where would you be?

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WHERE WOULD YOU BE?

Lenten  Meditations  2014   First  United  Methodist  Church   203  Wisconsin  Avenue   Madison,  WI  53703   608.256.9061   www.fumc.org    

 

Ash Wednesday, March 5 Worship this evening at 7:00 p.m. During the season of Lent, members and friends of FUMC will reflect on the “old, old story of Jesus and his love” and we’ll do that with the help of the theme, “Recasting the Story” and a related question, “Where would you be?” After his baptism and before his public ministry, Jesus went alone to the wilderness where he fasted, prayed and engaged in contemplation. He spent 40 days in the wilderness asking what it meant to be Jesus. Perhaps the 40 days of Lent can offer something similar for us. Where would we be in the story of Jesus and his love? Where are we in that story today? Who are we as individuals and a community of faith? What are our priorities? Who is God calling us to become? Are we willing to trust God and ourselves enough to take the necessary risks to become that new creation? As we explore these significant questions and their possible answers we not only learn more about who we are and who we might become, but we also face the truth about who we’re failing to become. Honest reflection can be a sobering experience. But in his book, Whistling in the Dark, Fredrich Buechner reminds us that “if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end.” Because of God’s grace, we trust it will be so.

Thursday, March 6 Ann Herrold-Peterson The story of Jesus walking on water recounts how the disciples in the boat are surprised by rough seas and call out to Jesus to “save them”. Jesus comes to them “walking on water” and bids them “take courage”. Then Peter asks for proof and Jesus bids Peter to step out onto the water and come to him. Peter takes the risk to leave the safety of the boat, but then fear sets in and he begins to sink – calling out to Jesus to save him. Only after the rescue do the disciples declare that Jesus is the Son of God. I find myself identifying with the disciples – they know Jesus and yet they become fearful; once rescued, they are again able to declare their faith in him. Most of us find ourselves comfortable and safe – smooth sailing on calm seas with a gentle breeze. However, when the storm does hit, we are also caught between courage and fear. Will we be strong or “faint of heart”? And, like the disciples after the rescue, we are again able to declare our faith in Jesus. We are certain of his identity, as the incarnation of God’s powerful and loving presence in our midst. We want this to be a “once and for all” experience and vow that we will have no more doubts and no more “faint of heart” moments. Yet our human experience is characterized by ambiguity and we are looking for miracles. Our challenge today is to pay attention to where God is calling us – by name - to step out of our safe places into the rough seas – Jesus will meet us there and miracles will happen. Then our stories (as well as those of the first disciples) will also become part of the record of God’s co-creative action in our world today. We will declare our faith, acknowledge our doubts, and become powerful storytellers - as we share our “God moments” with our fellow travelers. During Lent, may we open our hearts, deepen our trust, and step out into God’s living presence.

Friday, March 7 Laura Green “I love to tell the story…to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.” Even 2000 years later the story of Jesus and His love offers hope and guidance to those who seek it. Sometimes it’s not always easy to understand what those stories mean, though. I relate most to these stories, the teachings of Jesus, when I connect them to my life and the things going on around me. I feel that if you take the time to reflect and observe, you will start to notice the love of Jesus playing out all around. One story Jesus told is of the widow and the two coins, where the widow gives all that she has to help someone else. Sometimes what seems a small, trivial act of kindness can have a profound effect. Working at a community center, I am blessed to see these acts of kindness every day, if I only take the time to notice them. One day one of our homeless friends came to the front desk to ask for an envelope. After hunting down an envelope for him, he placed $10.00 in the envelope and handed it to me as a donation. He had found paying work that day, for the first time in I don’t know how many days, and one of the first things he did was take a large portion of what he earned and give it back to the Center. This moving experience was a gentle reminder that I can always find it in my heart to do more and give more to our community. This experience was like one of the stories of Jesus and His love playing out in modern times. Jesus and his love are ever-present, and sometimes we are the means through which he makes his love known.

Saturday, March 8 Thomas Miller There was a commotion outside my hotel window. People were pushing and shouting. I had arrived in Jerusalem late the night before and was planning on sleeping in. I put on my bathrobe and stepped out onto the small porch off my second floor room overlooking the crowd that had gathered on the street below. The man in the room next door was also out on his porch yelling at someone on the street. “What’s going on?” I asked wiping the sleep from my eyes. “That trouble-maker Jew, Jesus. It looks like he’s finally getting what he deserves.” “Jesus? I don’t know the man,” I said. “What did he do?” “He’s a rabble rouser. Getting the people all riled up, preaching equality and love. He’s got people believing he’s the Messiah. He’s pulled off a couple of magic tricks that his followers call miracles.” “Like what kind of tricks,” I asked? “Curing lepers, making the blind see, cripples walk. Stuff like that.” “Those are some kind of tricks,” I answered. “What are they going to do to him?” “Hang him on a cross. Look, there he is now. He’s got to carry his cross up to Golgotha.” “I don’t understand,” I said. “You said he’s been curing people and for that they’re going to crucify him. That doesn’t make sense.” “There’s more to it than that,” my neighbor said. “He’s a revolutionary. He’s got both the Romans and the High Priests angry. I’ll give him credit for that. He’s the only one who can get the Romans and the Sanhedrin to agree. Unfortunately for him they’ve agreed to crucify him.” “You said he has followers?” “Hundreds, maybe thousands. They call them themselves Christians. He has to be stopped before there’re any more of them.” “How do you know who the Christians are?” My neighbor laughed. “By their love. Yeah, they brag about it. You will know they are Christians by their love.” Just then, Jesus was passing below my window. He stopped and looked up. Our eyes met and we each whispered, “I love you.”

Monday, March 10 Judy Lyons In the biblical “old, old story of Jesus & his love”, Jesus was so committed to the power of love that he lived that compassion everywhere and all the time. Even toward the children who in that society were essentially unimportant. Another of our favorite hymns reminds us, “Jesus loved the little children; all the children of the world” when few others cared. And in the face of death, Jesus even then showed compassion to those around him. Because I was an elementary teacher in my first profession, I was deeply sobered by the tragedy of the Sandy Hook shooting of school children and their teachers. In the midst of these traumatic moments, however, there were also moments of a Jesus-kind of love. A friend of mine who ministered to the families within days of the trauma shared one of the most poignant. She wept as she told of the little boy who because of his autism had been ignored or even ostracized by some of his classmates. One particular teacher had shielded him from these taunts whenever possible. She reassured him daily that she would take care of him. That awful day, when the shooting stopped, and the rescuers reached the room where this teacher had attempted to protect some students, they found her with her arms around this special child. Both were dead. But the parents of the boy later said through their tears that at least the last words their son heard were words of love. Could I have done this? I do “…love to tell the story”, but could I live the story? Can I love all persons equally, showing concern for all persons, regardless of the cost? I’d like to think I’m trying to live “the old, old story”. May the spirit of the story give me courage.

