The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can… (J.R.R. Tolkein, The Lord of the Rings)
…Listening In…
They said to each other, “Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road and when he explained the scriptures for us?” (Luke 24:32; context)
…Filling Up…
Yesterday, we talked about Bartimaeus, a blind man who doesn’t start making his way down the road until Jesus restores his sight. Now, most of us persist in our spiritual blindness even as we grope along looking for the road, so it’s a good thing that you don’t actually need to be able to see to start making your way down the road.
In fact, there’s a story that deals with just that. On the day of the resurrection, two of Jesus’ followers, Cleopas and another unnamed person, travel home from Jerusalem to Emmaus (half a day’s walk, give or take). These two fairly unimportant folks are walking down the road when they meet another traveler. We know this newcomer is Jesus, but they don’t see him for who he is. While they are walking along the road, they are blind to the reality of the Risen Christ in their midst.
When they sit down at table later on and Jesus breaks the bread, they recognize him with their eyes. Then they say something peculiar: “Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road…” While we are traveling along the way of Jesus Christ, we rely on more than just our sight to guide us. It is not until they see Jesus with their eyes that these two disciples realize something inside of them told them what was going on hours earlier on the road. Call it intuition. Call it instinct. Call it the presence of God pulling each of them and each of us into closer relationship.
This pull happens while we are traveling down the road with Jesus – we don’t need to see it to feel the pull tugging us back to God.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your son’s presence made the travelers’ hearts burn within them. Help me to recognize that same fire within me whenever I start to doubt your presence in my life. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, strengthened by your love and able to walk another day on weary feet
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can… (J.R.R. Tolkein, The Lord of the Rings)
…Listening In…
Jesus and his followers came into Jericho. As Jesus was leaving Jericho, together with his disciples and a sizable crowd, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, Timaeus’ son, was sitting beside the road. (Mark 10:46; context)
…Filling Up…
This week we are talking about roads. Before we start walking down the road, we first have to get on it. There’s a wonderful story in the Gospel according to Mark featuring a man named Bartimaeus, who is blind. Now, Mark chooses his words economically, usually narrating scene with quick, urgent sentences and then moving on to the next story. But during the short interchange between Jesus and Bartimaeus, Mark gives us an unusual level of detail that is quite fascinating.
First, as Mark sets the scene, Bartimaeus is sitting “beside the road.” This is only natural, considering he is a beggar. When he hears that Jesus is coming along, he starts shouting out, “Son of David, show me mercy!” This catches Jesus’ attention and he calls Bartimaeus over. Mark tells us that the beggar “throws” his coat aside and “jumps up,” probably scattering the coins he had received that day. He goes over to Jesus, asks for the ability to see, and Jesus says, “Go, your faith has healed you.”
Bartimaeus interprets this “Go” as an invitation. Perhaps, he reaches into the recesses of his mind and remembers God telling Abram simply to “Go.” And Abram, who later becomes Abraham, “went,” thus launching the relationship between God and the people of Israel. Bartimaeus receives his sight and then “goes” by following Jesus on the “way.” No longer is Bartimaeus a passive sitter “beside” the road; rather, he is an active walker on the road.
Too often in my life, I find myself sitting beside the road instead of walking along it. Bartimaeus waited until he received his sight to follow. What are we waiting for?
…Praying For…
Dear God, you instill in me the desire to follow and grant me the tools to do so. Help me jump up from my reclining position and walk with you down the road. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, strengthened by your love and able to walk another day on weary feet
I first published this reflection on the website Day1.org. You can see it here.
They call it Heartbreak Hill. It rises between the twentieth and twenty-first miles of the route of the Boston Marathon. It’s not much of a hill, unless you’ve been running for twenty miles and have no more glycogen left to power your leg muscles. You see this gradual rise and you know you only have six miles left, but then you hit the wall and your will to keep running vanishes. That’s why they call it Heartbreak Hill.
But at yesterday’s marathon, the heartbreak was elsewhere. It was at the finish line, where the bombs detonated. It was on Boston Common, where the final waves of runners were rerouted and then left to seek out frantic family members. It was at local hospitals, where trauma teams worked round the clock with valiant and tireless conviction. It was in the heart of each of us watching the confused, yet ardent news coverage.
And it was in the heart of God.
