January 4--Waiting for the Light

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” –John 1:5

Sunday was amazing.

Seventy two degrees, a soft wind, and absolutely nothing to do. The perfect ‘winter’ day for short-sleeve -clad torsos to soak in the sunshine . . . for cousins to fly kites at the park down the street . . . for grandmother to join granddaughter in casual conversation about the precious gift of life and the peaceful joy of returning to our master in death.

So much light and love . . . so much warmth and comfort . . . it is hard to believe the shortest day of the New England winter was only a week ago. That ice storms and piles of snow and frigid temperatures defined my life until the morning of Christmas Eve. All that is far away as I linger in bare feet and turn on the ceiling fan for a bit of cool air and prepare for the year to turn in this very different part of the country where I have celebrated Christmas with family.

But I have not forgotten the darkness.

Darkness has defined so much of our lives for so many months that it has seeped into our very bones, especially if we live in New England. Those of us who are not native to this part of the country may resist it at first. (I still remember the shock of that first year of steady but stark decline in daylight hours from late fall to Christmas week.) Eventually, though, it becomes part of the rhythm of our lives year after year . . . something we may even embrace as a comfort at times . . . the deep call of nature to a season of restful hibernation in the midst of the frenetic pace of a culture that never sleeps.

Darkness may actually be a welcome friend for those of us who are sensitive to light, who burn easily, who find too much sunshine and hot weather to be even more stressful than cold, snowy winters.

“All things came into being through the Word, and without the Word not one thing came into being,” John’s gospel tells us in the lectionary text for today. “What has come into being in the Word was life, and the life was the light of all people” (John 1:3-4).

It blows my mind to imagine a God who created all these things that have come into being . . . the darkness, the light, the different kinds of people and animals and plants who need different kinds of climates in order to thrive. It blows my mind to remember the darkness and cold of New England as I rest in the radiant sunshine of the American South. It blows my mind to pray to a good and generous God who created all of it, who loves all of it, who redeems all of it, who knows that we need light in the midst of too much darkness, that we need darkness in the midst of too much light.

I am grateful for the light of this fleeting alternate reality, the warmth of this southern weather, the wisdom of this moment with Grandma, the faithful reminder that these things exist, even as I prepare to return to Boston. The memory of lightness will sustain me through the long, cold winter yet to come.

Which is the mystery of faith.

God has come into our world in just this way this Christmas season . . . an alternate reality, a constant comfort, a wisdom of age mixed with youth . . . one brief moment of spiritual ecstasy before returning to our normal lives. The darkness is still with us; it will not ever go away completely, nor should it. But the memory of this light sustains us through everything that will come in the months and years and lifetimes ahead.

“The Word became flesh and lived among us . . . full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). May this truth be a comfort to us in this season of darkness and light, giving us hope, and filling us with joy, reminding us of the Creator even as it speaks of the Redeemer. God is with us, in all the seasons of our lives. Amen.

Gusti Linnea Newquist

(additional lectionary texts: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 147:12-20; Ephesians 1:3-14)

December 28--What it Means to Be Free

"But when the right time came, God sent his Son who was born of a woman and lived under the law. God did this so he could buy freedom for those who were under the law and so we could become his children. Since you are God's children, God sent the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, and the Spirit cries out, "Abba, Father." So now you are not a slave, you are God's child, and God will give you the blessing he promised, because you are his child" (Galatians 4:4-7).



What do you think of when you think of freedom? No fences? Hippies marching with signs? Martin Luther King Jr.’s "Let freedom ring"? Freedom from exams? Freedom from illness? Freedom from war?

A spiritual mentor of mine once told me, “I became free when I said, ‘Lord, I will do what you want me to do.’”


It is an odd thing to think about spiritual freedom in a country that defines itself so fundamentally by that word. It is difficult to translate the freedom of which the Apostle Paul speaks into our current cultural climate. It is difficult to imagine the kind of freedom Paul longed for and experienced as he preached the gospel in the midst of persecution, in the midst of imprisonment, in the midst of the very real practice of slavery throughout the Roman empire.


What does it mean to be free? What does it really mean to be "free"?


