Monthly Archives: March 2024

Thank you for joining us this Lenten Season as we journeyed through God’s covenantal promises and how they are fulfilled in Jesus. His promises are everywhere and it is our hope that you can see them more clearly each day as you rejoice in this Easter season.

Blessings to you and we hope to see you back here in Advent!

March 31, Easter Sunday
Rev. Dave Lyle

But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” Mark 16:6-7

As an avid reader, I confess that I like having my loose ends tied up. And they lived happily ever after, and all that. But isn’t it true that the best writing doesn’t quite reveal everything? Great writing opens up possibilities beyond the page in front of you.

Among all the evangelists, Mark has the keenest sense of this truth. Mark’s scene of Easter resurrection does not show us, well, the resurrection! There is no presence; Jesus is absent. He isn’t here; he’s already gone there. The women came to the tomb that day believing that every meaningful story had died on the cross with Jesus. With these faithful women, we discover how joyfully wrong we were. With them, we are called to action and impelled into the future.

The truth of this Easter Day is incredible – but oh, believe anyway with all of your heart! The end of the story is that there is no end to the story. The loose ends of sin and death have been untied forever. We are unbound! Free!

We stand together today at the empty tomb, trusting that Christ is here but also knowing he is ever moving ahead of us. Into Galilee, into the world, into the unending future of our God. We might wish things were otherwise, that God had wrapped everything up with a nice little bow. But God’s story, still being written, is one without end. Do not be alarmed! Follow Christ into the unending future of boundless joy.

God of new life, break open the tombs that contain us and untie all that holds us back. Dead to sin, let us live to you, for you, O Christ, are our future and our life. Amen.

March 30, Holy Saturday
Liz Hanson

Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).  John 20:15-16

If there are early clues to what’s going on here, Mary doesn’t catch on. As much as I always think, “Really? The gardener?” when I read this passage, I can’t say I blame her. Maybe she’s just bad at recognizing people out of context – I can relate. Besides, who among us, in her place, would not have assumed that this death was final, this loss insurmountable? Although the person Mary has most in mind as she weeps in the garden, the dear friend and teacher she has lost, is standing right in front of her, he is likewise the person she least expects to see after the events of the past three days. 

Tonight, we’ll gather for the Easter Vigil, a liturgy that is at once intimate and cosmic in scope, somber and eager, bringing us to the very hinge between death and resurrection. We’ll retrace the whole story of God’s promises to us, then receive a tangible reminder of our baptism – a sprinkling that always startles me, but never as much as what comes next: that confused, exuberant moment of painful squinting when the lights suddenly go up and we break into “This is the Feast.” That “Wait, what just happened?” moment. The same moment I think Mary experienced just before she exclaimed “Teacher!” The threshold of recognition, the threshold of Easter joy. When we’ve grown accustomed to darkness, it can be difficult to see in the light.

Just as the grieving Mary recognizes the risen Christ when he calls her by name and calls her back into relationship, God has called us by name in baptism and raised us with Christ. We’ve been through it before, although we don’t always remember or recognize it. But God is faithful, even when we miss the clues, continually reminding us in word and sacrament and calling us back into community – with God and with our siblings in Christ – so that we, in turn, can be signs of the risen Christ to others.

Steadfast God, thank you for fulfilling your promises to us in our baptism and raising us with Christ. Call us out of darkness and into light that we may recognize the risen Christ and serve you and our neighbors with renewed joy. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Good Friday, March 29
Julie Hinz

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. John 19:26-27

While we sit in the darkened church, we do our best to imagine the events of the first Good Friday. Amid the silence, the darkness, and the solemn music, we attempt to sit in the vastness of our sin. But let’s be honest, crucifixion is not pretty. There was no music, no somber hymns, no long and mournful prayers. It was bloody and excruciatingly painful. The air filled with the keening cries of the dying and the weeping of those who loved them. And yet, buried beneath the agony and fear, we encounter a promise fulfilled.

Jesus, having been beaten, abused, and forced to carry a weighty wooden cross on his bare back, now hangs by spikes in his hands and feet, on that same cross. Blood pours from the wounds inflicted by thorns dug into his brow. It pours also from his hands and feet where the spikes secure him to the cross. Sweat streams down his face as he looks out upon those who have followed him to his death. Specifically, he sees his mother and his dear disciple John. What they observe is horrific and frightening, to be sure. What Jesus observes is quite different.