The heart of God broke yesterday along with ours. The heart of God broke for those who died in such senseless savagery, for those who were maimed, and for those who love them. The heart of God broke because those of God’s children who perpetrated this act of terror have severed themselves from the image of God within them.
So what are we to do with a God who has a broken heart? The answer might surprise you. What are we to do? Rejoice. Why? Because our God is a God of compassion, a God who suffers with us, a God who was there yesterday when the plumes of smoke began to rise and the tears began to fall.
To rejoice, we do not have to stop feeling sad or angry or lost or afraid. As a matter of fact, the most sincere rejoicing happens when we feel such feelings. To rejoice is to take joy, and joy is the abiding sense of God’s connectedness with God’s creation. Today, we need to feel that connection, we need to feel God suffering with us, and we need to feel God’s heart breaking. We need to feel these things because when God’s heart breaks, our own broken hearts are drawn to it – mystically and magnetically.
I live a short bus ride, a red line train ride, and a green line train ride from Copley Square. I have walked past Marathon Sports many times in the last few years, usually on the way to a restaurant or Trinity Church. But every time I walk by it now, I will remember God’s heart breaking yesterday and swallowing all of our collective brokenness into its depths of love.
Speaking of love, there’s an image from yesterday’s shaky video footage that I can’t get out of my mind. Within thirty seconds of the first bomb’s detonation, emergency responders were running to the sight of the blast. But they couldn’t get there because a barrier had been erected to separate the spectators from the runners. So the emergency personnel started tearing at it, stomping on it, and pulling it with all their might. It took a dozen of so of them to move it, but once they exerted their frenzied energy, the barrier didn’t stand a chance. They dragged the multiple layers of the wall into the street and rushed to help the victims.
I can’t think of a better image for what God accomplished in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, which we continue to celebrate during this season of Easter. Once for all, God tore down the barrier between life, death, and new life. God proclaimed God’s willingness to stay connected to God’s creation, come what may. God finished the race, won the victory, and left death behind, struggling up Heartbreak Hill. In the power of the resurrection, the heart of God, which broke when Jesus hung broken on the cross, was healed. And in the power of the resurrection, all of our broken hearts will find wholeness again.
(NOTE: I completely forgot to post my sermon on Sunday, so here it is, two days belated. Devo180 will be back tomorrow.)
(Sermon for Sunday, April 14, 2013 || Easter 3C || John 21:1-19)
I can only imagine the maelstrom of thoughts roiling in Simon Peter’s head in the weeks following Jesus’ resurrection. At the last supper, he promised Jesus: “I will lay down my life for you.” He was willing to draw blood when they came to arrest Jesus in the garden. He followed Jesus all the way to the gate of the high priest’s house. And then everything fell apart. People began recognizing him and he felt afraid and in his fear he did something he never dreamed he would do, not even in his worst nightmare.
But this was worse than his worst nightmare. “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” I am not. “Didn’t I see you in the garden with him?” No. “You are one of his disciples.” I am not. And at that moment the rooster crowed, signaling the dawn. But Simon Peter remained in the night with his denial – afraid, ashamed, broken. The nickname Simon received from Jesus when they first met – the nickname Peter, “Rock” – must have haunted him from that moment on. How could a rock be so inconstant? He was supposed to be steadfast, strong; but in the moment of decision, he crumbled. As I said, I can only imagine the maelstrom of thoughts roiling in Simon Peter’s head in the weeks following Jesus’ resurrection.
So to quiet the storm raging within, even for just a short time, it makes sense for Peter to suggest a fishing trip – something normal to take his mind off things. He and his friends fish all night but catch nothing. Even though Peter has met the Risen Christ, Peter himself is still shackled to the night, where his shame and fear have kept him since his denial. No wonder he didn’t catch any fish. But then day breaks, and Jesus calls to him from the beach. He and his friends let down the net one more time and catch more fish than they know what to do with.
They bring the catch ashore and have breakfast around a charcoal fire with Jesus. Peter gazes into the flames, and suddenly his maelstrom of thoughts transports him back to another charcoal fire, around which he warmed himself – and denied his Lord. He is still lost in the night of his regret, his fear, and his brokenness. Though a new dawn has come, Peter cannot bring himself to step into the light. He sits around the fire with Jesus and the rest, but he himself is far away, reliving the nightmare.