Tuesday, March 11 Betsy Starling Thoughts on a favorite “Old, Old Story” from Matthew 6:9-13 The last few months, the story I like most to tell takes me back to a favorite Gospel story, that of Jesus teaching the disciples the Lord’s Prayer. Well, after all, almost all Christians know the Lord’s Prayer and we say it at least weekly during worship. This prayer has taken on special meaning for me since August 7, 2013. On that day, my son and daughter-in-law in North Carolina found out that their expected baby had a life-threatening birth defect. Baby girl Starling’s intestines and other abdominal organs were in the chest cavity preventing proper growth of the lungs. The Lord’s Prayer was my solace during the last 12 weeks of the pregnancy and during the three weeks in the neonatal intensive care at Duke. “Thy will be done” was the thought and words that gave me comfort. It was in the Lord’s hands. Would the baby live at birth? Would she survive the necessary surgery at a few days of age? Would she be left with a serious disability? What was God’s will? Other friends and relatives and hundreds of people prayed for the baby. Our prayers were answered and baby Leyna is doing miraculously well. It was God’s will that she be born at full-term; that her parents take everything in stride; that skilled doctors and nurses care for her; and that the prayers of many people be heard. Praise Christ for his love. During Lent, I plan to read again the gospel stories, those “old, old stories” for which we all hunger and thirst.

Wednesday, March 12 Mel Vance . . . in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself . . . II Cor. 5:19 During Lent let us recast the old story of Jesus’ crucifixion, no longer as his paying the Father’s price for our sins, or simply as proof of the irremediable sinfulness of this world. Old ideas of a sin-fix worked out some place back then and out there are moribund. But, at the same time, we can’t surrender to the self-isolating pursuit of diversions that widely supplants old religiosities. So we recast the story: God reconciling the world, reengaging us avoiders, regaining us strays, through Christ’s death and life. Tragically the leaders of the chosen people rejected the utopian dream of justice, faithfulness and community God displayed in Jesus. Jesus’ way confronts our society and the fear and selfishness of our conformist, mediocre lives as much as theirs. Yet God’s work through Jesus fosters the opposite of resignation. God’s act in the cross was to reconcile the world, to make a new life story for humanity to be part of. In Christ God withstands the world by being more for it than we are for ourselves, more with sufferers than we are. Reconciliation gives divided and alienated humans a way back into the life of God. Through God’s perfect consecration to the world’s life in Jesus’ death and return we are not alone, even in tragedy, or when resistance to God’s dream seems intractable. Jesus leads not to resignation, but to resilience and meaning that endures. His was not some fix worked outside of us: “in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting us with the message of reconciliation.” So when the crucified Christ is displayed in the recast story it is as prelude for and completion of stories of seemingly impossible human actions of reconciliation (as in South Africa) and human identification with the most desperate (as in Pope Francis’ immerging initiatives). Through the crucified Christ’s communion with us God makes human impossibilities into possibilities . . . the ever new story.

Thursday, March 13 Jackie Bessey Jesus' ministry centered around Galilee and he worked from Capernum, a wealthy city, densely populated and a cultural melting pot. Even though he had opposition from religious leaders, he continued to teach and heal the sick. Where would I be in this setting, if the scene were recast? I would have heard of Jesus' teachings, and curiosity would have brought me to one of his many gatherings. It is hard to comprehend now what it would be like to hear Jesus' words for the first time. I would have many questions, yet, Jesus' love and compassion for people seemed to draw me and others in like a magnet, opening our hearts and minds. Jesus did not ignore others’ needs. Matthew writes that in the middle of Jesus' teaching, a ruler approached him, asking him to come and heal his deceased daughter. As Jesus was leaving with the ruler, a woman with a physical ailment touched the edge of Jesus' robe. Jesus turned and told her that her faith had healed her. Just imagine the belief of this woman and the love and power of Christ! I would have liked to humbly, on bended knee, reach out and touch the hem of Jesus' robe to feel his love and healing touch. What spiritual or physical healing would you have hoped for? Of course, we do not live in Jesus' day. However, we are not alone, for he has given us the Holy Spirit to live within us and guide us. We have God's word, the Bible, which tells us that God loves with a perfect love. His love never ceases and it is immeasurable. Frequent prayer will help us to establish a closer relationship with God. When we draw nearer to God, he draws nearer to us. And finally, we have each other! A smile, a touch, or just listening, helps to show our love. Our church, its members, and all of its outreach mean so much to those who are served. God is with us!

Friday, March 14 By Jim Hoyt One of my favorite lectures from the Introduction to Mass Media course I taught for 29 years at the UW was devoted to the Hollywood “extravaganza” films of the 1950s. As the growth of network television began to erode motion picture audiences, Hollywood retaliated by producing huge extravagant films that television could never hope to match. These films featured casts of thousands, dozens of top stars, and gigantic sets. They were always filmed in color and 70mm wide screen. And…interestingly…many of those films were based on Biblical themes. I suspect many of you have seen them over the years. Who can forget Cecile B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments” (1956) starring Charlton Heston? Or “The Robe” (1953) starring Richard Burton? Or “The Greatest Story Ever Told” starring Max von Sydow and Charlton Heston? The list has grown ever since. I would periodically screen these films in advance of my lectures, and was always struck by the same reality. When Hollywood was in desperate financial straits because of competition from television, it turned to the Bible as a source for the stories designed to attract an audience. The theme has obviously grown familiar to me over the years. But I’m now being asked a profound and new question. If I had been present during the incidents portrayed in “The Robe,” for example, where would I have been? I’d like to think I would have been with the disciples, following Jesus, standing with him, and helping him to further his ministry. But I also realize what a difficult choice that would have been. Maybe I’d be in the crowds, cheering him on and encouraging his ministry from a distance. At this point in my life I pray that I will live my life as Jesus would want, that I would be as compassionate, forgiving, and generous as He taught us all to be. That is my goal — to be in the picture, not in the background. Thank you, Jesus (and, yes, thank you, Hollywood) for providing this guidance for all of us.

Saturday, March 15 Diane Glodoski I chose an empty table with the hope that one person would join me and together we could discuss Parker Palmer’s message we had just heard. A young woman asked if she could join me and I said, ‘yes, please do’. We exchanged names and talked about why we had come to the Benedict Center for this retreat. Quite easily our conversation turned to the process of dying. I told her of the death of my husband a few years before, of his faith and lack of fear of death. She took in a deep breath, looking at me intently, saying that her mother died recently. She had suffered physically as she died. She wished she could be sure that her mother had not suffered too much when she died. I began to tell her that I had nearly died in my sleep a few months after my husband died. I had a glimpse of what it felt like to communicate with a heavenly spirit. I begged to be able to return to my young daughter. I awoke but will never forget the overwhelming love and peace I felt in those moments. She seemed to relax. God does provide the people for us to speak to. Jesus’ life, death and resurrection plays over and over in our lives reminding us His spirit is within us, ready for us to share for healing as He has healed us.

