Phil Kniss: Anybody have a bucket . . . anybody?

Lent 3: We thirst

John 4:5-42

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I’m a helper.
I’m wired to help people.

I’m sure the way I was raised has something to do with that.
My parents were caring, generous, hospitable people,
always looking out for neighbors who were in a hard spot.
And they were raised by missionary-minded parents,
who were constantly out and among those in need—
whether in the jungles of India,
as Esther Augsburger shared last week with the children
about my missionary grandparents,
and my dad, her brother—
or, on my mom’s side,
whose family lived in a mission church in Columbia, PA.
Columbia was once a thriving industrial center,
but when my mom was growing up,
it was a poverty-stricken town,
never recovered from the Depression.
She and her siblings and parents would walk the streets,
learning to know the poorest of their neighbors,
trying to help them find a fuller life,
both spiritually and physically.

Helping people is what I know how to do.
It’s how I was taught.
It’s the environment in which I was formed.

And thank God for that formation!
Without it, I wouldn’t be a pastor today.
Without it, I wouldn’t have done what I did before I was a pastor.

For those who don’t know this about me,
I was a social worker before being a pastor.
Straight out of college, I took a job as a case manager
for Older Americans Council in Gainesville, FL,
a non-profit agency that served senior citizens living at home,
giving them the resources they needed
to stay at home as long as possible—
Meals on Wheels,
home health aids,
emergency alert systems,
housekeepers, and the like.

I was paid to be a professional helper.
The agency gave me a desk, a phone, office supplies,
reimbursed mileage when I drove into remote rural areas.
I even requested funds to establish a branch office in a rural town,
so I could be more accessible to those I was helping.
I became a very efficient helper.

Now, relative to other professions I could have been in,
working at a state-funded non-profit was bare-bones—
my salary was low, resources were few.
But relative to the people I was helping,
I had power, and resources, to spare!

Still, we had to set limits.
The one being helped had to be poor enough,
and had to be impaired enough.

So I—a low-paid, 24-year-old guy in jeans and a beat-up car—
had the status, the education, the resources,
and the power of the state behind me,
to give and withhold help,
at my discretion.
And those getting the help just had to suck it up,
and allow the necessary indignities
in having a guy with a clipboard
sit at the foot of their bed,
and ask them how much they made in social security,
and how much was in their bank account,
and whether they could go to the bathroom by themselves.

Now, did I do a lot of people of lot of good,
through the social services I put into motion?
Absolutely!
Because of what I did, some people
lived longer and happier and safer in their own homes.

But I could never quite get over this nagging feeling,
that my helping reinforced my position of power,
and reinforced their position of powerlessness.
There’s a shadow side to being a helper.

This is true for well-meaning guys with clipboards,
and it is true for groups and institutions—like the church.

Any of you directly involved
in any of our mission or outreach efforts at Park View
have come face-to-face with this nagging awareness
that helping others is complicated.

When we open our doors to shelter and feed our homeless neighbors,
when we send funds to our mission agencies,
when we support the development and relief work
of Mennonite Central Committee,
or Mennonite Disaster Service,
when we support the Sharing Fund of Mennonite World Conference,
when we give funds or send people
to help out our sister church in New Orleans’ Ninth Ward,
when we support local groups like People Helping People,
New Bridges Immigrant Resource Center,
Our Community Place, and many others . . .
we are, certainly, answering God’s call to love our neighbor.

And that we must do, and must continue doing.
We cannot turn our back on our neighbors who are poor,
or marginalized, or live in fear of deportation.

But let’s be honest with ourselves.
Helping others puts into motion new relationship dynamics
that we need to recognize, and deal with somehow.

How do we,
who enjoy a position of higher status,
greater privilege, and more resources,
help without creating dependence,
or disempowering those we help?
How do we keep from being over-protective
of our own power and resources?
How do we keep from slipping into a controlling posture,
that will only extend help
if the help-ee fully cooperates with us,
defers to our rules,
submits to our authority,
and meets our expectations.

Help, when given from top down,
is always, in one way or another,
exchanged for something else.
If not actual material or money to be repaid later,
then it’s some intangible benefit we get in return, now.
Maybe it’s public recognition.
Maybe it’s psychological or spiritual benefit we seek.
Maybe it’s an unspoken, and even unrecognized,
expectation that helping the less fortunate,
will ensure that our respective roles—helper and help-ee—
won’t ever get flipped upside-down.