When Paul was writing this letter to the Galatians, he obviously was not thinking about American freedom--or American slavery--at all. He was, instead, thinking about first century Gentiles: non-Jews living in the northern part of the Roman province of Galatia, an area of the world we know today as the nation of Turkey. He was thinking about the God he worshiped as a Law-abiding Jew and how that God had extended grace to these Gentiles and all others through the faithfulness of Christ.

Unlike competing evangelists who were teaching the Galatians in his absence, Paul believed that only Jews should observe Mosaic Law; for the Gentiles of his ministry, Paul saw the Law as a stumbling block. The gospel message Paul preached to the Gentiles was about spiritual freedom in Christ. Paul believed the message preached by his opponents would lead to spiritual slavery, rather than freedom.

But those who opposed Paul’s gospel message of spiritual freedom warned that his emphasis on God’s grace did not provide sufficient instruction for daily living. They thought Paul’s emphasis on grace left too much room for doubt about whether or not a Gentile had sufficiently converted to Christ. So Paul responded with a letter full of pastoral advice for those who would live in Christ’s realm of freedom. “For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters,” he writes. “Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another.” Be led by the Spirit in order to inherit the kingdom of God, he says. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Gal 5:13).

Be slaves to one another? This is the way to be free?! Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?

But we've heard this language before in the gospels from the mouth of Jesus. It’s the Great commandment, and the second which is like it. Living in Christ’s freedom means loving God, loving neighbor, loving self. On this commandment hangs all the Law and the Prophets. It is, in fact, THE law for the Galatians and for us. And it is what it means to be free, for the Galatians and for us. The only way we can be free is to devote ourselves entirely to this law. It is the spiritual paradox of divine freedom.

So how do the Galatians know when they are living according to this law, when they are living according to this freedom? When they live by the fruits of the spirit, Paul says. How do they know when they are living by the fruits of the spirit? When they relate to one another with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law. With such things we live into the very kingdom of God.

What do you think of when you think of freedom? In twenty-first century America it is too easy to forget we are at war and it is too easy to give in to a materialistic mentality and it is too easy to bite and devour and destroy one another, all in the name of freedom. We do well to listen with fresh ears to God’s Word to us through these words to the Galatians.

We who follow Christ have a responsibility that comes with our political and spiritual independence. “Do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence,” God says to us through the words of the apostle Paul, “but through love become slaves to one another.” Love your neighbor as yourself. Live by the Spirit and be guided by the Spirit.

And as we continue to pray for the world’s freedom from sin and suffering and despair, when too many people still live in political and personal bondage, we do well to repeat what seems on the surface like a contradictory word to “Stand firm . . . and not submit again to a yoke of slavery. For Christ has, indeed, set us free in order to live in freedom.” Slavery in love to one another. Freedom for those who live in bondage.

May we sing it with voices that will never be shaken. May we live it with a conviction that will never be challenged. May we proclaim it with a hope that will never be forsaken. May we pass it on from generation to generation until that final day of freedom when suffering and evil and pain will be no more. We pray it in Jesus’ name. Amen

Gusti Linnea Newquist

(additional lectionary texts: Isaiah 61:10-62:3, Psalm 148; Luke 2:22-40)

December 21--The God Who Strengthens Us

"Now to God who is able to strengthen you according to my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but is now disclosed, and through the prophetic writings is made known to all the Gentiles, according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith -- to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever! Amen" (Romans 16:25-27).

I have often found it odd that Christianity is a religion of such great weakness. We have a crucified God in Holy Week, we have an infant God at Christmas, we have dim-witted disciples of both first-century and twenty-first century inadequacy. If we were to gather together the most brilliant minds in the history of the world to create the most appealing religion we might market to the masses, I have serious doubts that most of what Christians believe to be "true" would make the list.

Most of us, if we are honest, want a religion of strength, not weakness. Most of us want assurance that if we just do the right things and live the right way that God will reward us. And not just spiritually. We want to believe that God will reward us with material blessings, with physical prowess, with a good job, with a beautiful spouse. We want to believe that God has the power to keep us from losing our jobs or our loved ones or even our own lives. We want to believe that God will make everything all right . . . that God will make us all right.

But God comes to us as a baby at Christmastime. Vulnerable and weak. Demanding our strength, demanding our attention, demanding our sleepless nights of feedings and diaper-changings and tending to sickness and praying for the strength to be a "good enough" parent when it feels like we can't go on another minute. If God is a baby, that means we are the strong ones. God is dependent on us, not the other way around.