Monday, March 17 Elissa Jones We know that Jesus spent his youth learning the scriptural stories of the Hebrew people. As a teacher of stories, I’ve been fascinated by how these lessons must have influenced Jesus. One in particular stands out to me this Lenten season. Hezekiah became king of the southern territory, called Judah, just after the northern kingdom was destroyed and exiled by the Assyrians. His story contains heroic battles and miraculous healing, but I always imagine that Jesus found inspiration in the part about the party. It was a family reunion, really. Hezekiah spent 2 Chronicles 29 cleaning up the mess his father Ahaz had made. He directed the priests and Levites to purify and consecrate everything, presenting sin and thank offerings as the temple and the nation were rededicated to God. Immediately afterwards, Hezekiah started writing invitations. Not just Judah, but all of scattered Israel was invited to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover of the Lord. All the long-lost cousins were called home to the festival worship. And they came. A month late, unwashed, unpurified, unfit in every legal way to participate, the ragged crowd of exiled Israelites descended on Jerusalem to take part in the Passover feast. And Hezekiah, who had just finished the painstaking preparations required by the purity regulations, welcomed them with open arms. He prayed to God to pardon everyone “who sets his heart on seeking God... even if he is not clean according to the rules of the sanctuary.” He asked God to look at the pure hearts of the people instead of their dirty hands. “And the Lord heard Hezekiah and healed the people.” (2 Chron 30:18-20) God didn’t overlook their unfitness, but rather healed them, because they were seeking earnestly to worship. They did it all wrong. They broke the rules. But Hezekiah knew that wasn’t the point, so he interceded with God for their healing, and God responded with grace. Many years later, Jesus would have learned this story as a youth. Perhaps he thought about Hezekiah as he drew the circle ever wider, welcoming all who would come truly seeking God.

Tuesday, March 18 David Robinson Though sometimes viewed as a time of deprivation, Lent is best seen as a period for reflection, for confronting the questions we often neglect to consider in our daily lives. Art, in its myriad forms, can serve as the vehicle for that reflection. The form that most preoccupies me is film: I taught film for over thirty years and remain a movie reviewer and enthusiast. Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, which I first saw as a college student in the early 1960s and later taught many times, continues to engage me, intellectually and spiritually, half a century later. Though it deals only glancingly with the story of Jesus’ life, it provokes thoughts about the myriad meanings of that life and the ways people have responded to it. Briefly, The Seventh Seal depicts the last days of a knight returning from a Crusade to his native land, which is being harrowed by the Black Plague. In a recurring scene, the knight plays chess with Death, attempting to forestall his own death despite its acknowledged inevitability. As he moves about the stricken landscape of a vicious world, he encounters various responses to the human predicament which obliges us to act in the face of our own death. He sees the burning of a young witch, a procession of flagellants, a painter creating a mural on a church wall, a small troupe of actors putting on a bawdy play. At one point, in a church confessional, he asks, “Is it so cruelly inconceivable to grasp God with the senses? What is going to happen to those of us who want to believe but aren’t able to?” The “priest,” displaced by Death, remains silent. Later, the knight tells the simple, faithful actors that he believes “Faith is a torment….It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call.” The knight’s final, life-saving act, along with the actor’s visionary faith, balances the film’s darkness. With its reassertion of life in the face of death, of redemption in a fallen world, so does Easter.

Wednesday, March 19 Cherry Pothoff The Good Shepherd Have you even been lost? I certainly have. One time I got lost on my way to a job interview. I checked my map several times to make sure I knew where I was going. I felt confident in myself and my map reading abilities. After a deep breath, I ventured out to the bus stop and boarded the proper bus. Upon arrival to my destination, I was all turned around. I couldn’t figure out which direction was north, what streets were where, and what building I was supposed to be heading towards. I was lost. My anxiety levels were beginning to rise. I didn’t want to call my possible future employer and tell them I didn’t know where I was. And I certainly didn’t want to ask anybody because I didn’t want to look stupid and ruin my confidence. You know, it’s that confidence where you believe you can do things all on your own. At that moment of early panic, I noticed a woman wearing a t-shirt of the company where I was to go for my interview. I figured that she must be heading to work. Being the sleuth that I am, I followed her. My assumptions were correct. She was going to work and she led me right to where I needed to be. As God’s children, we are often referred to as sheep. Sheep are not smart animals. They need to be tended to constantly. They don’t have any sharp teeth, claws, or horns to protect themselves from wolves or other predators. And they wander off. They need a shepherd who is willing to retrieve and protect them time and time again. Luckily for us, we have a Good Shepherd in Jesus. We are sinful creatures no matter how hard we try not to be. Yet Jesus continues to find us and claim us as His. It is an “old, old, story.” Yet we need to be led back often. And for the record, I got the job.

Thursday, March 20 Peter Hamon Tonight we’re having our meal out on the roof of the moneylender’s house. Earlier it was way too hot to eat inside. But now that the sun is setting it’s getting cooler, and I’m almost glad for the heat from the cooking fire in the center of our little circle. We’re a mixed crowd tonight. The moneylender (of course - it’s his house), a temple soldier, merchants, a few beggars, two young men obviously in love, and even a Pharisee. There are a few women also, from all walks of life, some alone, and some cuddling their children. And then there’s the usual scattering of Jesus’ disciples. Last, and probably least, there’s me – just a seeker. Jesus takes his last bite of fig (he does so love figs) and begins to speak. I could lose myself in the sound of his deep, melodious voice, but I really want to pay attention to what he has to say. Sometimes (depending on the crowd) he tells a joke - I laughed for three days over the one about Solomon’s wives and the traveling jewel merchant – but mostly he is serious. He had a way of taking the most commonplace things – a lily, a disobedient son, a grain of mustard seed – and weaving them into little stories that make you think about everything in a whole new way. You know, if the world doesn’t end exactly on time, I feel sorry for the folks who will try to figure out what he said and meant over the centuries and millennia to come. All they’ll have are a few of his little stories. I’m sitting right here and I get to ask questions about what I don’t understand. And Jesus listens too. If you have a good idea he’ll ask if he can use it, and in a week or so he’ll have a new story that is a whole lot cleverer than whatever you said in the first place. The cooking fire is dying down to embers. I look up at the majesty of the stars. I know that the kingdom is here, now. And I’m just where I belong. Seated at the feet of Jesus and nestled in the eternal hand of God.

Friday, March 21 Abby Rebhorn Do you love to tell the old, old story? What stories do you love to tell? I love to tell the story of how I met my best friend on a bus because she was singing a song from one of my favorite movies. I love to tell the story of the day I was channel-surfing and accidentally stumbled across the women’s Olympic marathon on TV and was so inspired that I started running. But I can’t remember the last time I told the old, old story. And I’m ashamed to admit that when I recently tried to recount the biblical story of Abigail (my namesake) I sort of botched it. I want to be bolder. I want to get better at sharing the stories of God’s work in my life. I have faith today because people have passed down their stories for generations. I know of Jesus’ love because the people who heard Jesus speak and who witnessed his sacrifice were so deeply moved that they had to run and tell someone else. I’m grateful for their testimony and courage. Some people had the wherewithal and the patience to write Jesus’ stories down (huge kudos to the scholarly-types) but I know that wouldn’t have been me. If I had been there, I would have been the woman dashing to the nearest watering well, whispering “Oh my goodness! Did you hear? Were you there? Well, let me tell you…” If I had actually witnessed one of Jesus’ miracles, I hope that would have instantly become my favorite story to tell. Next time you find me, ask me to tell you the story of the time God sent three angels to me when I was stuck in a blizzard in Minnesota. Then I will ask you to share one of your best stories. I can’t wait to hear it. Lord, thank you for the air in my lungs. Remind me to use my breath and my voice to share your stories. Help me to choose the right words so that others can hear you through me. Amen.