Helping, from a position of power,
can serve to reinforce our position of power,
whether that’s intentional or not.
_____________________

But . . . everything I have just described,
is confronted head-on by the Gospel story we heard today.

Despite all the good I believe I have done in my life as a helper—
as social worker,
as pastor,
as father, husband, neighbor, or friend—
I think I would do well—
I think we all would do well—
to examine that in the light of Jesus.
To look to Jesus as a model for how to be with people,
especially with people in need—
whatever the need may be.

Jesus, as we know, was a consummate helper.
Everywhere he went, he helped.
Healed, fed, restored, forgave, delivered, taught.
But in today’s Gospel,
we see another side of Jesus.
Here, it was Jesus who needed help.
We don’t often think of Jesus in terms of his
very real, very physical, and very human needs.
But he had them.
And they were sometimes desperate needs.

In this story, Jesus’ needs I think border on desperation.

Just a little background:
In the eyes of Jews, the Samaritans were ceremonially unclean—
(unable to worship at the temple).
Presumably then, a close encounter with a Samaritan
would make a Jew unclean and require a purification ritual.
So, devout Jews took the long route around the region of Samaria.
It was just simpler.
Longer travel time now,
less religious time and hassle later.

For whatever reason, Jesus and his disciples went through Samaria.
Maybe their travel schedule required it.
Maybe they were running low in supplies.
But they calculated it would be better to take the short route,
and pay later.
As soon as they arrived in the town of Samaria,
the disciples went into the city to buy food and supplies.
Jesus stayed by the well.
Why?

Contrary to popular belief,
Jesus didn’t stay because he knew he had spiritual business to do
with a Samaritan woman who would stop by soon.
We know that wasn’t the reason,
because John 4:6 tells us exactly why he sat down at the well.
He was exhausted—“tired out by his journey,” John says.

Travel on foot was grueling.
I expect Jesus was wobbly on his feet.
As a rabbi, I doubt he had the stamina
of some of his fisherman disciples.
So he says, “You go get the food. I need to rest for a while.”

So there he sat at the well at noon, in the heat of the day—
alone, hot, thirsty, and without a bucket.
I’m guessing he was eyeing everyone who came along,
thinking, “Anybody have a bucket . . . anybody?”
The odds of someone coming to the well at noon was slim.

So when the Samaritan woman came along, carrying a bucket,
don’t tell me Jesus’ first thought was,
“Oh, here’s a chance to teach a valuable spiritual lesson.”
No, his only thought was getting water from that bucket.
It was pure need that made him ask,
“Will you give me a drink?”
Simple, straightforward question.  “Will you give me a drink?”

Except, it wasn’t quite that simple.
There were other layers here.
She was Samaritan.
She was a woman.
Both those facts put Jesus in the power position.
This was not a conversation between equals.

To make the story even more interesting,
we find out she was not your average
respectable Samaritan woman.
Her marital history and sexual behavior
put her on the margins of her own people.
She came to the well alone at noon,
instead of morning or evening,
when other women would be there
drawing water and socializing.

But Jesus puts all these significant power dynamics aside,
and expresses his own need, to this woman.
To this marginalized, Samaritan, woman . . .
Jesus let his human vulnerability show.
He made no pretense.
He needed her.
He asked her to be so kind
as to reach out to him, and meet his need.

His act of vulnerability was so remarkable
that it stunned the Samaritan woman,
and it rendered Jesus’ disciples speechless.
John 4:27 tells us, literally, the things they didn’t say.

Then . . . yes, there began a secondary interaction
between the woman and Jesus,
that quickly got into other spiritual and theological issues
that would be interesting to explore—
about the nature of worship,
and eternal life,
and the metaphor of living water.
That’s part of what was said,
but I expect some of that was even filled in later, in the telling,
as John, the Gospel writer,
distills what was no doubt
an extended theological discourse with the Samaritans,
since we know Jesus spent two more days there,
interacting with the townspeople.

But the most remarkable thing that confronts the reader of this story,
is that here sits Jesus,
opening himself up to,
and allowing himself to receive ministry from,
a socially-suspect . . . Samaritan . . . woman.

And here we also sit, today,
in need of help,
but not wanting to be very vulnerable,
so as to protect our standing.

We have the resources to help others, and generally, we do,
happily, and generously, and often sacrificially.