I find that pretty intimidating!

But I also find it encouraging . . .

I can think of numerous times in my life when I was able to cultivate a strength I never knew existed within me only because someone else was completely dependent on me . . . because someone else had become as vulnerable as a baby. And I can think of a few more recent times in my life when I had been the one "born again," in desperate need, depending on the strength of another.

And in those moments, I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt, I felt God's presence more fully than at any other time. "I feel God in my skin," I remember saying this summer when I was so sick that I couldn't even feed myself. But now that I'm better, oddly enough, God seems quite a bit farther away. I have to work at prayer. I have to work at discernment. I have to work at worship.

It is a strange and miraculous thing, this religion of ours that celebrates the weakness and vulnerability of God . . . the weakness and vulnerability of humanity. It is, in fact, the desire and vulnerability of God that is God's strength, we proclaim. And it is our desire and vulnerability as human beings that is our strength.

No wonder this divine wisdom is folly to the world!

Christmas is just around the corner, the baby is born again among us. God is born again among us. And we are born again in God. What kind of tenderness can we offer? What kind of sustenance will we seek? What kind of family will we gather together to support and encourage the new life in our midst?

It is our chance to try again. It is our chance to get it right this time. It is our chance to admit how very much we need one another . . . how very much we need God . . . and how very much God needs us.

Merry Christmas everyone. I wish you all the best in this season of Joy.

Gusti Linnea Newquist

(additional lectionary texts: 2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16; Luke 1:47-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26; Luke 1:26-38)

December 14--Trusting the One Who Calls

"Rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks for everything--for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. Don't stifle the Spirit; don't despise the prophetic gift. But test everything and accept only what is good. Avoid any semblance of evil.

"May the God of peace make you perfect in holiness. May you be preserved whole and complete--spirit, soul, and body--irreproachable at the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ. The One who calls us is trustworthy: God will make sure it comes to pass" (1 Thessalonians 5:16-24).


Now that I use a cell phone with caller ID, I screen my calls ruthlessly. An unknown caller will go directly to voice mail. A known caller? Well . . . depends on my mood. You just never know what you'll hear on the other end of the line . . . or if you'll be ready to hear it.

Take today, for example. Three phone calls came in. The first one from my boss. Check. I answered that one right away! The second one from a tutoring client. Could be good news or bad. I answer. Good news! An 'A' on her research paper! Definitely worth picking up.

The third one? Unexpected. We had parted ways angrily over two months ago. I figured I'd never hear from him again. But there it was, his name on the screen. Do I pick up? Yes. And the path to an honest reconciliation begins. Worth it? I think so. We'll see in the weeks and months ahead.


Three different calls. Three different reactions. Three different opportunities to work and celebrate and heal old wounds. Three different opportunities to trust the connection with the person on the other end of the line. Three different opportunities to trust the divine connection linking each one of us to the other.


But it is not always easy to trust the one who calls. The co-worker, the student, the alienated friend . . . the holy mystery we call God. We do not know--we cannot know--the true intentions of the caller. We do not know--and cannot know--exactly how we will respond . . . especially if the call requires us to change our lives, to heal our wounds, to heal the wounds we have caused others.


God's call is dramatic for some of us, like that of the Apostle Paul blinded on the road to Damascus. His call led to a passionate missionary zeal among the community of Christ in first century Thessalonica and other communities all across the Mediterranean. It was not an easy call for Paul, to be sure. He faced torture and imprisonment and a lifestyle resembling the most dysfunctional traveling workaholic. Certainly not the idyllic spiritual sanctuary we aspire to in our own Christian walk!

But God's call is ordinary for most of us, like that of the Thessalonians urged to live holy lives and to love one another. Just when we think we've accomplished that goal, God shows up through an apostle or a prophet to "exhort [us] to even greater progress" (1 Thess 4:9). It is a lifelong journey of seeking--and doing--God's will.


In Advent we hear the call once more, preparing ourselves to respond "in perfect holiness." The One who calls us is trustworthy; the One born among us is faithful; the One dwelling within us is preserving us--in spirit, soul, and body--so that we may participate in the glorious reign of God.

May it be so among us and within us as we look forward to Christmas.

Amen.