Saturday, March 22 Doug Knudson When I began to write this meditation I tried to picture how Jesus would act in today’s society. I believe that his messages about love and care for others, as expressed in the “old, old story”, are still relevant today and that Jesus would still be encouraging us to be actively engaged in efforts to improve the lives of others by overcoming social issues such as homelessness, hunger, discrimination of GLBT persons, the lack of universal health care and the absence of a living wage, to name a few examples. As I thought about that picture of Jesus and the theme of “Recasting the Story: Where Would You Be”, I decided that for myself it might be appropriate to change the word “Would” to the word “Should”. Such a change requires me to think of what I should be doing now, rather than waiting until it is more convenient and less disruptive of my life to be more involved. While I often feel a sense of urgency about what I see to be social inequities, I usually am reluctant to get involved in ways which would take me out of my comfort zone. For example, I make contributions of time and money toward programs helping homeless persons. But I could be more sharing of my time and possessions. So I struggle with the adequacy of my contributions in light of the parable when Jesus told the ruler to sell all that he had and to give it to the poor. I think I would find it easier to avoid that internal struggle if I were not a member of FUMC. The faithbased messages I hear at worship on Sunday mornings, remind me that the message of Jesus was that you should be actively involved in promoting social justice, rather than simply having an internal focus on self-piety. It is important for me to continue hearing how I should be an active follower of the teachings of Jesus and to be motivated to have the courage to be that active follower.

Monday, March 24 Carly Kuntz When I read the stories in the gospels, I often try to imagine where I would be in the story. Would I follow Jesus if he asked me to? Would I be rooting for him to actually work a miracle? Would I stand at the parade on Palm Sunday yelling, "Hosanna!" or in the pack in front of Pilate's Palace screaming, "Crucify him." I know myself well enough to say I would probably show up to see whatever spectacle was in front of me, not as a believer, but as a cynic and a skeptic. I would be the one waiting to see what happened when Jesus healed a blind person. I would be the one nudging my neighbor saying, "I have a quarter that says it will never work." I would be part of the crowd and probably not the supportive part of the crowd. In spite of my skepticism and cynicism, in spite of my failure to instantly follow Jesus, I have become an ardent believer. Experience has shown me betting against God does not pay off. That wisdom has come with hindsight. When I look at the stories of my life I can see God standing in the forefront offering healing, hope, support and optimism when I was ready to give up. When I read the gospel stories I still see myself in the worst possible places. Fortunately, God has become a star in the cast of my life.

Tuesday, March 25 Myron Talcott “Where am I in this Story?” Mark 2:1-12 On a sunny Saturday afternoon, I was walking through town with some friends. We watched the clouds moving under the blue sky. We looked beyond the houses beside us to see the lake. The blue water was so inviting we considered going and sitting on the shore. But something happened that changed our minds. A friend near me noticed a crowd was gathering in front of the house across the road from us. We decided to go closer to the people there making sure as we walked we avoided stepping on the sharp stones sticking up through the dust on top of the road. Three men caught our attention. They were standing beside a man lying on a mat on the ground. I heard them shout above the noise of the crowd, “We need a fourth man to help us carry our friend on this mat. He is paralyzed. Surely one of you is strong enough to help us carry him up the stairs to the roof of this house.” At first I wondered why they did not just go through the door of the house. Then I realized so many people were standing in front of the house, there was no way to get through the door. As I heard the three men still calling for help carrying their friend, I decided I could be their fourth man. Almost without my thinking about it, my feet began to move closer to them. “This is strange,” I said to myself. “I’ve never seen these men before and now I am going to help them carry their friend up the steps to the roof of this house.” Once we were there, we set the man down as gently as we could. Two of his friends began removing the tiles creating an open space. I looked through the hole they had made and saw a young man seated directly below us. When he looked up to see us, our eyes met his eyes, eyes so bright I will remember them always. Now we were eager to lower the mat in front of him and stand beside him. In a very short time I had moved from walking along the road to crossing it to see and hear three men asking for help. I had reached for a corner of the mat and, with them, carried their paralyzed friend up the stairs to the roof. Then we removed enough tiles to lower him beside the man they called Jesus. I thought our task was finished. But new thoughts raced through my mind. “I could be that man on the mat even though he is paralyzed and I am not. But is that really true? I have powerful feelings which keep me from being the fully-free person I would like to be. I feel guilty about some words I have spoken. Guilty also for not “speaking up” when I should have spoken. My fear of people I do not know and my worry about the future often leave me paralyzed. Then there is the shame that rises up within me when I least expect it. I decided I would ask Jesus to lift me up and hold me and heal me. Will you stand near me if I do so?

Wednesday, March 26 Linda Denise Oakley Do something Where do I see myself in the old story of life, ministry, death, and resurrection? Granted this extraordinary perspective, what new, deeper understanding would it bring to my life today? Such questions are well beyond my fragile grasp of things. Perhaps this is what makes them necessary. In the old story I see myself standing in shadows of doubt. I dislike the western assumption that I have control over where I stand. I do not. At the same time, I’m thankful for the universal promise that where I stand has meaning. In the old story I see myself in the shadows, right there between death and resurrection. I’m there, and I’m silently calling out, “do something”. I’m calling out to God. I’m calling out to you. I’m calling out to me. But I’m standing in shadows of doubt and my call is silent. In the old story, I’m standing at the foot of the cross, silently calling out “do something”. At the same moment, I’m standing at the resurrection, before an empty tomb of universal promise. Buried in old yesterdays, blinking up at a today sky of tomorrows. I’m a big fan of Rover. Little Rover wanders the surface and shadows of Mars gathering and sending information. Little Rover and friends are doing something. I wander the surface and shadows of life today. Am I doing something? From what I understand, the correct answer is yes. I am the old story. I stand in shadows of doubt. I wander in silence. I carry a promise. Maybe you do too. In our place, where we stand, we gather and send thoughts. We feel feelings. We see. We listen. The old story is a love story. We are loved. We are asked only to love in return, where we stand. We may blink up at the sky but we are love. And love is doing something. Love protects the land, air, and water. Love feeds everyone. Love teaches all children. Love cares for all without exception, without disturbing those who do not wish to be disturbed, and without incarcerating, impoverishing, abandoning, or denying anyone. Rover is a robot. We are the old story. Love has no doubt. Love is not silent. Love fears no shadow. Love is doing something.

Thursday, March 27 Karen Wydeven I imagine many of us have moments in our lives that have changed our thinking, or maybe even our path. Often we don't realize it was “that sort of moment” until later. My first job after graduate school was in rural southeastern Colorado. This was very different than northeastern Wisconsin! Tumbleweeds on the highway, heat without humidity, and very little rain. Also, some of the nicest people I ever worked with. I remember speaking to the school nurse about a young child with a serious ear infection. The infection was so bad that it had terrible drainage and the nurse was concerned that it would lead to hearing loss. I asked “Well, why don't the parents just take her to the doctor?” The nurse stared at me and smiled a bemused smile. She said, “Oh honey that's not really an option for a lot of folks around here.” This was my first lesson is how there is nothing quite like rural poverty. Rural poverty is not only no money, but no resources. So if this family could afford to pay cash for a doctor visit, they may not even be able to find one. I had health insurance myself, but due to a shortage of medical providers, I had to travel to the next town and go to the “free” clinic for my own medical care. This short moment in my early professional career changed me forever. Without planning it, I've always worked in schools with high poverty rates. I donate to causes to alleviate poverty and I have no patience for entitled people who think the newest I phone is more important than health care. So, where do I see myself in the time of Jesus? Hopefully helping to serve—washing feet. Serving loaves and fishes. Witnessing miracles. And please—I hope I would not deny Jesus even once.