But when the need is ours, we hesitate.
We don’t want to risk too much.
We need to guard our position.

Letting go of the need to protect our position
opens up all kinds of possibilities.
In the story of Jesus and the woman,
when Jesus ignored his position and became vulnerable,
he not only got his need met,
he was able to help his helper in an even deeper way,
and in turn, to help the whole town.

I can’t help but think that this same dynamic,
the impulse to protect our standing, and not become vulnerable,
plays into so much of the divisiveness, the conflict, the anxiety,
that plagues our church, our community,
and our national politics.
The helping dynamic is different.
We may be trying to “help” our neighbor
get on the right side of the issue—my side,
and thereby “help” solve the conflict.

But whatever the need we are trying to help,
chances are, there is an impulse at work
that doesn’t come from Jesus.
It’s the impulse to put up our guards,
hide our own weakness,
and maintain our position of power over the other.
_____________________


Sisters and brothers in Christ,
we sit here this morning, thirsty.
Our strength is dried up from the journey.
Some of us are wobbly on our feet.
Our weariness may come from the deep hurt
of the larger world in which we live.
Our weariness may come from the wounds we experience
much closer to us—
from strained or broken family relationships,
from loss and grief,
from prolonged conflict,
from insecurity about our future,
from being betrayed by persons, or institutions,
that we once had trust in,
from internal spiritual struggle playing itself out
in ways we don’t fully understand.

But I know, from personal experience and from conversations,
that many here today . . . thirst . . . desperately.
And have no bucket.
No way to fix things on our own.
No way to quench our own thirst or satisfy our longings.
We need help.
And are even more vulnerable when alone, at high noon,
and no bucket-toting person in sight.
_____________________

Let’s sit with that thought a bit.
Consider the source of our own weariness and thirst.
What is it drying up your strength today,
making your knees weak?
I invite you to come and sit by the well.

Our Lenten ritual this morning is coming for water,
which you see is right here, at the table, the well.
But there are no drinking vessels at the well.
You will need to come,
and wait for someone else to come and help you draw water.

If you are led to seek water this morning,
just come and stand near this front table, and wait,
as long as it takes.

Someone else, I trust, will see you standing there,
will be moved to come and be the Samaritan,
and will go to one of the two tables on either side here,
and take a small cup
and come to where you are, and pour you a drink of water.

You don’t even need to the know the person waiting at the well.
Jesus and the woman were strangers.
Anyone can help draw the water—
even youth and children.
You, too, are capable of helping.
Remember, the relative position of the helper and help-ee,
in age, status, gender,
does not matter, when we are thirsty.

All are welcome to come,
as those who thirst, or as those with a bucket,
while the rest of us sing . . . again . . .
“Bring me little water, Sylvie . . .”

No matter what the source of your thirst, come to the well and wait.
And no matter your connection to the one who thirsts,
come and help them get water.

Or, do both.
In the story, Jesus and the woman were both the helper and help-ee,
in different ways.

So here we are, at the community well.
Come and be refreshed by the water of God’s spirit,
carried by God’s people.

—Phil Kniss, March 19, 2017

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Moriah Hurst: Time to wonder

Lent 2: We wonder
John 3:1-17

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Not understanding

One summer when I was in college I interned with a pastor who is considered one of Australia’s leading Christian moral voices. If there was something that the main-stream media wanted a Christian view of they often interview this man whose name is Tim. Tim also used to be a politician. I was with him for one of these interviews. I remember my astonishment as we went through the interview with a TV reporter and it was like Tim and the reporter were following different scripts. The reporter would ask a question and Tim would answer something on a totally different track. When asked about other political issues or something more personal, Tim would still answer as if he’d been asked a question about the moral issue at hand even if it had nothing to do with the question. And at no point did either party stop and say “hey, you didn’t answer my question”. It was like an agreed upon game – each had the track they were going to follow and it didn’t really matter what the other person was doing. I walked away very confused but also with a much great respect or possibly skepticism for politicians who only answer what they want to even when it is not the question they were asked.

I felt a similar kind of bafflement coming to the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus in our text this week. I call it an encounter because it doesn’t really feel like a conversations. Jesus seems to be answering in riddles and throwing curveballs instead of responding to questions. And I seem to be with Nicodemus – a bit befuddled and left wondering what is going on and what is being said.