And so when Jesus says his name, Simon Peter flinches out of his daydream and returns to the present. “Do you love me?” Jesus asks him. Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. “Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. “Do you love me?” And with the third question, a wave of sadness washes over Simon Peter because he realizes what Jesus is doing. The sadness is the echo of the nightmare, the last vestige of the darkness Peter has been mired in. Lord, you know everything (including my shame and my guilt and my brokenness); and you know that I love you.
Jesus gives Peter the opportunity to affirm their relationship three times, once for each denial; and with that, they are reconciled. Peter’s love for his Lord trumps his fear and his brokenness, and he finally steps from the night into the day. This reconciliation shines with the good news of the resurrection. The Risen Christ meets Peter in his brokenness and reaffirms their relationship. The Risen Christ meets us in the same place – in our fear and our brokenness – and affirms that nothing in all creation, not even death, can separate us from his love.
But Jesus is only half done with Peter and with us, because Jesus takes this reconciliation one step further. Jesus doesn’t just heal Peter’s brokenness and leave it at that. If he had, then Peter would have no direction to travel, nowhere to bring his healed heart. So Jesus renews their relationship and then gives Peter a mission. “Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. “Feed my lambs… Tend my sheep… Feed my sheep.”
Jesus knows that Peter, despite his nickname, has shown inconstancy in the past. Jesus knows that Peter once crumbled because of fear. Jesus knows that Peter isn’t perfect. And still, Jesus affirms their relationship, binds himself to Peter in love, and gives him a mission. The Risen Christ gathers to himself all of Peter’s fear and brokenness and says, “This stuff will not hold you back from doing my work. This stuff may rear its head from time to time, but it will not win. This stuff is now mine, and in its place you can have my love and the promise of eternal relationship with me.”
Sounds like a pretty good deal. Imagine someone coming up to you and saying, “You give me all your junk, everything about yourself that you don’t like or you don’t want, and I’ll give you the most precious thing in the world.”
That’s what Jesus did on the beach with Peter after breakfast. And in the power of the resurrection, that’s what Jesus does with each of us. And after we make such an unbalanced trade, Jesus invites us to join him in a mission. Feed. Tend. Listen. Support. Help. Love. Serve.
If we listen for the Risen Christ’s call in our lives, we will each hear something a little different because Jesus knows what sets each of our hearts on fire. And Jesus knows where the world most needs us to serve. He combines the two and then sails these unique calls to us on the wind of the Holy Spirit. And if we listen for that wind whispering in our hearts, we will hear the call. Peter heard the call to feed God’s sheep. I hear the call to proclaim God’s presence in our lives. What do you hear? What is Jesus healing you to do?
In our story today, Jesus heals Peter with love. This love propels Peter into service. And this service brings healing to all of God’s people. And thus the cycle renews. On down through the ages, God has propelled this cycle of healing, loving, and serving. Now we are the inheritors of the legacy of this chat on the beach after breakfast. The Risen Christ sits with us across our kitchen counters after a bowl of oatmeal – the most ordinary of moments, mind you – and offers us his love, his healing, and his mission.
“Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. Then notice me healing your brokenness.
“Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. Then feel my love binding us together.
“Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. Then go out and serve in my name.
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can… (J.R.R. Tolkein, The Lord of the Rings)
…Listening In…
Jesus said, “…You know the way to the place I’m going.” Thomas asked, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus answered, “I am the way, the truth, and the life…” (John 14:4-6; context)
…Filling Up…
Jesus has been talking for a bit when Thomas interrupts him with a question: “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” In response to this, Jesus says his oft-quoted line: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” What gets a little lost in the translation is the possibility that Jesus is making a bit of a joke – a pun really – in the midst of a fairly serious discussion.
You see, the word that is translated “way” is also the word for “road.” So when Thomas asks Jesus his question, he may very well be wondering about the literal “road” they should be taking. After all, they’ve been walking all over the place. The disciples often take Jesus too literally, and then Jesus spends a few moments trying to inject some imagination into their understanding. Whether or not Thomas is wondering about a literal road, Jesus doesn’t dwell on the literal. With the full weight of his divinely oriented “I am” statements behind it, he says that he himself is the Road.
Of course, Jesus isn’t cobblestones or asphalt, so he is taking Thomas’ perhaps literal question and bringing it into a metaphorical space. Jesus is the road in the sense of “the thing that guides your feet from here to there.”
