Sharp
Between stony silences and snarky shouts, solidarity arose Stones have seen a thing or two. Grabbed in rage, they’ve absorbed the shock of violence. Balanced in medita6ve towers, they’ve marked graves and birthed centering peace. In an Arizona courthouse, I wasn’t thinking about stones. I was thinking about students’ passionate shouts and silent death stares. We had traveled to the borderlands to listen in a place about which there is much shou6ng and even more silencing. A most progressive student and a most conserva6ve student grudgingly traveled together, carrying histories of screams and silences into that courthouse. In the pre-trial explana6on, we heard that doors would open, and we would all rise. But this would be no triumphal entry, no cloaklined path, no donkey willingly lent from a neighbor, no rejoicing. Just hand sani6zer and instruc6ons: Silence! No photography!
We were entering Opera6on Streamline’s13 public gallery, the daily hearing where up to eighty humans are tried en masse for immigra6on viola6ons. Since 2005, this has con6nued through Democra6c and Republican administra6ons. Chained by ankle, wrist, and waist, human beings walk to a judge six-by-six, clanging, pleading. It would be over in under an hour, and then we'd go on about our day.
Unexpectedly, the polarized students joined voices: This cannot be! One quoted scripture: the Imago Dei, neighbor love, caring for strangers, remembering Jesus’ own journey as a migrant. The other quoted law: due process, presump6on of innocence, amnesty, cons6tu6onal rights. Between stony silences and snarky shouts arose some solidarity. Together, they witnessed what we humans can do to each other and the lengths we go to make it all make sense.
Bearing witness complicates things. Divisive soundbites crumble, north and south get confused. But, stones certainly know the violence, graves, and peace prayers held in this sacred, desecrated land. On a borrowed donkey from a gracious neighbor, on crowdsourced paths accompanied by loud rejoicing, Jesus wept on arrival,14 knowing full well
13 OperaKon Streamline, formed in 2005, is a joint iniKaKve of the US Dept. of Homeland Security and Dept. of JusKce to prosecute immigrants entering or reentering the country without authorizaKon. Streamline courts were created to fast-track criminal court proceedings en masse.
14 Luke 19:41
what we humans are capable of doing to each other. He rode right into what stones have seen: criminaliza6on and death-dealing decisions, dehumaniza6on and denial of dignity, disregard for expansive beauty. What would stones shout? What do you shout? What do you silence?
Reflect
Where is your voice needed now? Where are you called to silently bear witness?
shou%ng & silence
Read Luke 19:29-40
Ar6st statement | Steve Prince
It is said that the true confession that flows from one’s heart and lips and professes that they are a sinner and desire to be healed, is essenFally the key to unlocking one’s salvaFon. Amid a someFmes turbulent and chaoFc world, if we enter with faith and Christ in our hearts we shall be delivered. The figure’s hands are li^ed in praise as he navigates the flood of life which can be overbearing. He recognizes that the flood of life is symbolic of sin and separaFon from God. He closes his eyes, humbles himself before God, and he is delivered into a new chapter of his life, triumphant.
Prompts for contemplaFon
• Look closely at the waves. What does the flood of life represent for you?
• NoFce the contrast between the house on one side and the man on the other. What emoFons or thoughts do these images evoke?
• How does the image of Jesus on a donkey influence your understanding of this scene? What do you make of its placement in this work?
• NoFce the abstract shaded area at the top. Does it feel like a cloud, storm, or something else? Does this texture remind you of God's presence?
Power Like a Seed
In a world that wants power like a machine gun, power like a bomber plane, power like a gated fence to keep the hungry out, I want power like a seed— power that will crack me open and grow something good; power like an open door, an invita>on that says, “Come on in;” power that feels like a strong spine with a soH heart. I want the power to listen, to lean in, to ask followup ques>ons.
But more than anything, I want the power to bring us together, to liH you up.
There are different kinds of power. One will build a wall. One will plant a garden. We should know by now, only one will bear fruit.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
Read Luke 22:1-27
Commentary | Rev. Jeff Chu
A leader like one who serves
The story of the Last Supper has become so many things the source material for world-renowned art, an inspira<on for historical reenactment, the origin point of liturgy. So it’s easy to forget that it was originally also something else: a cau<onary tale.