This is a dense theological passage that seems to keep introducing new points instead of explaining the last one. Just when I feel like I’ve pick up the thread of where it is going, Jesus changes tack again and I have to try and catch up. We read that Nicodemus came to find Jesus in the dark of night and there is a double meaning there. Nicodemus was a bit in the dark – he doesn’t understand what Jesus is saying and the point Jesus is trying to make. We are left feeling like Jesus and Nicodemus are talking past each other on different planes.

Pondering this starts me wondering – what is going on here?

Reconnecting to wonder – what is it, what are we missing

            First, I think we are invited to reconnect with wonder.

We are in a time where we have information overload and yet there is so much we don’t understand. This passage invites us to ponder things in a different way, it invites us into wonder. At one point Nicodemus asks “How can these things be?” We think we need to know so many things and have it figured out but how do we admit that we need to keep learning.

            Nicodemus starts by saying that he thinks Jesus must be from God because of all the signs that Jesus has done. Many times we want this proof, we want to know that God is real and to have God’s agenda clearly laid out. But as the texts continues there is a mind-bending invitation into things unseen, not into concrete signs and miracles. “Jesus invites Nicodemus into a conversation of wondering and mystery that travels away from predictable and logically clear paths.” (Leader, p. 38)

            When was the last time you were really caught up in wonder? I remember once at New Year’s I went up onto a roof in the middle of the city. At midnight fireworks were set off from roofs all around us. Literally every direction I looked there were explosions of sound and color. I was jumping around so full of delight and wonderment. Or I think about the wonder I feel when I plant seeds and watch for the first few days as the seedlings emerge and I marvel at these tiny miracles of life. There are amazing things that happen all around us but do we slow down to see them.

            When we see wonder in and through the eyes of children we think it’s cute. But do we allow ourselves the space to wonder, to dream, to ask the hard questions – is wonder just a softer way of saying doubt?

            Then I start asking why is it easier for children to wonder about things? Is it that they don’t have the burdens of the world so firmly on their shoulders yet? Do we have space to wonder as adults? Our biggest challenge is to stop. Do we let ourselves gaze out the window and daydream?

            The wonderment that I see in this passage comes from Jesus’s responses to Nicodemus. When Nicodemus says that Jesus must be from God because no one can do these signs without God. Jesus responds that no one can see the Kingdom of God without being born from above. And I can almost see Nicodemus’s confused look as he tries to figure this out. So…how can an old person go back into their mother’s womb to be born a second time?

            The miracle of birth is confusing and amazing enough the first time round. We don’t really understand all the parts of this creation, this new life emerging from the dark, warmness of the womb into the light of a new life. When we are born we have new eyes and need to learn everything about this life we have entered. As Jesus talks more about being born of water and the spirit we are invited to wonder about our baptism and the new life we enter into. Do we have to learn everything again? Do we get a new start? And do we get times like Lent where we get to hit the reset button or at least pause as we consider how we want to spend this one, wonderful life.

            The life of faith that Jesus is talking about here is knowing that in faith there is mystery. If we could figure it all out I’m not sure it would be faith any more – faith is an invitation into wonder. When we think we have got God figured out we take away some of the mystery and power that God holds. Can we enter into that understanding with openness?

Gift of wonder – light and darkness, giving up control

This part of God, which is mystery and spirit, is explored by talking about wind. I live on the side of a ridge and this winter I regularly get out of my car and feel like I’m going to be blown over. The wind gusts so strongly that I have to have weights on my welcome mat so that it doesn’t blow away. I’ve had some time to listen to the wind and ponder its power. The wind, that ungraspable part of God’s spirit – which is Sophia wisdom. The uncontrollability of this wind/spirit - We can’t bottle it, shape it – but we can feel it and go with it. The spirit/wind – you hear the sound of it but you don’t know where it comes from or where it goes to – we join in with this spirit/wind as we join this Jesus through new birth.

            This kind of wonder and entering in with the Spirit requires us to let go – we don’t guide this kind of wonder, God does – trusting if God made heaven and earth God can guide us. God is with us, God will help us – God takes our hand like we take the hand of a small child and leads us. We can relax a little because God knows the way so we can look around a bit in wonder.

Can we be this kind of wonder full?

            Nicodemus continues in his bewilderment and asks – How can this be? Jesus response is essentially asking “How are you a learned insider and you don’t know this?” Could Jesus just as easily turn to you or me and ask this question? How do we not understand this yet.