Friday, March 28 Jonathan Whirry "What about you?" Jesus asked. "Who do you say I am?" Matthew 16: 15 Endorser, Neutral, or Detractor? “We’re United Methodists. We live the questions.” Beloved First Church Pastor David Lyons was the first person I ever heard use that expression. For me it says we’re looking for the answers to life’s ultimate questions. Those meaningful life questions that can produce transforming answers. Answers that give us new eyes to see, new ears to hear and a new vision for how to travel a hard road. So are we living the questions? Are we asking the probing questions and more importantly, are we following the answers that can put us on a path with Jesus doing kingdom work? We’re asking, we’re listening, we’re doing. That’s the mission. 1) “God, what is your name?” Moses asked that question. God replied, “I AM WHO I AM.” 2) “Who do people say I am? Jesus asked that and also asked, “Who do you say I am? In my world of consumer opinion market research, Fred Reichheld authored a book called The Ultimate Question, designed to measure success and sustainability. That rating question with a few follow ups produces valuable insights. Using Fred’s concept here’s a spiritual ultimate question about our Christianity. “On a scale of 0-10 how likely would you be to recommend following Jesus Christ to a friend or colleague?” Careful with your answer; it reveals a lot. 9 or 10 = Endorser. You love God, follow Jesus and trust the Holy Spirit to guide you. 7 or 8 makes you a Neutral. You may think you’re fully on board but you’re tentative. 0-6 = Detractor. Faith and hope are just words in the Bible; you don’t like a few things Jesus said and did, so you can’t recommend following him. Two follow ups to 0-10. What were you considering when you gave that score? What, if anything, could you change to give a higher score? Final question, ultimate answer—Jesus asked, “Who do you say I am?” Simon Peter answered, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."

Saturday, March 29 Laura Nagel Telling the Story 21st Century Style #jesuschrist Wise Men: “Cheese! Let’s get one of him next to the camels. Be sure to tag him!” *** @JesusChrist: this temple is sweet! jerusalem is the place to be this wknd. *** @John_the_Baptist: performing a baptism today in the river jordan – should be a good one bc God is with this one *** Video Post: Guy Turns Water Into Wine! (You have to see this to believe it!) *** Poor in Spirit: Jesus says that we are blessed! – with Peacemakers at The Mount. *** @FormerLeper251: a big shout out to @JesusChrist for healing me this afternoon #miracle #whataguy *** Video Post: Guy Walks on Water; Says “God” Told Him To *** @the_5000: thx @JesusChrist for an awesome fish dinner…didn’t think there was going to b enuf *** Peter updated his status: You should have seen Jesus on the mountain today – he was glowing with light! #superhuman #miracle *** Jesus Christ has invited you to the event “Last Supper”. You and 11 others are invited. *** @SimonPeter: jesus of nazareth? i don’t even kno that guy… *** @SimonPeter: oooooh, Jesus…yeah, i kno him *** @JesusChrist: God, why have you forsaken me? *** Joseph of Arimathea updated his status: My prayers go out to the family of Jesus – just laid him to rest in the tomb. (You like this.) *** TombAngel posted on Mary Magdalene’s wall: Do not be afraid – Jesus has risen just as he said. Go to Galilee. *** @doubting_thomas: wow…looks like it really is him after all #deepwounds #seeingisbelieving *** Upload Photo – “Jesus Ascends to Heaven” – tag 11 others? *** With our world wide webs cast, what message are we sending? Are we fishing or making fishers of men? In a world filled with information at our every whim we must be mindful of how we “speak” and how we “listen”. What information do we choose to share with others? How do you share the messages that God sends us every day?

Monday, March 31 Kate Vanderheiden Would any of us pay attention to Jesus if he lived among us today? When I read stories of Jesus’ life, I try to imagine what it was about him that caused so many to drop what they were doing and follow him. People who were sick or troubled must have been seeking a cure. And I suppose those who felt they had the answers about God were there to protect their turf. But many, many more were there to hear Jesus’ words of hope about God’s love and care for them. What Jesus said was evidently very different from the messages heard in the synagogues and in the temple. The language of simple stories, without the structure of rules and rituals, would have been appealing to ordinary people. And the hope and love that permeated Jesus’ words and actions would have touched many hearts. People were hungry, and Jesus fed them. Not just literally, but in their souls. And it wasn’t about showmanship, production values, and hype. I don’t picture Jesus standing before a huge crowd, talking in a loud orator’s voice. I believe there were a few occasions when he was provoked and shouted. (An incident in the Temple comes to mind.) But mostly I imagine a person who is totally genuine and unselfish, who talked in simple language and in a way that was intimate even though he was surrounded by a crowd. And I’ll bet he told funny stories, too! Does this happen today? Are people sharing this same message, and making others feel that their lives have purpose and value, and above all that they are loved? Jesus showed us the way … putting love into all that we do, being compassionate, helping others in whatever way that we can, even if it is just a kind word. This may not get a lot of media attention, but it would change the world for the better.

Tuesday, April 1 Jim Scorgie O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go For many days, I have been humming and singing this song. Written by Rev. George Matheson in 1882, it has always been a favorite of mine. Matheson, a preacher in the Scottish Free Church, was a brilliant theologian and dynamic preacher who was blind from the age of 18. Invited to preach at Balmoral Castle by Queen Victoria, he greatly moved the queen. This hymn was written on the day his sister was married, within a space of 5 minutes. Early in life his own bid for marriage had been rejected. He was alone in his study on this day when this poem welled up in him. Matheson here acknowledges that one is never truly alone when caught by a love that will not let you go. In that love there is light, joy and endless life. You cannot read the passion narratives of the gospels without knowing from whence Matheson's song arises. Life's glory lies in dust at the foot of the cross, he wrote. That's where I am during this telling of this old, old story. That is the place where true gold, not fool's gold, is found. Here is the truth that measures all else. We all have felt alone, like Matheson, and have ached for what could not be. I am sure every one of the disciples felt that pain more than once. But the Love that would not let them go carried them past these moments, to the foot of the cross and beyond. That same Love claims each of us.

Wednesday, April 2 Mary Bean Being the third generation “Mary” in my family, I have a “natural attraction” to Bible stories including one or another of several women in the Bible named “Mary”. My first thought was to try recasting Martha and Mary: “A Modern Mary/Martha”, based on the story of Martha and Mary in Luke 10:38-42. In Biblical times, which am I? Martha, the housekeeper/host/close friend of Jesus or Mary, the thinker, close friend, listener thirsting after Jesus’ life-giving stories?? Jesus responds gently to Martha’s frustration over feeling the need of extra hands in preparing the meal, indicating that Mary is where she desires to be. No response from Mary is recorded. I trust the relationship of the sisters is such that Mary would later share & discuss what she absorbed with Martha. In these twenty-first century times, I find myself identifying with one or the other from time to time – or even both! Thanks to changes in customs and methods, “Martha” might have invited everyone to gather around their large kitchen table, thus being with “Mary” as she listens to Jesus and His companions. Martha would continue monitoring the food preparation while taking short breaks to tune in to Jesus. OR, in these times, “Martha/Mary” could temporarily leave the household & food preparations while she joins the group in learning about Jesus. As Martha/Mary, I would have need to know who this Jesus is. Even though, as a woman still assumed to be the provider of a meal, I would be allowed to join fully in the amazing conversation about Jesus being The Way. The guest would not be Jesus himself, but a person with a close relationship with the Christ through prayer and meditation. As Mary/Martha I would gather comfort from being reminded of the reassurance that Jesus said he would not leave us comfortless but send a “Holy Comforter”. Close this meditation time with a prayer of thanks for the stories of and about Jesus.