AAer all that Jesus had done and said and taught, aAer a myriad of miracles, healings, parables, and teachings, Jesus’ friends s<ll couldn’t help themselves. Worldly tempta<ons, lust for power, and desire for pres<ge crowded around the table as uninvited guests. There was Judas, cuEng backroom deals with the authori<es. And Jesus had hardly finished telling the apostles what they were to do in remembrance of him when bickering broke out about who among them was the greatest.
This was especially ironic given that the Passover meal, the feast that celebrated God’s goodness, was always focused on the lamb. Was there ever a culinary centerpiece that so embodied unblemished purity and uJer innocence, faithful vulnerability and otherworldly strength?
In the blank space between the verses, I imagine Jesus sighing the deepest of sighs. I see, too, the complicated feelings and the human longings that are familiar to anyone who has sat through the messy, beau<ful, and hard reali<es of a family dinner.
If it was temp<ng for Jesus’ apostles to forget what they had witnessed and what they had been taught, it is no less so for the Church today. Hopeful as we might be, we’re s<ll so prone to wander. We miss Jesus’ warnings of how easy it can be to betray him and his teachings. We clamor for power and authority, struggling to remember that the greatest must become like the youngest and the leader like one who serves. And we, too, neglect the glory and the loving sacrifice at the heart of it all: the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.
Reflect
How does Jesus define power? How does Jesus model humility?
Four Waters at Table | Hannah Garrity Paper lace with watercolor
MAUNDY THURSDAY everything between power & humility
Read Luke 22:1-27
Ar6st statement | Hannah Garrity
This summer my family traveled back to Okinawa and mainland Japan, the places we lived during my infant and toddler years. Those years molded the family lore and marked a pivotal shiZ in my parents' lives. They traveled with us this summer, returning aZer 40 years. As you might imagine, I was amazed by everything.
I was par^cularly taken by the great deference that the humanmade physical structures held for crea^on. The waters have power and everything reflects that awareness. Vegeta^on is grown and walls are built between the houses and the water. We stayed by the water for 4 days while local children were s^ll in school. Even on the weekend, though, we were some of the only ones swimming in the East China Sea by our AirBnB.
This artwork reflects that deference the humility in the face of the power of the waters through an adapta^on of the Okinawa wave paCern that is found on poCery throughout the island. Here, each wave represents a disciple around a circular table. Judas’s wave flows the opposite direc^on from all of the others, crea^ng discord in the paCern and in the narra^ve. He seeks a worldly type of power.
Within the table, four rivers flow out from Jesus, who is represented as a 13th wave flowing in the midst. These rivers represent the four rivers of Eden, the four spirits in Revela^on, and the mul^tude of followers across ^me and place. PaCerns tell the story of this last table: money seeding discord, wine and bread becoming symbols of the faith, bread breaking, hands reaching toward one another in right rela^onship. The Jesus symbol of water in the midst flows through each of these sec^ons and breaks the borders of the artwork.
How might I walk forward from this table with Jesus? Tacking toward humble strength in the face of oppressive power? Nurturing community? Breaking the barriers of oppressive influences?
resistance
I’ve Been the Thief
I want my own miracle.
I read about the blind man and the woman who touched his cloak.
I read about Lazarus and the liEle girl who got up.
I have seen love aHer loss and recovery aHer addic>on, so I want my own miracle.
And if it helps,
I’d be willing to beg and barter for it. I’d be willing to kiss the floor, to sell a por>on of my days, to press my knees to the ground, to live with this ache.
I’d be willing to pray all night, to pray un>l my voice is hoarse— Save yourself, and us, or just, Save yourself, and me.
But eventually, my demands soHen. Eventually, the edge in my voice smooths. Eventually, >me wears down my insistence, and Save yourself and me will become: If you’re there, just don’t forget me. Please, don’t forget me.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
acceptance & resistance
Read Luke 23:32-49
Commentary | Rev. David Haun
In my childhood neighborhood where I grew up, Sheraton Hills, there was a creek that cut across the back of the neighborhood. Aper heavy rains, the water would rush, tearing away at the banks. Kids would rush to see the rising waters, wide-eyed with excitement, even while some parents stood back, worried and watchful. It was one of those places where tension held a strange sort of power: kids wanted adventure; adults wanted safety. There was acceptance of the inevitability of the storm’s apermath, but also resistance to the fear of what the swirling water might do.