This week, we are talking about roads, specifically about Jesus meeting people on roads and about what happens next. So stay tuned.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are always to be found no matter where my feet take me. Help me to recognize your presence while walking down whatever road is ahead of me. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, strengthened by your love and able to walk another day on weary feet
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father sent me, so I am sending you.” Then he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20:21-22; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day five with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one, two, three, four)
“As the Father sent me, so I am sending you,” he continued. With these words, we, who had been as still as statues mere minutes before, all leaned in, like trees bending toward the sunlight. And he exhaled a deep, cleansing breath, then another and another. As he breathed out, I breathed in. I breathed in his breath, the wind of his life. I breathed in the words he had spoken twice since his arrival, the very peace that he proclaimed, that he radiated. This was Jesus, and he was alive, and he was breathing life back into us, into the ones who had entombed ourselves in that locked house.
As we leaned closer, Jesus said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” And his breath washed over me, into me, through me. His Spirit brought peace to the war raging within. His breath blew across the faint glow of hope, turning the glow into a spark, and the spark into a flame, and the flame into a fire. And the fire set my heart alight with all the fervor of rekindled belief in this Jesus, this risen Lord, this one who would not abandon me to the grave even after I had abandoned him to die.
I tell you, friend, that in the years since that day, my daydreams have often brought me back to that moment when Jesus breathed his Spirit into me. When I am in distress, when I am in grief, when I forget that I believe that I am with God, I can take a breath. And I will remember that I am breathing in the peace that our Lord has given to each of us, the peace that passes all my ability to understand and lodges where I need that peace the most – in the secret places within where the war still rages from time to time. You see, every time I take a breath, and, for that matter, every time you take a breath, we are not only filling up our lungs with air. We are filling up our souls with the Holy Spirit of God, who continues to breathe into us the new life of the Risen Christ.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Thank you for the Holy Spirit that you breathe into my soul, so that I can know on a level beyond knowing that you are sustaining me with your life. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
He said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. When the disciples saw the Lord, they were filled with joy. (John 20:19-20; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day four with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one, two, three)
I leapt up and stared at the man in the center of the room. He was slowly spinning in a circle, studying each statue in turn. I looked where he was looking: at the hollow eyes, at the sunken cheeks, at the dried up streams of tears that had washed clean lines on dirty faces.
As far as I could tell, I was the only one who had noticed his presence. Since my rational mind was still turned off, I didn’t even wonder how someone else had entered the room while I was sitting against the locked door. I just stared at him, uncomprehending, but the sliver of hope that lay dormant in me since the tomb was beginning to glow. Then he said, “Peace be with you.”
They were the first words spoken since Philip’s one-word response to my question hours earlier. The words rang out, and the others began to stir. They raised their heads. Some stood up. The man walked over to me, gripped my arm in a firm grasp, and I noticed fresh wounds that cut through both of his wrists. He went around the room clasping the others’ shoulders and lifting their chins with his fingers. “He can’t be,” I said, as the war of guilt and pain and loss continued to rage within me, stronger now that the faint glow of hope was illuminating the battlefield.
The man heard me and turned to face my direction. “Peace be with you,” he said again. We were all standing now. The room, so empty a moment before, seemed full now, but not full enough for him. He gestured to me. I turned, unbolted the lock, and opened the door. Mary, still slumped against the other side, fell into the room. I helped her to her feet. “Is he?” I whispered to her. She looked from the man to me, and she beamed at me through brimming eyes.
…to be concluded tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me feel the peace you are speaking into my heart, so that I may show that peace forth to others. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
It was still the first day of the week. That evening, while the disciples were behind closed doors because they were afraid of the Jewish authorities, Jesus came and stood among them. (John 20:19; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day three with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one, two)
I shut the door with Mary on the other side. Sliding the bolt home, I slumped against the door and slid to the ground. Oblivious to Mary’s pounding on the door, I looked around the room. Judas was gone, of course, but everyone else was there, I was sure. We had escaped the mob and the authorities. Would they be content with the death of our leader or would they be coming after us, too? I counted the others. Nine, and I made ten. Someone else was missing. “Where’s Thomas,” I called out.
Philip looked up for a moment and managed a one-word response. “Gone,” he said, and he put his head back into his hands. I sat with my back to the locked door. Eventually Mary gave up her pounding. I could hear her sobbing, her breath coming in great heaves. She was, no doubt, sitting against the other side of the door. Three inches of wood separated us: three inches of wood and my disbelief and the war raging within me.