Despite the gruesome circumstances, Jesus sees his beloved mother in her grief. He sees John, the disciple whom he loves, lost in his grief, confusion, and, I am sure, fear. It is here, that Jesus fulfills a promise of which we are not even conscious. Struggling to breathe, Jesus joins Mary and John as mother and son, fulfilling his earthly obligation to Mary, as her loving son, and asking John to take her into his home, to love and care for her as his own. Jesus connects them in a relationship deeper than friendship but as a beloved family and sharers of the same faith and experience. Bound together forever in love and faithfulness, in grief and perseverance. Even as he dies, Jesus thinks not about himself and what is happening to him but looks in love at those still at his feet and cares for them, drawing them close to each other so that they might be cared for and sustained in the days to come.

We often talk about how expansive and inclusive God’s love is. As I read this passage I am struck by how, no matter the agony Jesus endured, his love for us overrides it all. God’s awareness of our needs and his promise to be with us, provide for us, and love us overshadows everything else. If he can look past his agony and continue to tend to the needs of those at the foot of his cross, how much more will he continue to do the same for us? All these millennia later we can be certain God’s love for us overshadows all else.

For me, kind Jesus, was thine incarnation,
     thy mortal sorrow, and thy life’s oblation,
Thy death of anguish and thy bitter Passion,
     for my salvation. Amen.

March 28, Maundy Thursday
Craig Mindrum

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this, all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:34-35

Piecing together what might really have happened the awful night when Jesus was arrested is almost impossibly difficult, because the gospels tell complicated and sometimes contradictory stories about events. By the time the gospels get written down, many decades after Jesus’s death, the Last Supper has already had a lot of theology and doctrine attached to it. You can see that in Mark, Matthew, and Luke, where the last meal is now seen as the institution of the Eucharist. John doesn’t mention that here, though. (His reference back in John 6 isn’t tied to the Last Supper.) And then he adds a story about washing of feet that doesn’t appear in the other gospels. (Why not?)

I like the following, simpler version of events: Jesus has been tipped off that Judas has betrayed him, and that Caiaphas’s guards will be arresting him in the night. Nevertheless, Jesus is determined to observe the Passover meal. He knows that it truly is his “last supper” before being taken away. He knows he will be dead by tomorrow. Nevertheless, he gathers all of them together to eat, even the disciple who has betrayed him. This is the moment for great drama, isn’t it? Like the words of a coach before a big game? Wouldn’t this be the right time for the Great Commission — Matthew 28: “Now go and make disciples of all nations”?

But no. Instead, it’s a heart-rending moment of humility: “When you get together like this, to share bread and wine, will you remember me?” This Jesus, who has proclaimed a new kingdom, a new understanding of our relationship with God, simply asks that his friends remember him. And then, a poignant detail shared by John: What is it that Jesus wants to be remembered for? Miracles? Mighty acts? Again, no. What he wants his legacy to be is that his followers simply love one another. He is saying: “All people will know that you are my disciples if you love one another, as I have loved you; that’s where your true power resides.” It’s a small moment that can take your breath away.

Soon, Judas returns.

Lord, help us to love one another. For that is how everyone will know we are your disciples. Amen.

March 27
Connie Zyer

The Lord God  has given me
     a trained tongue,
that I may know how to sustain
     the weary with a word.
Morning by morning he wakens,
     wakens my ear
    to listen as those who are taught. Isaiah 50:4

Reading this verse in the New Living Translation (NLT) brought added insight as I reflected on this passage:

The Sovereign Lord has given me his words of wisdom so that I know how to comfort the weary. Morning by morning he wakens me and opens my understanding to his will.

When I was a young mom, my life revolved around my children’s needs and schedules. I often longed for and felt guilty about not having time to spend with Jesus on a regular basis. I remember praying to God asking him to help me find the time. He literally started waking me up 15-30 minutes before my children woke up. I was in awe of how the Lord met me where I was and gave me what I needed to get through those busy and wonderful years.