Thursday, April 3 John Stolzenberg Some lives matter less? I like a good quote, one that reveals some nugget of truth and leaves me nodding my head in agreement. Often, it provides an insight into the human condition. Our family supports Partners in Health (PIH), a non profit global health organization that focuses on providing preferential health care for the poor in countries like Haiti and Rwanda. Recently, I saw on the PIH website this quote by Dr. Paul Farmer, Chief Strategist and Co-founder of PIH: “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that's wrong with the world.” I think Paul Farmer is correctly describing our current situation and why, even with all of the resources, technology and wealth in the world, we continue to have major health care disparities and many other injustices around the world. As I reflected on his observation, I asked myself, does it have to be this way? Then I contrasted the attitude reflected in the quote with the teachings and role modeling of Jesus and his focus on love. He insisted that through love, everyone, including society's outcasts, should be accepted and treated with respect. For Jesus, no life mattered less. Jesus also taught that his followers have a role in building a community based on this type of love where all lives are valued, that is, the "beloved community" (using the worlds of Martin Luther King, Jr to describe the Kingdom of God in the here and now). It's a tall order to build the beloved community, but each step and act we take in moving towards it is important, as these actions provide an antidote to the world view and its effects that Paul Farmer identified.

Friday, April 4 Amy Walker Band of Brothers My siblings were older and had left home by the time I was nine. I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys and spent long summer days with my band of brothers. As the only girl, I never felt marginalized by these boys but rather fully accepted and treated fairly. Rarely was I the last to be picked when we divided into teams. I was fast and scored as many touchdowns and runs as anyone. All five of us were Methodist. For two years, my mother was our Sunday School teacher. My dad was her bouncer. He would sit between the shin-kicking and rib-poking Nolte boys, monitoring under-table activity, ensuring my mother had an attentive audience. In Junior High, the five of us, along with at least five more, began Confirmation. We sat in the first two rows of the sanctuary for a year taking notes on the sermon. After the service, we would meet with Reverend Bennett to discuss our summaries. Bill Bennett was a WWII Army chaplain and was stationed in Germany near the end of the war in Europe. His description of the smell of burning flesh coming from the concentration camp crematorium was a discussion none of us will ever forget. Our gentle, loving pastor was witness to the most horrific of human tragedy. It was during those discussions, we matured from innocence and for the first time understood why Christ died for our sins. We know Jesus and his Twelve were accompanied by women in their travels. Most certainly Mary Magdalene was the thirteenth disciple. Would I have been a disciple if I were a contemporary of Christ? I think I would have found a home with Jesus and his band of brothers. I would have been compelled by their fairness, their inclusiveness and their defiance of hierarchical relationships between men and women, rich and poor, healthy and diseased, Jew and Samaritan. I would have been compelled by their love. We all went our separate ways in high school; we all found new friends. Jesus, of course, is still my best friend.

Saturday, April 5 Alli Pedersen To me, the “old, old story” of Jesus’ ministry is often re-told through the small everyday actions of people living out His message. As a heavily-pregnant woman herding twin two-year-olds through our days, the kindness I receive feels like a balm. My whole journey since the start of my twin pregnancy nearly three years ago has been an invitation to open my heart to receiving and accepting mercy; a transition from mostly, thankfully, being the one attempting to give instead of receive. The most potent image I see when I think of Jesus’ ministry relating to mercy is simply Him gazing benevolently at someone or someones – a stained glass window, a painting, etc. I see a beautiful stained glass window depicting the compassionate Jesus and I think of the genuine smile and patience of a busy person waiting for me to guide my daughters into an elevator and press the button “myselfs”. Or the knowing, non-judgmental glance of another mother when witnessing our single or double tantrum. The older ladies, leaving their exercise class, sweetly laughing instead of chiding when my girls carom past them to get to the now-open gym. I see His face in those of acquaintances taking time out of their busy lives to bring a casserole, do the dishes, or write a supportive text or Facebook comment (talk about the old story being new!). I am starting to really understand the seasons that make up our lives. Being the mother to young children is an exhausting, amazing job. At times I have felt selfish. I can’t give back or worship like I want to! But again, I think to depictions of Jesus. Face full of light, understanding, grace. I know He, and the beautiful faces of those around me living out his ministry, can accept my season in life. So I can too.

Monday, April 7 Ellie Hein Two favorite hymns regarding the telling of Jesus stories suggest Christians really want something else. The first line of Tell Me the Stories of Jesus conveys the hymn writer’s desire to hear the various stories. Verse four of I Love to Tell the Story asserts that Christians seem “hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest.” Why are we hungering and thirsting to hear Jesus stories? Are we searching for ways to be more Christ-like and are hopeful that hearing how He interacted with people will be our example for living as His followers? On Maundy Thursday several years ago, thirteen men in a church congregation presented a dramatic program, Is It I, Lord, that portrayed Christ and the twelve disciples in the Upper Room and was staged like Leonardo de Vinci’s Last Supper. Through insightful and poignant monologs by the disciples, the author of the program wove stories of comments and acts of the savior that included acceptance, compassion, forgiveness, servanthood, and love. Listening to how those interactions affected the disciples enabled the hearers to identify with and reflect upon Christ’s impact on their own lives. Effective black-out lighting, three spine-tingling raps of a hammer on a spike after Judas exited, and the serving of communion before the congregation left in silence, further captured the transforming power of this story of the Last Supper. A pre-performance activity that also helped turn this program by thirteen men in a community of about 5,000 into a transformational event was the growing of beards! In order to portray a disciple each man had to agree to not shave for the two and one-half months between Christmas and Maundy Thursday. Since none of the thirteen regularly sported a beard, this elicited comments from village members when they encountered any of the men in various community settings and, yes, many non-members were at that Maundy Thursday service! History tells us that one of the earliest forms of Christian preaching was storytelling. As Christians let’s pay attention to the Jesus stories and find our own story in those stories.