Good Friday carries a similar tension. As Luke’s Gospel brings us to the foot of the cross (Luke 23:32-49), we’re confronted with two core responses: resistance and acceptance. But they aren’t as simple as they first appear. Resistance can mean standing your ground for what’s right or stubbornly clinging to a harmful status quo. Acceptance can signal a resigned shrug or a bold embrace of new possibili6es in the midst of tragedy.
Luke describes a swirl of responses around the crucifixion echoes of our own human ins6ncts for self-preserva6on. We see followers who flee, disappearing into the edges of the crowd. We see crowds who freeze, watching numbly, uncertain of what’s unfolding. We hear taunts from onlookers who fear they might be next. In the midst of all this chaos, one criminal, crucified alongside Jesus, calls out: “Remember me.” He wants more than survival; he wants hope that goes beyond the finality of death.
The cross itself is the ul6mate symbol of tension, an intersec6on of suffering and compassion, guilt and grace, resistance and acceptance. Jesus, in his final moments, offers a glimpse of divine solidarity with our human frailty. He speaks words of forgiveness even for those who carried out the crucifixion. He promises freedom a new reality for the criminal who seeks mercy. In doing so, Jesus reminds us that genuine acceptance isn’t passive. It’s an act of profound trust in God’s unrelen6ng love, even when life’s storms rage around us.
During moments of stress and trauma, we open default to survival: fight, flee, freeze, or fret. But Good Friday asks something deeper of us. It invites us to consider how we navigate the “in-between” 6mes when the reality of pain is unavoidable, yet the hope of resurrec6on is s6ll wai6ng around the corner. Will we close our eyes and turn away, or will we stay present in the discomfort long enough to discover the possibility of redemp6on?
As you linger at the foot of the cross this Good Friday, take an honest look at your reac6ons. Where are you tempted to flee—to escape conversa6ons or circumstances that feel too raw? Where do you freeze, afraid to speak truth or love freely? Where does fear drive your decisions, and how might forgiveness or remembrance lead you toward new life?
As we stand in the shadows of Good Friday, may we resist numbing our hearts and accept the invita6on to abide in the tension trus6ng that God’s presence meets us there, even in the darkest hour.
acceptance & resistance
Read Luke 23:32-49
Commentary | Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp
We’re s'll caught up in fleeing, freezing, fre6ng, and fearing Resistance and acceptance: heavy, double-meaning words. Resistance refuses to budge, and resistance moves, modeling a way forward. Acceptance serves the status quo, jus6fying every single blessed or cursed thing, and acceptance welcomes death’s mystery, the possibility of change, miracles of new life. But in stress and trauma, it gets confusing. When to stay put? When to move? The author of Luke packs a lot into this trauma6c text. Crea6on and humanity predictably enact not just one “F-word,” but a flood 15 of them. In the text, we see numerous ac6ons: fleeing to “safe” distances, fighAng with sour wine and harmful words, flexing with material remains, frosAng with repeated cruel taunts (“Save yourself! Save me!”), freezing by standing s6ll, freJng with tears and breast-bea6ng echoes, fearing they were wrong and it’s too late. Darkness falls, the whole fabric in the temple fragments.
Jesus’ neighbor on the cross suggests the biggest “F” of all: the risks and reali6es of forgeJng. “Will you remember me?” he asks. “The ‘me’ who messed up, the ‘me’ caught up with you in this mess? Is it imaginable that my memory could shape a future beyond this painful death?”
This Luke text remembers Jesus’ “F’s” too: forgiveness and freedom. Jesus humanizes the ones betraying their calling: forgive them, for they know not what they do. Jesus frees his neighbor as they both hang dying, saying, “You’re with me,” an assurance of abiding accompaniment before using his last breath to free his own Spirit.
We’re s6ll caught up in fleeing, freezing, freong, and fearing the emo6onal floodings that persist today. In your theology of the cross, where do you remember, forgive, and free? What do you forget? What do you resist? What do you accept? When do you stay put?
When must you move?
Carry Good Friday’s life and death ques6ons into Holy Saturday’s great in-between, resis6ng the urge to rush through it or to retreat from feeling it. Abide in between it all.
Reflect
As you journey with Jesus to the cross, which “F’s” do you enact?