That discipline of starting the day with the Lord has continued. Some days it is only 5 minutes, some days it is an hour or more. In recent years, I have realized that God wants to spend time with me just as much as I want (and need) to spend time with him. Imagine, the God of the universe desires to spend time with me; sharing his wisdom, showering me with his love, and opening my heart and mind to how he wants me to join him in serving others.

As I read this passage, I see the image of the cross. The vertical beam is evident in God waking me each morning to talk with me, to train me, and to remind me how much he loves me. The horizontal beam reminds me that with the Spirit’s guidance, I am to comfort the weary and share the love that God has lavishly shared with me.

Loving God, help us to live “crossed lives” where we regularly spend time in your loving presence being nourished and trained so that we are able to share your love and grace with others. Amen

March 26
Sabrina Maggio

My times are in your hands; deliver me from the hands of my enemies, from those who pursue me.
 Let your face shine on your servant; save me in your unfailing love.  Psalm 31:15-16

I am my own worst enemy. I am my harshest critic. I am known for making my friends, family, and students feel awesome about themselves, yet I don’t often extend this grace to myself. Sounds funny, right? I’m reading this psalm and the minute I see the words “deliver me from the hands of my enemies” I immediately think of myself…I am my own worst enemy. 

It’s almost comical that I dedicate my career to educating middle schoolers, to serving a greater purpose; yet it’s very hard for me to say that I’m successful. I blame being raised by two nerdy PhDs who went to Yale…. the bar was just set too high from the beginning. 🙂 

My dad was a shining example of success. In his field of work, he earned the name “Godfather of Tau.” Tau is a protein in the brain and my dad was instrumental in defining its biology and several key aspects of how tau worked in Alzheimer’s disease. However, when asked if he thought he was successful, his response was “I’m not done yet,” or “You should see some of my colleagues; ________ won the Nobel Prize last year.” He was his own worst enemy, his harshest critic, yet he was an amazing, brilliant light to everyone who knew him both professionally and personally. Dad suffered from diabetes and heart disease in part due to genetics and in part due to ignoring his health because he was busy pursuing success, once again, his own worst enemy. 

When God called my dad home suddenly at the young age of 63, I swore that I would never become so taken with my career that I couldn’t see myself anymore or what is truly the most important in life. It’s the hardest lesson I’ve ever learned, that success (even when you’re literally trying to cure Alzheimer’s) is never worth sacrificing your health and in essence, your life. So, whenever I hear that little voice in my head, the one that says I’m not successful, I plan on remembering God’s unfailing love and that truly I’m not really in charge of my own life. He has a plan for me and my job is just to be the best flawed human I can be during my time here. 

I wish that my dad had read this psalm — maybe he would have eased up a little on himself and leaned on God a little more; maybe he would have invested in his health earlier on and maybe he would have lived to see his daughters as amazing adults, or meet his grandchildren or know his sons-in-law. 

Gracious God, deliver us from our enemies -perhaps especially when they come in the form of ourselves. Let Your light shine upon us and be a reminder that even when we do not love ourselves or realize how amazing we are, we are loved and saved by you. Amen

March 25
Bill Pullin

He humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death — even death on a cross. Philippians 2:8

Why does Paul in his letter to the Philippians worship and adore a man whose obedience to God led to his death on the cross? Of course, we know why, for with Paul we know that Jesus rose from the tomb and now reigns over all creation with God the Father and the Holy Ghost.

The situation of Paul is meaningful in understanding what he says here about humility. At the time Paul wrote to the Philippians he was in prison and contemplating the likelihood of his own death. His humble acceptance of this fate as he writes to his followers is meant to be a lesson to them. He tells them to never be selfish or self-important but to act more for others than they do for themselves.

This isn’t a point of view that is widely accepted in our world. In school, in sports, in business, and society, we are rewarded for trying our hardest and beating our competition. We know full well that was not the way of Jesus, but the rewards of personal accomplishments are staring us in the face pretty much all the time.

As I think about the humility of Jesus that Paul celebrates in this letter, I am reminded of a devotion that has been helpful to me in understanding the quality of Jesus’ life when he lived among us. I try to think about what Jesus must have done in his humble life — things like sleep at night, clean his hands, get a drink of water, eat supper, and be with friends. These kinds of activities point to the humanity of Jesus, and make me think of the astonishing glory of his teaching and healing and resurrection.