Gusti Linnea Newquist

(additional lectionary texts: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126 or Luke 1:47-55; John 1:6-8, 19-28)

December 7--God's Generous Patience

"This point must not be overlooked, dear friends: in the eyes of the most High, one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. God does not delay in keeping the promise, as some mean "delay." Rather, God shows you generous patience, desiring that no one perish but that all come to repentance. . . . Consider our God's patience as your opportunity for salvation" (2 Peter 3:8-9, 15).

A wise woman mentor of mine once warned me never to pray for patience. "You will be given far too many opportunities to practice it," she said. "Best to just make it clear to the Almighty that this is one lesson you have no need of learning." I believed her, and I still do. I have never, ever, prayed for patience.

Unfortunately, it does not seem to matter whether or not we actually adopt patience as a posture of prayer. We still have far too many opportunities to practice it!

Whether we are waiting for a new job or a new baby . . . whether we are waiting for a renewed sense of purpose or a renewed financial stability . . . whether we are waiting for a reversal of discrimination or an end to an abusive relationship . . . whether we are waiting for an organ transplant or the lifting of an ever deepening depression . . . whether we are waiting for an estranged child to call or a lingering grief to thaw . . . we wait, and we wait, and we wait.

And we pray.

But we do not pray for patience in any of these situations! We pray for justice! We pray for healing! We pray for protection! We pray for purpose! We pray for the present unbearability to pass from our path. We pray for "new heavens and a new earth where, according to the promise, God's justice will reside" (2 Peter 3:13). We pray for peace. We pray for hope. We pray for strength. We are tired of waiting. We are tired of waiting. Every day is like a thousand years.


The first century Christians receiving Peter's second letter were tired of waiting, too. They had joined the Jesus movement expecting the Savior's immediate return, thank you very much! They had been preparing for that new heaven and new earth right away, not years or decades, or generations away. They had taken great personal risks to join this cause of justice and righteousness, but they were getting antsy as they waited and waited and waited. Now false teachers exploited their frustrations, taunting them to give up hope in a message that seemed so clearly wrong . . . or at least outdated.

Taunting them into despair.

Jesus is never going to come back, the false prophets say. Justice is never going to reign. Good news will never win over evil. Healing is never going to come. A purpose-driven life will always evade us. A dead-end relationship is all we deserve. Only the ruthlessly ambitious can garner wealth or power. Violence is just the way of the world.

The false teachers are around us still--are they not?--nagging at our hopes for God's peaceable kingdom. From within and from without they taunt us with feelings of incompetence, inadequacy, powerlessness. Why bother preparing ourselves for God's eternal reign, if they are right? Why bother living holy lives in service to God and others, if Jesus has yet to return? Why bother dedicating our talents to the kingdom, if the kingdom is just an illusion? We have had such grand visions. The reality seems so very far away.

"But do not forget this one thing, dear friends," Peter says to them and to us, as well. "To God one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years is as one day. God is not slow in doing what God promised--the way some people understand slowness. But God is being patient with you. God does not want anyone to be lost but wants all people to change their hearts and lives."


Wait a second. God is being patient with us? God is waiting for us? God is taking forever (quite literally) in order to help us? It sure doesn't feel that way most of the time!


But I guess that's the point, isn't it? God is the one praying for patience, not us. God knows how much better we can do with what we have been given. God wants us to change our hearts and minds, to commit once again to the peaceable kingdom. God wants to give us a chance to get it right this time.

God wants us to open our eyes and celebrate the abundance we have been given, rather than languish in despair over what we think we have lost. God wants us to claim the best parts of our lives for our work and our companions, rather than succumbing to the worst that is in us. God wants us to offer a healing touch or a gentle word to someone in need, rather than leave them to wallow in their own sadness. God wants us to stand in active resistance to injustice and violence and greed and despair, rather than passively accept the status quo. God wants us to "look for the coming of the Day of God, and try to hasten it along" (2 Peter 3:12)!

The patience God prays for--the patience God asks of us--is not about sitting around on our rears praying for someone else to usher in the kingdom. The patience God asks of us is about active waiting, determined preparation, steadfast hope in the face of every reason to despair. God made a promise to us. And God does not break promises.