15 We know the power of capital “F” floods: everything’s destroyed in the wake of water’s awesome power. You may know this materially, and we all know it emoKonally: flooding wipes out clear thinking, pulls us under, and threatens hard-won lessons, changed behaviors, resoluKons, and even faith itself
A Wide Embrace | Lisle Gwynn Garrity Newspaper & gold leaf collage with digital drawing
acceptance & resistance
Read Luke 23:32-49
Ar6st statement | Lisle
Gwynn Garrity
I began this image contempla<ng Jesus’ posture on the cross. The crucifix inherently spreads its vic<ms’ arms out wide, willing the body into the shape of surrender. There is no figh<ng back. It forces one to face death with open arms.
As I contemplated this, the iconic image of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, entered my imagina<on and my sketchpad. 16 While the sculpture was commissioned and created for several different reasons, I find it striking that the final design evolved into Christ with open arms and hands, intended to be a symbol of peace.
In this image, I referenced the Christ the Redeemer statue, drawing Jesus’ dying posi<on into a posture of warm embrace. I omiJed his face in order to focus merely on his arms stretched wide. I repeated this paJern four <mes, which formed the shape of an open cross. As I worked, I realized the image resembles a cross crosslet, which carries as many varied meanings as the crucifix itself. 17 In this image, my inten<on is to thwart the brutality and violence of the crucifix with the imagery of a wide embrace, which will soon become a symbol of death-defying resistance.
In the nega<ve space at the center, I placed two sheep. They primarily represent the two men charged as criminals who die alongside Jesus on the cross. I depicted them as sheep to recall the parable of the lost sheep (Luke 15:1-7) and to portray them as what they are: vulnerable, desperate, helpless. One turns away; he sees Jesus’ surrender on the cross as a pathe<c and pointless defeat. The other trusts in the promise and sets his eyes on paradise. The one who turns away symbolizes all of the people who defy Christ at the end: those who cast lots, scoff, and mock him. The one who looks straight at us symbolizes all who remain steadfast: the Centurion, those who beat their chests, and those who stay, watching from a distance.
In the background, you will see glimpses of newspaper headlines and ar<cles collaged together. In response to the noise and violence of this world, this image is a visual prayer for peace.
16 Designed by sculptor Paul Landowski and built by engineer Heitor da Silva Costa in 1922-1931.
17 Crosslet imagery originated in the Middle Ages and can represent the four Evangelists, the four cardinal virtues, the Trinity, and many things in between. Learn more here: symbolsage.com/crosscrosslets-and-meaning
acceptance & resistance
Read Luke 23:32-49
Commentary | Mark Houghton
The story of Jesus’ arrest and trials in John 18 is a clear statement to the Chris<c/Messianic community in the late 1st century and for disciples in the 21st century of Jesus’ non-violent resistance to imperial power and all it represents.
In this story, we see the Incarnate One in a literal face-off with a detachment of Roman soldiers led by Judas and accompanied by the religious authori<es. Jesus is well beyond mere acceptance of his place in the unfolding events but seems to be orchestra<ng them with his repeated query (“Who is it you want?”) and his unflinching responses, the last of the “I am” statements in John. He willingly offers himself while protec<ng his followers (v. 8). He prohibits violent response as he declares his obedience to the Father’s will (v. 11), the final act of the humble servant.
During his confronta<ons with Annas and Pilate, Jew and Gen<le, representa<ves of the religious and poli<cal realms of empire, Jesus boldly responds to their ques<on and accusa<ons. He remains firmly commiJed; there is no wavering. There is however pushback and counter-argument. He con<nues to declare the truth he’s been sharing since the beginning of the Gospel narra<ve, doubling down on the advent of the Kingdom of God and the abundant life it brings.
But there is a counter-narra<ve here, of a follower, held dear by Jesus, who chooses a different path. Peter’s denials are woven into the story as counterpoint to the strong stand taken by the King. They “occupy that gray area, marked not by outright betrayal, but by compromise and acquiescence to personal expediency, selfprotec<on, and fear.”18 Peter’s ac<ons speak loudly to us, hopefully invi<ng deep introspec<on as to how we accept our calls for obedience to the way of Jesus and the Kingdom standing up for the life-giving God.
