Scripture Reflections

Our daily readings tell of Jeremiah, the psalmist, and Jesus who are all in very tough situations. Jeremiah has just been taken into custody by a priest, Pashur, and the psalm, which is ascribed to a king, shows him surrounded by his enemies. Even our gospel passage from John involves a tense scene where those opposed to Jesus are poised to stone him for what they describe as “blasphemy.”

While we are (hopefully) not literally surrounded by mortal enemies, the situation we are currently facing actually does have many people around the world fearing for their lives. Others who aren’t worrying for their own health do worry that they could be asymptomatic carriers of the Covid-19 virus and could unwittingly infect someone else. So we “stay home and stay healthy” to keep others and ourselves safe, but in doing so, we are physically cut off from the communities of which we are a part. For many of us, fears and anxieties come creeping in as we make our way through very unusual and uncertain times.

Gratefully, the characters in our lectionary reading today give us a strong reminder about what it is to be people of faith. Directly following what scholars call Jeremiah’s “sixth lament,” the prophet delivers a part of a thanksgiving psalm, “Sing to the LORD, praise the LORD, for he has rescued the life of the poor from the power of the wicked!” Even in the face of great peril, Jeremiah is sure of the Lord’s saving grace and sings praises to his God. In the gospel reading, Jesus professes his (blasphemous!) faith that he is the Son of God – that “the Father is in [him] and [he is] in the Father.” Both Jeremiah and Jesus have assurance of God’s presence with them and from that assurance comes their courage and their strength.

So, let us today remember that, like Jesus, we are children of the ever-present God. In the knowledge that God sees our heart and our mind, we are confident that God knows us and is with us, loving us, every moment of every day. In both our moments of great faith and our moments of wavering faith, let us take heart as we bring the words of the psalmist to mind, “In my distress I called upon the Lord, and he heard my voice. My God, my rock of refuge, my shield, the horn of my salvation, my stronghold!”

Erin Beary Andersen, Associate Director of Campus Ministry

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It seems appropriate in this time of responsible distancing to look to the life of St. Francis of Paola. In the mid-fifteenth century he followed the simple path of St. Francis of Assisi, living as a vegan and promoting non-violence. He felt close to God and experienced great peace when he lived apart from the world. At the same him he engaged with the world to promote simplicity, peace, care for all living creatures, and devotion to God. This is a timely message for us at this time when so much scarcity is exposed in our world, especially the disparity in access to health care and financial resources that are putting people’s lives at risk. This time of isolation and sacrifice can be for many a source of fear and constant anxiety each day. As our lives are filled with these very real worries we look to the words of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel. He lovingly encourages his followers to not be afraid and to trust in the great abundance of God’s love. Paul, while he was suffering alone in prison, encourages the community Philippi to be hopeful, as he was hopeful, looking beyond his suffering and anticipating the resurrection. Paul sets himself as an example of one whose life is not perfect, but who is striving to be like Jesus and live in hope. The memorial of St. Francis, the readings from Paul in prison, the reminder that I am a member of Christ’s “little flock”—all of these help me to use my imagination to see beyond todays isolation and tension. To imagine what it is like to balance contemplation and action in small ways, to remember those in unchosen isolation in prison, to reach beyond today’s scarcity into the immeasurable treasure of God’s love.

Tammy Liddell, Director of Campus Ministry

In the wake of what is likely to be an historic pandemic, COVID-19 (Coronavirus), there has been a mishandling of leadership both from the administration and from church governance that has caused widespread panic and confusion, as evidenced in the plunging stock market, emptied grocery stores, and trite social media posts about “having faith.” Coronavirus is at the forefront of our collective imaginations as information regarding its impact is daily changing and we are adjusting to new ways of communicating and interacting in the world. Schools and houses of worship are closed as are restaurants and bars, and as businesses try to stay afloat, many folks are working around the clock to make sure seniors and other vulnerable populations are contacted and cared for. Yet despite repeated warnings and even executive orders, churches and other large groups are still gathering, hundreds of college students are still swimming at beaches with no regard for social distancing, and even this administration with all its hubris is failing to model best practices and worse yet expressing more concern for the economy than for the people.

How else can we explain our nation’s states being forced to battle and outbid each other over lifesaving medical gear or faithful parishioners continuing to worship in person in gatherings of hundreds for fear their salvation is somehow at stake. What we find is that sometimes our leaders want us to serve their self-interests and bow down to the gods they have erected rather than to the God who created us. Before our lives would be spared, they want us to profess the goodness of their name and their glory rather than the Glory of God in the highest.

This is certainly the case in our reading today where we learn about the three wise Hebrew men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who King Nebuchadnezzar has appointed over all the affairs of Babylon. One minute these three men are wise in Nebuchadnezzar’s eyes, the next he is throwing them into the fiery furnace because they refuse to bow down to his idols. And bow down they would not. Many times, this scripture is taken to mean if we have faith even the size of a mustard seed, anything we ask for will be granted to us by God in heaven. Certainly, the words of these three men seem to suggest just that as they declare to the King with boldness, “If our God, whom we serve, can save us from the white-hot furnace and from your hands, O king, may he save us!” But these three men seem to understand that the God we serve is not a genie lamp that we can rub, and our wishes will be granted. The God we serve is not a vending machine where we get to insert faith and out comes our reward. No, these three Hebrew men are indeed wise as they surrender their future to God. They have done all they can to stand, but they do not tie God’s hands. Instead they declare, even if God will not save us, we will not serve your god or worship anything but the Lord.