Tuesday, April 8 Emily Acheson Suggested reading: Luke 7:36-50 "As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears." Luke 7:38 This last year has brought many unexpected turns. Fairly well-settled into middle-age life, I had come to many of my own conclusions on how a relationship with God works. Work hard. Be considerate. Don't make mistakes. Give to others. Share what you have. Be a good role model. Do these things and God will approve and love you. The problem with this theory, as I have been learning, is that it is impossible to achieve. I have often found myself replaying over and over times I was thoughtless or hurtful or inconsiderate-- times I have made mistakes that I felt were unforgivable. And I would wonder, how could God love me? My response would usually be to strive and work more to "make up" for my past mistakes in order to earn God's grace. In all my business and striving, I hit a brick wall, and in this was a Gift. This epiphany, in my 37th year, is the true and shattering reality of God's love and grace. I could read about God's love, imagine it, see it and support it in others, but have not begun to truly know it for myself as an all-too-human adult until more recently. I could not live up to the expectations I believe He held. This year, in the midst of serious family illness, work challenges and stress, strained and changing family relationships, my checklist theory was not holding up. This year, I have begun learning how to sit at His feet, to freely give of my whole self, and to be open to the transforming love and grace he so freely gives. God's gift to us is His love-- that we can go to Him with our whole selves, even the broken and most undesirable pieces, and He holds all of it. God's gift to us is also in His stories. The more I read the stories throughout The Bible, the more I discover so many of His people are a lot like us in our more challenged moments-stumbling, selfish, questioning, lost, doubting. He is still faithful. I have become friends with this woman in Luke Chapter 7. I am learning from her, she is silent in the story, but her actions speak volumes to my heart. This story, for me, depicts the heart of Jesus-- open, welcoming, loving, ready to meet us where we are at. It reminds me when we bring our whole selves to Him in honesty and truth, it is always enough. What hope and joy are born from this! Aren't all Jesus' stories resurrection stories?

Wednesday, April 9 Milton Ford The Prompting of the Spirit In one of her Sunday sermons about a year and a half ago Pastor Carly told us about a dream she had for a new ministry at FUMC. She hoped we could offer spiritual food along with physical nourishment to the homeless, near-homeless persons and others in our community who come to our building to use our Food Pantry or participate in other outreach ministries. She held up the vision for offering breakfast and worship on one or more days a week for those guests who come through our open door. Carly invited us to talk with her about this new opportunity for ministry. I felt a prompting of the Spirit within me that morning and told Carly that I would be happy to offer myself to this ministry. Soon after the Come As You Are Worship ministry began. On two or more Mondays each month my wife, Emily, and I help lead a brief, informal and hopefully personal time of worship. Those present sing, pray, share in the reading of a scripture passage, and lift up joys and concerns. It is a privilege to share the old story of Jesus and his love as well as explore how God’s grace is moving in our lives today. It has been enriching for Emily and me to get to know the people who share this time with us each week. We are grateful to Karen Andro, Director of Outreach Ministries, and volunteers who prepare and serve the food and welcome our guests each morning. We often feel God’s presence and Spirit through each of them. All of this began for me on that Sunday morning in worship when I felt the stirring and moving of God’s spirit within me and realized that I needed to say “yes” to the challenge that was presented. Are you being prompted to respond to God’s spirit in your life?

Thursday, April 10 Dee Dee Downie In a world becoming increasingly dominated by constant visual and audio stimuli, it is often difficult to take time for reflection. Sometimes, I think, God applies the brakes on less important aspects of our lives, to remind us of God’s love and God’s involvement on the more important parts. I remember, quite vividly, a specific time in my life, where things seemed to be going wrong on every front: my work life was a disaster, jeopardizing my future career, I was struggling with my physical health, and I was an emotional mess--my personal life seemingly falling apart. I could not imagine feeling lower. Late one night, I was walking and I just sat down on the front steps of a nearby church and covered my face with my hands, letting out a long sigh. Help…I thought. The night was almost completely silent. Then, faintly, in the distance, I could hear the sound of a choir singing. I did not recognize the tune or the words--maybe another language? The church choir must be rehearsing tonight. I have always loved music, but this was unlike anything that I had ever heard before. It was the most beautiful sound. I just sat there listening to the beautiful music and gradually I felt a wave of calm wash over me, from my head to my toes. I felt lighter and like the flip of a switch, all of the frustration was gone. Getting up from the stairs, I stepped up to the front doors of the church. Pulling the door open, I stepped forward into the church. I was astonished with what I saw before me…there was no choir, no lights even—the church was completely empty! I couldn’t believe it! Where had the music come from? But, I knew. It was God. God was there with me that night. I was not alone. I had never been alone and would never be alone again. As the tears streamed down my face, I prayed. I came back to God that night and although my life seems like a roller coaster sometimes, I have never forgotten the moment I was reminded of God’s love, how it flowed over me and carried away all of my struggles. During this Lenten season, remember that God’s love is in all of us. Take a quiet moment to reflect and know that God and his heavenly choir will always be there with you when you need it the most.

Friday, April 11 Jamie and Jesse Simpson Jerusalem I remember watching the crowd cheer as three were executed. They were like a hundred others before them, murderers and revolutionaries and false prophets who promised Yahweh was on their side. They all disappeared into the desert dust. They are not remembered. But I remember the one in the middle seemed sad and lonely. I remember he said things I didn’t understand. I remember he didn’t seem like he was supposed to be there. I remember he seemed kind, and good. I remember the crowd jeering his family. He died, like all the rest. So why can’t I forget him? Playground Kids made fun of “Red Ned” with his bright red hair. He was nice, but not good at talking. He was in special classes, and read about insects. I tried to be nice to him, and we walked to the bus stop together sometimes. He smiled and waved when he saw me in the hallway. One day three older kids started shoving him on some ice. I didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything, even though I really wanted to, on the inside. I saw him see me not doing anything, and then he fell and hit his head, hard. He came back to school three days later, and I didn’t think he would like me anymore, but he still smiled and waved when he saw me. His family moved the next summer. I haven’t seen him since. So why don’t I forget him? Homecoming We should have lost our homecoming game. The other team was way better than we were. But our captain inspired us and knew how we needed to play. Once he directed me and I was sure he was wrong, so I did something I thought was better. I was wrong and they scored. He told me it was alright, just trust him next time. Then he got hit hard, a cheap shot, and couldn’t play anymore. From the sideline he cheered and shouted directions. The last play in the game, I did what he yelled to do. I got hurt, but we won homecoming. I’ll never forget him.

Saturday, April 12 Kathy Maldegen If I lived in Israel during that first Holy Week, where would I be in the story? I reviewed Matthew to see what happened. I would certainly join the parade that followed Jesus into Jerusalem shouting "Hosanna" (Mt 21: 9). I'd be singing and dancing. I like being part of a crowd. I could easily join the blind and the lame who came to Jesus in the temple and were healed (Mt 21:14). I have a mental illness (depression), which comes and goes, depending on my stress level. I would definitely beg Jesus to heal me. I hope I wouldn't be like the Pharisees, who tried to trap Jesus with tricky questions (Mt 22: 15-46). Actually, I wouldn't even be able to think up a tricky question, not being schooled in the finer points of theology. However, at Matthew 23, I stop and wonder. Do I do any deeds "to be seen by men" like the Pharisees (v. 5)? When serving God by volunteering my musical talents or my time, do I secretly hope to impress others? And what about Mt 23: 23? Jesus said to the scribes and Pharisees, "You tithe ... and have neglected the weightier matters of the law, justice, mercy and faith; these you ought to have done, without neglecting the others." Jesus says tithing is nothing special, simply the minimum expected. I try to tithe 10% of my income. I give through electronic funds transfer, so I don't even notice the money I'm giving back to God. For me, tithing is effortless. But how am I doing with respect to justice, mercy, and faith? I constantly see injustice in Madison, especially here at FUMC with all our homeless friends who participate in our Come As You Are Worship, our holiday meals, use the food pantry or our overnight shelter. On a personal level, I usually feel pretty comfortable welcoming strangers who enter our church seeking help or comfort. But on a larger level, I am part of a society that tolerates gross disparities between the haves and have-nots. What can I do to change our social system? Perhaps my church can show me the way.