We have two models for how we will live: “the model of Jesus, who holds nothing back for the sake of those he loves, and the model of Peter, who holds everything back for his own sake.”19 This Easter season, I pray we will accept the Jesus way.
18 Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” in The Gospel of Luke The Gospel of John, NIB IX, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 810
19 Ibid, 811
EASTER SUNDAY everything between grief & hope
In the Direc%on of Hope
I am on my way.
Wait for me in the garden; I will be there soon.
I’m not the fastest runner, Lord knows that, but these legs are moving.
I suppose I could blame my weary spirit for the slow speed.
I could blame the grief I’ve shoved into my pockets and laid around my neck.
I could blame my own hesita>on to hope, a hesita>on that clings like mud.
But I don’t know that Jesus cares about my speed. So tell God when you see them— I am on my way.
Wait for me in the garden. I will be there soon.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
grief & hope
Read Luke 24:1-12
Commentary | Rev. David Haun
During my first year at East Carolina University, I signed up for a mentorship program that paired students with local middle-schoolers who needed addi6onal support. I became a “big brother” to a bright but reserved seventh-grader named Marcus. Ini6ally, I expected our meetups to be casual—a few hours of tutoring, maybe take him out for some food— nothing too drama6c. But as I got to know him, I realized he was carrying a heavy load. His father was incarcerated, his mother worked nights, and money was painfully 6ght. Even as I tried to help, I open felt overwhelmed, wondering if my small efforts could truly make any difference.
Over 6me, I struggled with doubts: Am I was6ng Marcus’s 6me? What if I fail him? What if this mentoring program is just a nice gesture but can’t change anything? Some6mes, it felt like a sealed tomb of broken systems and seemingly endless challenges. Yet, every 6me I showed up whether we were prac6cing math facts, shoo6ng hoops, or talking about his favorite music I caught glimpses of a poten6al I hadn’t no6ced before. Slowly, he began to open up about his dreams: to finish high school, maybe go to college, and help his mom someday. Each conversa6on sparked a 6ny flame of hope.
That flicker of hope reminds me of Luke 24:1–12, the Easter story that begins in the shadow of the cross. The women arrive at the tomb expec6ng only death. They come with spices symbols of love, but also a final gesture marking an end. Instead, they find the stone rolled away. Two angels appear with a command to remember. Instantly, the women recall the promise Jesus made: that he would rise again. Memory serves as a catalyst for faith, and they hurry to share this astounding news with the other disciples. At first, they’re met with disbelief “nonsense,” the text says but their tes6mony s6ll prompts Peter to run and see for himself.
In my own journey as a big brother, I some6mes felt that disbelief creeping into my heart. The obstacles in Marcus’ life loomed so large; it seemed improbable that our weekly meetups could ship his future. But every now and then, a moment of genuine connec6on a laugh, a problem solved, a new insight would break through my doubts. Those small victories felt like reminders that no situa6on is truly closed off from the possibility of new life. Slowly, Marcus’ grades improved, and we celebrated his first-ever “A” in English. With every step, I witnessed how hope could rise from what had felt like barren ground.
Easter assures us that even in the bleakest circumstances when it appears the story is over God can transform endings into beginnings. The women’s discovery at the tomb wasn’t a naïve denial of sorrow; it was a bold declara6on that sorrow does not have the final word. My 6me with Marcus didn’t magically fix every issue in his life, but it did reveal that caring presence can ignite fresh possibili6es. It taught me, as Easter does, that we should never underes6mate the power of hope.
grief & hope
Read Luke 24:1-12
Commentary | Rev. Jeff Chu
Grief is liminal, not terminal
What makes an ember of hope flare up into a revivifying fire?
Some6mes it’s a memory.
Then they remembered his words, Luke says of the women who had brought burial spices to Jesus’ tomb. It took outside help, in the form of two angels, and it wasn’t instantaneous. First there was terror, because it’s not every day that otherworldly visitors come calling. But then they received a gentle word: Remember.
Some6mes it’s a tes6mony.
The spark of the women’s story gave Peter just enough hope to get up, run to the tomb, and seek more for himself.
Some6mes neither memory nor tes6mony will feel sufficient. The cold cloak of grief may s6ll be too thick, as it was for Jesus’ other friends. To them, the women’s story was λῆρος (leros). My Bible translates that Greek word as “an idle tale,” but I think that lacks oomph. Really, it might be beier rendered “nonsense” or “the muierings of the delirious.”