Our Advent discipline is the practice of trusting this promise, of changing the parts of our hearts and our lives that depart from this promise, of praying for the courage to hasten this promise, and of opening our eyes to recognize it when it comes. Of opening our eyes to recognize when it is already here.

"Do not be carried away by the errors of unprincipled people and thus forfeit the security you enjoy," Peter concludes. "Instead, grow in the grace and knowledge of our Sovereign and Savior Jesus Christ, who is glorified now and for all eternity."

May it be so for each of us, as we prepare once again for the birth of Christ. Amen.


Gusti Linnea Newquist


(additional lectionary texts: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; Mark 1:1-8)

November 30--Rich in Every Way

"Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

"I always thank my God for you because of the grace God has given you in Christ Jesus. I thank God because in Christ you have been made rich in every way, in all your speaking and in all your knowledge. Just as our witness about Christ has been guaranteed to you, so you have every gift from God while you wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to come again. Jesus will keep you strong until the end so that there will be no wrong in you on the day our Lord Jesus Christ comes again. God, who has called you into fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, is faithful" (1 Corinthians 1:3-9)


It feels good to hear that someone is grateful for who you are, simply as a human being. Those of us who have trouble accepting compliments may shrug away such glowing words of praise. Those of us who have been taught to be "humble" may hear it as idolatry. Those of us who know we have messed up big time may hear it as a cosmic joke. "I always thank my God for you. . . . you have been made rich in every way . . . you have every gift from God while you wait."

And those of us who have lost our retirement portfolios or our jobs or even our homes may hear it as a lie.

We used to be "rich in every way," we might think. We used to "have every gift from God" while we waited. We used to be thankful for abundance on Thanksgiving. Now we enter the holiday season with flattened wallets and heightened fears and a sense of dread about how long we have to "wait" until things get back to normal. Advent this year--the season of active waiting--may be less about preparing for the eternal reign of God and more about figuring out how to ride out a recession (or worse).

How do we hear Paul's words of gratitude if we are anxious, if we are sinful, if we are humble, if we are full of self-doubt?

"I always thank my God for you because of the grace God has given you in Christ Jesus. I thank God because in Christ you have been made rich in every way, in all your speaking and in all your knowledge."

God has given us grace, Paul says to the first century Christians at Corinth. God has given us grace, Paul says to twenty-first century Christians around the world. We have been graced by God, in Jesus Christ. We are rich in God's grace. We are rich when we know this grace and when we speak it. The gift of grace will keep us strong as we wait. It will help us know the faithfulness of God. This is why Paul is thankful for us.

But what is this gift? What is this grace, in which we are rich?

Grace often refers to mercy, of course, to the gift of restoration after repentance. But it is also a dynamic gift of faithful living that, according to Charles Campbell, "creates a new kind of community--one in which the divisions and hierarchies of the world no longer function." Grace is, in short, the very kingdom of God among us, the very thing we claim to be waiting for!

In the rest of Paul's letter to the Corinthians, he outlines what that new kind of community should look like . . . and holds the Corinthians accountable for falling short. They are divided among themselves (1:10-15), they are puffed up with pride and arrogance(4:6), they emphasize wealth disparities within the community (11:22), they have yet to learn how to love one another (13:1-13).

We, too, fall so very short of the kingdom community. We, too, are divided, puffed up, full of economic disparity, yet to learn how to love as God loves. But we are graced. We are forgiven. We are empowered to live a new life together. We are, indeed, rich in every way. Our fears and our wrong-doing and our self-doubt will not keep us from the riches of God. They are, instead, opportunities to embrace what we have had all along. They are opportunities to acknowledge God's grace.

The faithfulness--the grace--of God will indeed endure forever. In Advent, we prepare ourselves to receive that grace. We begin by acknowledging how very much we need it, and then by saying "thank you," to God and to the community that teaches us how to love one another.

May we use this season to cultivate that gratitude and to share it with the world.

Amen.



Gusti Linnea Newquist


Additional lectionary focus (Isaiah 64:1-9; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Mark 13:24-37)

November 23--Admitting Our Need

"Anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me" (Mt 25:40)

(Lectionary Focus: Matthew: 25:31-46)


It is Tuesday of Holy Week in the chronological setting of this week's gospel lectionary text. At the moment, it may be hard for us to place ourselves there in our minds. For us, after all, it is the end of the liturgical year, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, the week before Advent. The Tuesday of Holy Week seems very far away.