Monday, April 14 Laura Wendt Although it is an “Old, Old Story,” I suppose I see myself and the people around me in a new, new retelling. I feel like most of us have not learned enough from the stories of Jesus’ life and teachings. We are all struggling through many of the same things, reframed, that the people of Jesus’ time were struggling through. I mostly feel like the reluctant disciple. Not because of my unwillingness to follow – I’m not unwilling – but because when Jesus said, “follow me,” I’m the character in the story who turned around. I looked behind myself, expecting to see someone else there – the real follower, the person Jesus actually wanted. As I stumble along this path as a disciple, a confused but well-intentioned follower, many times my children are directing and guiding me. They often tell me what I most need to hear, about my own actions, or even about something from current events that is troubling me. Their focus on love, justice, and compassion inspires and teaches me every day. Most of the time, as I strive to follow Jesus and his teachings, I still find myself looking behind me, pointing questioningly at myself and asking, “Me? Are you really asking me? Am I the one to do this work and make these changes?” The answer I’ve received over and over is that yes, I am expected to do the work of a disciple, but I’ll never have to work alone.

Tuesday, April 15 Brenda Furlow The old, old story of Jesus . . . and the manner of his love. I find one of the most comforting elements of the stories of Jesus’ ministry, death and resurrection to be the manner of His love, the way He chose to live in this world. He chose to become part of a poor working family. The disciples He chose were uneducated, poor working men and women. He chose to share His blessings teachings and miracles with the poor, the ill, the outcasts, the uneducated – those the world considered the weakest, the most immoral, or the least powerful. What better way to prove that God’s power, not people’s talent, accomplishes the task. Yet when it becomes personal – when I am asked to share His teachings or challenged to show His love --I immediately forget this element. First and foremost, I think about me --- how overwhelmed I feel, how wrong I am for the job, how difficult the task will be, . . . and the list goes on. How hard it is for me to remember that I am merely the messenger. The less perfect the messenger, the better to show the power of the message. This poem by 17th Century Welsh poet George Herbert speaks to this truth, and to me. Redemption Having been tenant long to a rich lord, Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold, And make a suit unto him, to afford A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old. In heaven at his manor I him sought; They told me there that he was lately gone About some land, which he had dearly bought Long since on earth, to take possessiòn. I straight returned, and knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts; In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts; At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied, Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

Wednesday, April 16 David Leeper Challenging the Empire I love to tell the story of Jesus because the old, old story is always new. It is always changing, growing, and challenging me in new ways. There was the time a friend was close to death and I was with Jesus when he came to the house of Lazarus. He called out to Lazarus, with love, and brought him come forth from death to life. Then there was the time when I heard Jesus instructing us to turn the other check and be peacemakers and I worked with the Wisconsin Council of Churches to pass the nuclear weapons moratorium. I have walked with Jesus the road to the cross as we re-enacted the living ‘stations of the cross’ at sites of oppression and injustice in our communities. Now, I am afraid. I am standing with Jesus as he enters Jerusalem prepared to face the full fury of the Empire. The power of the Empire is so strong, and I am afraid. I pray, with Jesus, to take away this cup of suffering I see ahead- and this I do with great fervor! It is not as easy to say, “Not my will, but yours be done.” My heart resists. I look for another way because I know the story; I know what comes next to those who challenge the Empire. Yet, I gain strength by hearing, again, the story whose end is not the end. I see myself closer than ever to the end of the story. Yet I understand, more than ever, why those who know the story best are hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest.

Thursday, April 17 Linda Vance “You have me.” When Jesus comes to the upper room and sets the table for his friends gathered around him, he offers himself as bread and wine. Lifting the cup he ends by saying, “drink from this all of you.” Jesus is really saying, “You are not alone. You have me.” In the Lenten Season, I imagine myself at that table because “all of you” includes me and it includes you. I am reminded of a trip I took to the Holy Land 6 years ago. As a gift, I was invited on the trip along with 20 Cooperative Baptist ministers. The trip could prove dangerous and we were invited to purchase more insurance. Indeed, the trip had its cliff hanging moments as we crossed into the occupied territories. We did so as often as we could to give the Palestinian Christians as much of our trade as possible. Our tour bus had to go through check points and at one of them, the back wheel of our bus got hung up on a barrier. The armed guards yelled at us to move and became angry when the bus driver couldn’t free the bus. Soon cars were piling up behind us. One man got out of his car and approached the bus. He came right up to the bus driver’s window and pointing a gun said some very bad things. At that moment a minister on our bus began to wail, “I knew it, I’m going to die here. I didn’t buy enough insurance.” Well, we politely asked him to get a grip and shut-up! (This is a loose interpretation.) Several people gathered together and moved the barrier and we continued the trip. Our frightened friend took a lot of ribbing. He clearly had forgotten Jesus’ promise, “You are not alone. You have me.” When I am really upset or frightened, I remember my traveling companion and place myself at the Lord’s Table. Thankfully, “all of you” includes frightened people who find living this wild and crazy life a challenge. I hear Jesus speak: “You have me.”

Friday, April 18 Tina Lang Where would I be on Good Friday? I know where I will be this Good Friday. I will be at a retelling of “the old, old story that I have loved so long.” But where would I have been over 2000 years ago when the day wasn’t yet known as “Good Friday”; when the story wasn’t “old” but still in the process of being written? I pray that I would have recognized the truth of God’s love in the life of Jesus and that I would have been among his followers. I pray that I would have had the courage to speak up and act up when he was wrongly accused and sentenced to death. I pray that I would have been compassionate enough to be at Jesus’ side offering whatever comfort I could as he made that long, difficult walk to Golgotha. I pray that I would have had the strength to remain at the foot of his cross through the excruciating hours of his final suffering. I pray that even in my anger, grief and pain I would have been able to follow Jesus’ model and forgive rather than condemn the perpetrators of such hideous injustice. I pray for the person I hope to be, but I also know who I really am. I know that I would have failed in part or in whole on that first Good Friday. That’s my sad truth, but the more important truth is the truth of God’s unconditional love, even for failures like me. That is why we call this day “Good Friday.” Thanks be to God. God who is Love, help us to recognize the truth of your love in Jesus, in the faces of others, and in all the gifts of creation. Help us to have the courage to speak up and act up in the presence of abusive power and injustice. Help us to be people of compassion and to offer our gifts for the comfort and healing of others. Strengthen our faith that we may withstand times of trial and may support others in their times of suffering and grief. Help us to have such capacity for love that we may forgive extravagantly. We pray that our lives may become new expressions of the “old, old story of Jesus and his love.” Amen.

Saturday, April 19 Holy Saturday This is the day of waiting. Hope and faith are all we have, but that is all we need. Thanks be to God. In 1985, composer Natalie Sleeth, wrote Hymn of Promise found on page 707 of the United Methodist Hymnal. May this hymn guide our waiting. In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree; In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free! In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be, Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody; There’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me. From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery, Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity; In our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity. In our death, a resurrection: at the last, a victory, Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.