The other apostles’ incredulity feels so relatable to me, especially in the context of our contemporary lives. In a world beset by so much sorrow, so much suffering, and so much heartbreak, a glimmer of good news can have such a hard 6me breaking my gloom. A glimpse of beauty, a flash of loveliness, can feel like foolishness amidst so much bad news.
This isn’t to say, of course, that it’s wrong to sit with grief. Our grief deserves our aien6on, because mourning is a biiersweet memento of love. We need not rank our griefs either. Even when it comes to the peoest, 6niest things, we need to grieve so that we can make room for the beier.
There’s the key, though: our grief cannot become our everything. With memory, tes6mony, and 6me, we can recognize that grief is liminal, not terminal. And it need not crowd out other truths: that we have loved and been loved. That we are not alone. That there is s6ll hope in the land of the living.
Reflect
On this Easter Sunday, what grief do you carry? Where do you find hope in the land of the living?
Fill My Cup | Steve Prince Pen and ink on paper
EASTER SUNDAY everything between
grief & hope
Read Luke 24:1-12
Ar6st statement | Steve Prince
For me, to not know Christ is to live a life thirsty for truth, meaning, understanding, and purpose. We search and search and it feels like we cannot find the thing that we were hoping for. It is not unFl we surrender and trust in faith that we are able to find peace. We must open the door of our hearts to allow the Holy Spirit to enter and to do the work. Many will see us and not believe that the peace we exude is real, looking at us with skepFcal eyes. Many will come thirsty, wondering from whence cometh our help, and some will know, and they shall rejoice for we have seen the light. Our daily prayer is that God will have us thirst no more and fill our cup.
Prompts for contempla6on
• Look at the three women. What expressions do you see? How do their eyes, faces, and postures impact the mood of the image?
• Focus on the middle woman. What do you think the house in her body symbolizes?
• NoFce the flow of energy and movement in the image. What direcFon does it seem to be moving in, and how does it impact the feeling or message of the artwork?
• What does the man’s posiFon in the image suggest about his role in the scene? How does he relate to the figures and the acFon surrounding him?
EASTER SUNDAY everything between
grief & hope
Read Luke 24:1-12
Commentary | Theresie Houghton
I can relate to Mary Magdalene’s experience. There are days when I am right there with her in a gray-dark place, a Good Friday place when my hopes and my dreams lie in shambles. All of us experience grief and loss
A friend or family member is addicted to drugs or alcohol. Our marriage fails. We get the pink slip from our employer. The biopsy comes back posiFve. A loved one is diagnosed with demenFa. Our spouse dies.
Faced with our Good Friday reality, we can’t see past our broken dreams and hearts. Like Mary, we stare into the empFness, bewildered by the absence of normalcy and paralyzed by our loss. In the midst of our pain, we don't see the angels or messengers God puts in front of us. Our focus is inward. We want comfort and assurance. We want the healing power that comes from God, and we quesFon like Mary “Where is Jesus?”
But the good news is this, God is with us in that dark moment. No maVer how we feel, how many tears we’ve cried or hopes we’ve lost- Christ will make himself known by calling our name. It may take Fme for the emoFons to quiet, for our world to stop shaking, for our heart to open. But, in the darkness will come a small glimpse of light. We will be able to sense someone is with us. And we will hear Jesus’s voice reminding us, “Surprise I’m here and I’m alive.”
When my mom died in December 2014, the grief was overwhelming, even as I celebrated her long and wonderful life. But grief made it hard to find my preaching voice. Slowly, I began to sense Jesus again calling me out by name: “Theresie, it’s Fme to leave the grief behind I’ve got your Mom. You’ll see her again. Now get out there and PREACH THE RESURRECTION.” What a surprise when Larry Haun called and said, “Would you like to preach at Massaponax BapFst?” That was 2019, and since then, I’ve had regular opportuniFes to preach and lead in worship.
Just when we think this is the end, it may just the beginning of something new. In the midst of death and despair, God has a surprise waiting a surprise of blessing and challenge. God brings love back to life through the risen Christ. And you and I can face all that life throws at us with an internal joy, knowing that Jesus is with us and nothing, not even death, can separate us from His love.