But in the context of one of the most famous Christian parables--the one before us today--it is Tuesday of Holy Week. Just two days ago, Jesus entered Jerusalem triumphantly, igniting the enthusiasm of disciple and stranger alike. Just yesterday, Jesus turned over the tables in the Temple and threw out the money changers and healed the blind and the lame. Just this morning, Jesus taught in the Temple using stories to explain the coming reign of God while hotly debating theological assumptions with Pharisees and Sadducees.

Just a few minutes ago, Jesus warned us--his disciples--of the persecution yet to come. We still do not understand he is talking about the cross. We still do not know our Jerusalem mission will end in defeat. We still do not know the rebirth of hope the resurrection will bring.

It is Tuesday of Holy Week. That place in between the joy of Palm Sunday, the agony of Good Friday, and the exultation of Easter.

From this in-between place, Jesus offers a vision of the kingdom of God, the last one recorded by Matthew before the Passion begins. "I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you invited me into your home. I was without clothes, and you gave me something to wear. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me" (Mt 25:35-36).


It is the clarion call for Christians around the world and for many of us, the essence of our faith. When people are in need, you help them, especially the ones with the least access to power and resources. "Anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me" (Mt 25:40).

And it is true that we should always read this parable as a call to serve the most vulnerable, in our communities and around the world, as a direct way of serving Christ. Even when we worry for our own economic future. Especially when we worry for our own economic future.

But it is also true that Jesus, himself--in a very literal way--will be hungry and thirsty, naked and in prison, in the days following this Tuesday of Holy Week. Jesus, himself--the strong leader, the very son of God, the one we have always expected to help us--will very literally need us to help him. And most of us will fail to recognize how very much he needs us until it is too late.

"I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me nothing to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you did not invite me into your house. I was without clothes, and you gave me nothing to wear. I was sick and in prison, and you did not care for me" (Mt 25:42-43).


It is not always easy to recognize the need in those we expect to be strong. It is not always easy to recognize the need in those who have always responded to our need. We are so used to seeing them as the ones who do have everything that we cannot always see what they lack.


And it may be even more difficult to admit we have become the one in need if we are accustomed to being the one who always helps others. It may be even more difficult to admit the true financial consequences of losing our job if we have always expected job security. It may be even more difficult to admit the weakness that accompanies an illness if we have always expected vigorous health. It may be even more difficult to admit the crushing burden of our ever-mounting debt if we have always expected the resources to pay it off. It may be even more difficult to admit the depth of loneliness that paralyzes our thoughts if we have always expected a community of support.

If we are accustomed to serving others as "the least of these," how very hard it is to humble ourselves to receive such service in return.

But Jesus models that, too, in the chapter following our lectionary.

It is Wednesday of Holy Week. One more day before betrayal and imprisonment. One day after the parable about the "least of these." A woman approaches Jesus with an alabaster jar filled with expensive perfume and pours every last drop of it onto his soon-to-be-crucified body. Yet when the disciples complain that the money should have been given to the poor, Jesus rebukes them, admitting his own need. "This woman poured perfume on my body to prepare me for burial," he declares. "I tell you the truth, wherever the Good News is preached in all the world, what this woman has done will be told, and people will remember her" (Mt 26:12-13). The "least of these" really is Jesus, the one we expect to be strong. A woman sees his need and fills it, sparing no cost to herself. But the disciples are blind, and later run away.

"Anything you refused to do for even the least of my people here, you refused to do for me" (Mt 25:45).


I would suggest that our invitation this week, as we turn toward Thanksgiving, is to open our eyes beyond our common assumptions about the image of Christ who is hungry and thirsty, naked and alone, sick and in prison. Yes, there are the obvious places, and we should never ever neglect them. But the deepest needs of another person may not be as obvious as we think. We may actually find "the least of these" in that strong leader among us, who cries out for help but is misunderstood by the ones who claim to know him or her best. If we are honest, we may even find "the least of these" to be ourselves.


May God grant us eyes to see and ears to hear and mouths to express the depth of our need, and then grant us the ability to respond. Amen.


Gusti Linnea Newquist


(additional lectionary texts for this week: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Psalm 100; Ephesians 1:15-23)