            Because like Nicodemus we are still in the dark. And maybe some darkness is a good thing. Why is it that we think darkness might be bad? Is it that we lack control of the dark and lack control in the dark. We have to wait and be patient for our eyes to adjust. In the Genesis passage from today we hear how Abram is called by God. Abram is not told where he is going. He is told that he will be blessed and without even asking a question, Abram goes.

We often want a plan, a clear path ahead but just like Abram we may only have the direction we need to move in. This thought in our scheduled, planned, thoughtful world is terrifying. We like to control the next step – we don’t want to just step out in trust.

            In this Lent season can we step out into the dark, giving up some of our need for control and realizing some of the beauty. It is only when we go out into the darkness that we see the vastness of the stars.

In Australia our seasons are opposite to here in the US so instead of Lent leading into spring and Easter – Lent really is a time of going into the dark as summer ends and the days grow shorter and colder. Lent for all of us is an invitation into the dark, but to look there for the next step ahead. Do we need to step into the dark – is that what the invitation into wonder is?

Nurture our wonder – we need a bit to prepare us for the next step – where might God lead?

            In this season of Lent let us nurture our wonder. As we step out we know that God is with us. The Psalmist says: The Lord will keep you from all evil; God will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forever more.

            And with Nicodemus we are given a glimpse of what is to come – the ultimate wonder where God in Jesus turns life and death on their heads. (Quote John 3:16-17) This great invitation to believe in this wonder – that God could judge us for all kinds of things – but Jesus didn’t come to condemn only to save it.

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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Creating Space and Entering In

Lent 1: We hunger

Matthew 4:1-11

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           We might not all like or look forward to the season of LENT.  But I think God knows we need it.  Too often we deal with this season at a surface level only, by identifying something we are going to 'give up' (chocolate, caffeine, Facebook), or something we are going to 'take on', (better eating habits, regular exercise, a prayer discipline).  Some of us pretty much ignore this season, but look forward to Easter!

          These seasons of the church calendar, like Lent, Advent, Epiphany, are important  for they are meant to shape us.  As we enter into these sacred times and rhythms, they guide us into a way of seeing and being in our lives, that we might otherwise overlook or ignore.  If you attended an Ash Wednesday service here or someplace else, you have already entered into this season.  Ruth Haley Barton describes that day as, “the doorway into a space in time that calls us to stop whatever we are doing, no matter how important it might be, and enter more intentionally into the discipline of prayer, self-examination and repentance.”  As you received the ashes on your forehead or hand, and heard the words, “From dust you came and to dust you shall return,”  you acknowledged through this symbolic gesture your mortality and sinfulness.  Can you think of any other day in the year that we do that?

  Lent is a time to step back, to create space to:

ReflectRepentRecommitRenewand hopefully to be restored.

Theme for the series:  Restore Us, O God!

          The texts for the first Sunday in Lent always include an account of Jesus in the wilderness from one of the synoptic Gospels.  This year's goes like this:

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. 2 He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. 3 The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” 4 But he answered, “It is written,

‘One does not live by bread alone,    but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

5 Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, 6 saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you,’    and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

7 Jesus said to him, “Again it is written,

‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

8 Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; 9 and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” 10 Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written,

‘Worship the Lord your God,    and serve only him.’”

11 Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

           Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest, titled her sermon on this text as “The Wilderness Exam”.  She states, “This is the story in which everyone finds out what being the son of God really means.  This is the story in which Jesus proves who he is, NOT by seizing power, but by turning it down.” (p. 39, Bread of Angels)

          As we look at the context and the shape of this narrative, there are some fascinating parts.  It comes right after the account of Jesus' baptism in the Jordan river.  It really is a sequel to that story.  If you remember, we read of the baptism of Jesus.  He comes out of the water, the heavens open, the Spirit of God descends like a dove and rests on Jesus, and then those words from the heavens, “This is my son, whom I love, with him I am well pleased.”

          And now the same spirit leads him from this wonderful event of affirmation and reassuring words from the heavens, possibly with a crowd around to witness, up into the Judean wilderness for a long lonely time, with no voice from God, no dove from heaven, no food.  Just wilderness, a space where the familiar and the comforts, and the things that provide security are stripped away.  Jesus, left there, for forty days and forty nights, to be tempted, to be tested.