Inside the room, we might have been statues. I couldn’t even hear the others breathing. Hours passed and no one noticed. No one spoke. No one ate or drank. We were entombed in the locked house, alive but acting like dead men. And all the while the war raged on while numbness froze my body against the bolted door.
The ten of us were still frozen in place when evening fell. I had been staring at nothing in particular when I began unconsciously counting the others again. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” I counted aloud, and then I put my finger to my own chest. “Eleven.” I counted again. Eleven again. I leapt up and stared at the man in the center of the room.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me to invite you into the locked rooms within myself, all the places I don’t want you to see, but where you are needed most. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
Mary Magdalene left and announced to the disciples, “I’ve seen the Lord.” Then she told them what he said to her. (John 20:18; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day two with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one)
I was at war within myself, and I could not access a single crumb of the peace that Jesus had always radiated.
I saw the empty tomb, but the conflict within kept me blind to what the emptiness might mean. The war inside of me – with fresh reinforcements of guilt – was still raging when I returned to the house we had used a few nights before, on the night when I didn’t want Jesus to wash my feet. Nine of the others were there; they had been locked in the room since the mob had formed three days before. As I was shutting the door, Mary Magdalene rushed up and squeezed her way into the room. “I have seen the Lord,” she shouted.
She was breathing hard. I had left her standing outside the tomb, so she must have raced all the way to the house to catch up with me. I looked at Mary: her face glistened with sweat, her eyes were bright. If the conflict within had not been blinding me, I might have identified the brightness in her eyes as “joy,” but how could there ever be joy again after what had happened? The other disciples barely looked up when she burst in shouting. She looked around the room, then back at me. “He has risen from the dead,” she said, defiantly.
I took a step toward her. “Just because the tomb was empty,” I began, but my voice trailed off. She backed away, and now her voice was very small, small and wounded. “But I did see him,” she said. And I shut the door with Mary on the other side.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me not to shut out possibilities that seem impossible; grant me the imagination and the elbow grease needed to remove the “im” from the word impossible. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
Peter and the other disciple left to go to the tomb. They were running together, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and was the first to arrive at the tomb. Bending down to take a look, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he didn’t go in. (John 20:3-5; context)
…Filling Up…
We’re going to change it up a little bit on devotiONEighty this week with five days of narrative. Every once in a while at my church, I preach sermons as a character from the text of the Bible. Likewise, this week on devo180, imagine with me the Apostle Peter, who is in Rome near the end of his life, talking to a friend about the day when Jesus rose from the dead and appeared to the disciples in the locked house (John 20).
I wish I could tell you that seeing the empty tomb was enough. I went inside the tomb and saw the linen cloths lying there and the cloth that had covered Jesus’ face folded up in a corner. Thinking back now, surely grave robbers would not have folded his ceremonial burial garments while stealing his body! But in the semi-darkness of that early morning, I wasn’t thinking rationally. I wasn’t thinking at all. I was numb on the outside, immune to the sliver of hope that the empty tomb brought.
I was numb on the outside, but on the inside, I was at war. I always thought of myself as his most faithful disciple, but at the time of his greatest need, I abandoned him, I lied about knowing him to save my own skin. In the garden, I had been ready to fight to the death for Jesus. But the moment he took away my sword, I crumbled. I wasn’t strong enough to remain by his side without a weapon in my hand. I wasn’t strong enough to trust him, to trust that his plan included death without fighting. I was at war within myself, and I could not access a single crumb of the peace that Jesus had always radiated.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me to believe even when I can’t see and help me to proclaim your love even when I am afraid. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
…Opening To…
They call it Heartbreak Hill. It rises between the twentieth and twenty-first miles of the route of the Boston Marathon. It’s not much of a hill, unless you’ve been running for twenty miles and have no more glycogen left to power your leg muscles. You see this gradual rise and you know you only have six miles left, but then you hit the wall and your will to keep running vanishes. That’s why they call it Heartbreak Hill.
But Jesus is only half done with Peter and with us, because Jesus takes this reconciliation one step further. Jesus doesn’t just heal Peter’s brokenness and leave it at that. If he had, then Peter would have no direction to travel, nowhere to bring his healed heart. So Jesus renews their relationship and then gives Peter a mission. “Do you love me?” Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. “Feed my lambs… Tend my sheep… Feed my sheep.”
Where the Wind... 