The humility of Paul and Jesus shows us the path to a perfect, everlasting life. It is a strange path, but it is the way we must go.

Lord Jesus, in your humble humanity you have shown us the way to a righteous and everlasting life. We praise and thank you. Amen

March 24, Passion Sunday
Laura Becker

Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” Mark 15:37-39

It is both an incredible privilege and an agonizing experience to be with a loved one when that person dies. I have had that privilege/agonizing experience three times in my life so far — when my mother’s sister (who was my godmother as well as my aunt) died, when my mother died, and when my father-in-law died.

Because Jesus breathed his last to save us from permanent death, I knew that my loved ones would have eternal life. I would see them again in heaven, but the experience of their deaths still shook me to my core. I would no longer have them with me in this life on this earth. How would I navigate this life without them?

Jesus’ families and disciples must have wondered, too, how would they navigate this life without Jesus? At least one person, who had not been a follower of Jesus, wondered that, too. The centurion had not been a long-term follower of Jesus, but in the moment of Jesus’ death, he accepted the agony and the privilege of being with Jesus at his death. “Truly this man was God’s Son!”

The Gentile centurion now knew how he would navigate each day of the rest of his earthly life — as a believer in Christ, the Son of God. The curtain of the temple had been torn in two: the literal barrier to Gentiles being able to be near God was gone. The centurion witnessed it, and he couldn’t help but proclaim it to the world.

Have we ever been so bursting with joy and amazement that we couldn’t help but proclaim it to the world? “Truly this man was God’s Son!”

And, spoiler alert. We know the rest of the story; we know that Jesus is with us always — not in human, bodily form anymore, but he is with us in the core of our beings every moment of every day. We know that the correct verb is not past tense; Jesus is God’s Son.

Do we live every day recognizing the privilege and the agony of being a follower of Jesus? Does Jesus shake us to our core every day as we navigate our earthly lives?

Jesus was born, lived, died, rose, and ascended to heaven for you and for every other you whom you will meet as you navigate your earthly path. Live by showing others how Jesus meant it. Carpe Diem!

Jesus, God’s own Son, thank you for being with us in every moment of our lives, for tearing the temple curtain in two, and for the witness of the centurion. Thank you for fulfilling your covenant with humanity, and help us to proclaim you to the world in word and action. Amen

March 23
Jill Baumgaertner

They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the World.” John 4:24

We believe those who are believable, who have credentials, who are respected, who listen to us, and who use reason. Was this woman believable? She had no credentials except a history of promiscuity. She was not respected, that is clear. No, she was a Samaritan with five husbands, seeking water in the heat of the day when no one else was at the well to berate her or to speak dismissively to her. But Jesus is there, and he speaks openly to her, she hears him and is so amazed by what he tells her that she asks if he is the Messiah. And he says that he is. When she tells everyone in her village, the miracle is that they believe her without first seeing Christ and then rush to have their own encounter with him. When they do, their belief is affirmed.

The authority of the Samaritan woman is given to her not by her reputation, not by her credentials, but by Christ. She is an evangelist, maybe one of the first.

I think of Sophie Wright, an immigrant and Grace member from many years ago. A plain woman with the authority of experience and of faith.

For Sophie, Bald in Church
The others on whom cancer
also closes in wear wigs or scarves
but your head is bare

and smooth as a peach.
You wear it cleanly
and there is no Auschwitz

agony in your eyes although
you also know that other type of
baldness sour and silent. But now you

ask about what happens later–
if the soul hovers in the out there
floating in dreams waiting

for the body to catch up.
And we in our habitual pews
sit behind you and see the cross

through the penumbra of your
head–naked as an infant
still curling into its mother.

Sophie did not have a sophisticated education, but she understood who Christ was, and even amid her sufferings, which were considerable, she pointed to the cross. And we watched her. And saw the cross behind, above, and through her.

Dear Lord, we pray for the boldness of faith, even when we feel that we do not have the words, the language, the background. Help us to speak with the authority only you can give us. In Christ’s name, Amen.