          It really plays itself out and reads like a drama. An opening prologue, to set the context(stage), followed by 3 brief scenes that mount with some intensity, and concludes with a very brief epilogue.

Prologue:  Jesus is led by the spirit to the wilderness.  He doesn't just wander there by mistake.  He fasted for forty days and forty nights.  Result: he was hungry!

The exam begins (at the end of the fast)

          It proceeds with 3 short tests.  And it becomes this back and forth between Jesus and the devil, with both of them quoting scripture.  The tempter is proposing ways for Jesus to claim his messianic role and demonstrate his power.  “If you are (or since you are) the Son of God, then do this.....

          But in 3 tests, Jesus does not succumb, give in to the temptation presented.  He is not about to act independently of God and use his power to gratify his own desires, whether it be changing stones into bread to nourish his hungry body, or testing whether God would in fact send his angels to swoop down if he were to jump off the temple and save him from harm, or whether it would be to bow down and worship another just to have all of that land and position and control of all the kingdoms offered to him.

          Jesus passed the test....every time. Jesus faithfully remembers that he is totally dependent on God. He didn't need to prove to anyone anything. He didn't need to give public witness to his work by some miracles or magic.  If he had succumbed to those demands, it would have revealed unfaith rather than faith.

          After Jesus passed the 3^rd test, there wasn't much left to say.  His response assures us of his undivided loyalty.  He will worship and serve God only!

          Jesus passed the test.  The message: God is the ultimate provider!  Jesus learns this, he lives this and invites us to believe and accept this too.  God provides.  God sustains.  God delivers.  God gives us what we need.  We are tempted in our fears and insecurities not to trust God.  We think we can do it in our own power and because of our own knowledge and capabilities.  Sometimes we are tempted to treat God as less than God!

          When the test was over there wasn't much more to say.  The devil left, angels arrive and they wait and serve Jesus.  They bring comfort and strength to those tested.

          In Matthew's account, he lets the reader know that Jesus had to prove his faithfulness in the midst of testing.  His particular struggle was between the divine and the demonic authority, this cosmic battle, that Jesus will deal with for the rest of his ministry.  How will he act as the Son of God?  The story is about Jesus' identity.

But it is also about our own identity.

          How do we act as children of God?  Where does our loyalty lie?  How is our faithfulness being tested?  As individuals and as a corporate body...the church?  When we are tempted to want more, to be more, to achieve more, how far and how much do we compromise.

As we enter into this season of Lent, as you create space in your life and busy schedule, I have some questions for you to ponder, to work with for this week.  They are included in your bulletin.

1.)  What has been your 'wilderness' or 'desert' experience?  (It may have been a time many years ago.  You may have more than one to reflect on.  You may be in the midst of the wilderness now and it is  hard and painful.  Maybe some of you came through it and you are a survivor, but the memories are still vivid.)

2.)   What are you 'hungering' for?  What are your deepest longings that, if fulfilled, would satisfy your hunger and restore you?  Could be something physical or emotional or spiritual.  Pain free days, physical healing, reconciliation with a loved one, forgiveness from another, financial security, satisfying job.)

3.)   What are the distractions, the temptations, the voices, that pull you or call you away from God?  Bad habits, addictions, pride, need for recognition and success, uncontrolled anger, bitterness, obsessive behavior.)

          (also reflect on  temptation in the life of the church.  How does the church, our congregations, and educational and mission institutions face temptations when it comes to power, authority, decision making, etc.?)

Spend some time with these questions.

As we create some space and enter into this season of Lent and reflection, I offer you the opportunity to participate in a response or ritual.  Baskets are placed in front and at tow other stations with items.. 1.) small stones, gravel, all sizes, rough and smooth.  It can represent what you need it to be...symbol of the landscape of

your life...the wilderness, the desert, the pebble in your shoe that irritates, the smooth stone, that indicates you came thru the wilderness and the rough edges are no longer needed, or a jagged piece of gravel that is still challenging.  Take it with you and keep it with you on the journey of Lent.

2.)  crumbs, not neat cubes from a loaf  of bread, but a crumb.  It is a beginning, it is a foretaste of what will come.  You don't get the whole loaf today.  You see a symbol of nourishment and for today, it is enough.  Take, taste and know that there will be more that will fill and nourish and satisfy.

  

Come forward as we sing together, 'You are all we have”...


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