Maybe this scripture is about faith, but what I see here is resistance. It’s resistance to oppressive forces that would have us believe in the midst of the coronavirus outbreak that it’s “every man for himself.” It’s resistance to the idea that the elderly are expendable so long as our economy gets back on track. Resistance is having the courage to wake up every morning. It’s facing another day of uncertainty. Resistance is being true to that which we value most. It’s not letting our fears override our sense of hope for the future or our enduring belief in a God who will always be with us even in the darkest of times.

Rev. Victoria Carr-Ware, Ecumenical and Multifaith Campus Minister

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In today’s first reading, we have a story about affliction and deliverance. The Israelites find themselves tormented by serpents, which, we are told, “bit the people so that many of them died” (Nm. 21:5). When Moses brings the Israelites’ cry for an end to their suffering to God, God responds by telling the Israelites to build a statue of the serpent and mount it on a pole. Anyone who is bitten by a serpent should look at the statue and would be healed. And so that’s what they did. And it worked.

What to make of this curious story? Would that we could simply build a statue of coronavirus such that anyone afflicted by this insidious disease might be cured simply by looking at it. Unfortunately, this is not the nature of the deliverance available to us in this moment. So what wisdom does this story have to offer us today?

Today’s reading reminds us that there is wisdom in visibility. There are fearsome corners of our hearts and of our society that rarely see the light of day and yet continue to afflict us with suffering. Moments of challenge, like this collective one where we find ourselves now, have a tendency to put under fluorescent light those things we would rather keep in shadow. We see this on both individual and societal levels. As an individual, I have felt my fears and anxieties raging in recent weeks, and many of my own unskillful habitual responses have been cast in sharp relief. On a collective level, this crisis has illuminated in glaring detail countless toxicities built into our system. We are suddenly confronted with the truth of our interconnectedness as issues like lack of affordable healthcare and housing threaten to snowball an already inconceivable crisis.

Today’s reading asks us to bring those parts of ourselves we would rather not look at—those places where we need healing—into view, so that, together with God, we might begin to heal them. “Hide not your face from me,” the psalmist writes, “in the day of my distress” (Ps. 102). Just as God does not turn away from us in our shadows, so, too, we might approach those corners of our lives and society that are asking for healing with a spirit of tenderness and curiosity, but also with an unwavering commitment to not look away.

Where would you like to invite healing into your life and the life of the world?

Anna Robertson, Campus Minister for Retreats

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Today we’re confronted by two stories of women being threatened with violent death. In the first reading, it is clear the charges are false, and the witnesses and judges are blinded by their own interests. Luckily, like in any good story, Susanna is vindicated at the last moment by God through Daniel, who saves the day by trapping Susanna’s accusers in their own lies. The tables are turned, and the villains are severely punished. A satisfying conclusion to a disturbing tale.  

In the Gospel things progress rather differently. Unlike in the first reading, we don’t know all the details and circumstances about this woman – we don’t even know her name! Her accusers say she was “caught in the very act,” but she is brought forward without her purported partner. We might wonder if she really was guilty, or if she, like Susanna, was caught up in some greater scheme by her accusers. After all, we are told that the entire spectacle is designed to trap Jesus into charges that would condemn him.

As I imagine the crowd gathering around her, I want Jesus to get angry. To call out the injustice of those who victimize and shame women. To shepherd her away from the judgmental eyes. To rail against the double standards that has the woman condemned while a man goes free. To be vindicated before the people who were trying to trick him. I want Jesus to punish all the villains of the story, like a true hero.

Then I remember: Jesus is not that kind of savior. Like the disciples before me, I fall easily into the trap of wanting Jesus to be a swashbuckling superhero, triumphing easily over his enemies with his brilliance, power, and might. Instead today, I see Jesus bending down and straightening up repeatedly, writing on the ground while the woman stands in the middle of the crowd. Keeping my eye on Jesus, I see that he continually displaces himself away from those that look at this woman with judgement. I hear him reminding those gathered to search their own hearts before condemning, until finally, when the crowd is gone, he straightens up and looking at the woman, enters into a dialogue with her, saying “neither do I condemn you.”  

Jesus does not come to perpetuate the same violent systems that dominate our world, but to expose, subvert, and end them, just like he does in the Gospel today. Jesus lives wholeheartedly committed to the God’s reign of love and inclusion, and turns the world of judgement and violence upside down, entering into the plight of those who suffer and are shamed (just like when he bends down to the ground). In his interactions with this woman, Jesus treats her with dignity, and reveals to us a God of compassion, who desires relationship and reconciliation, not condemnation.

Jesus (whose very name means “God Saves”) is a different kind of savior than we expect. I’m struck as I read this Gospel passage, that in a few days we will encounter Jesus himself being put on trial and condemned to death. He too will have witnesses speak against him, and will be surrounded by crowds that seek to kill him. In this Fifth Week of Lent, staying with the stories of these women caught up in unjust trials, we treasure this truth: there is no reality of our suffering that Jesus does not desire to enter into, accompany us in, and transform.

How does Jesus desire to enter into and transform our suffering today? How does God seek to disrupt the systems of judgment, violence, and death in our world? Where (and with whom) will we choose to place ourselves today, and in the days ahead? 

JoAnn Lopez, Campus Minister for Liturgy and Resident Minister in Campion Hall