Following Jesus' Instructions: A comment on today’s gospel reading by Maggie Cox

Today’s gospel reading in John 9: 1-17 describes Jesus bringing sight to a man blind from birth.

Two lessons come to me in this passage. One, the blind man follows Jesus’ instructions without questioning. The other, Jesus used what was a hand to heal--mud, the earth.

I often wish for the Holy Spirit’s instructions in such clarity. But would that keep me from saying “I’m not the one,” or “That’s not the work I’ve chosen?” We could say that the blind man had nothing to lose. He didn’t have sight. He was a beggar. The story doesn’t tell us that Jesus said to him, “Come over here and let me put mud on your eyes, and if you do what I tell you, you will see.” Jesus just makes mud with his saliva, puts it on the man’s eyes and tells him to go wash in the pool of Siloam--simple instructions. Go and do as I say. I will provide the results. That is one message I take from this reading. Listen to the Holy Spirit. Pray and discern. Don’t explain to God, as Moses did (several ways) when God told him he was to lead the Israelites from Egypt (Exodus 3), that we can’t do what he asks of us.

The other piece of this text that speaks to me is Jesus use of mud to heal--a piece of the earth. Nature, the beauty of this earth, provides me with nourishment and healing each day. Last week, hiking near Estes Park, a friend and I saw this season’s first pasqueflower blossoms. Small delicate lavender flowers easily overlooked, nestled in dead grass and pine cones, they are one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring. The earth’s beauty opens in small ways as God’s love blossoms in us in small ways. Today’s prayer: “God, give me ears to hear your voice, eyes open to your love, and faith to follow your path.”

Lent in Our Own Words by Amma Trish Cunningham

Lent 1: Friday


“He does not delay but repays in their own person those who reject him.” (Deut. 7:10)

What is hell? Is it a place or state of being to which God consigns the unrepentantly evil? Or is it a condition that we create ourselves in this life when we consistently follow our own wills instead of God’s? A verse from this morning’s Old Testament reading suggests that it is not punishment that awaits us in the future, but something we bring upon ourselves in this life by rejecting God. Mysteries that will only be revealed on the other side of the veil notwithstanding, my experience tells me that hell really is a self-induced state of misery caused by patterns of wrong choices; while it is unquestionably experienced in this life, I have great doubts about whether it gets any worse after this life has ended.

As a former hospital chaplain, I have been with people on their deathbed, many of whom have not led exemplary lives. I am struck by how child-like even the strongest, most willful people become. With the loss of power often comes a sense of resignation and peace. Even the most unloving, grudge-bearing individuals are hungry for words of God’s unconditional love and forgiveness. Understanding and forgiveness for wrongs committed against them finally take hold and they are able to let go of bitterness. A person who has hurt others will often acknowledge their responsibility, perhaps for the first time, and gain peace as a result. Regardless, as life slips away, anxiety and fear seem to dissipate, with no suggestion that something terrible is about to occur.

How am I rejecting God and creating hell? For what do I need to acknowledge responsibility? What do I need to forgive? How can I love God, my neighbor and myself more fully so that I may live in the kingdom of heaven even now?

Holy God, immerse me in your peace so that all that I think, do or say today may be in harmony with the mind of Christ.

Being With……. by Diane Wells, Parish Administrator

I live in a wonderful, eclectic 50’s neighborhood with wonderful, eclectic neighbors. We have some lawyers, some business owners, some musicians, a parish administrator, some college professors, and some scientists. Some folks are retired, some are stay at home parents, some (like me) have been around the block a few million times during the 30 years we’ve lived there, some are new to the block. We know a bit about each other’s lives, just enough to know what’s important to whom, not enough to be nosy. A few years ago, one of these exceptional neighbors started organizing the Dover Drive Block Party, an annual event that will most likely be taking place in July from now on since the one scheduled for last October took place around a fire in a 50 gallon drum in an attempt to stave off the 20 degree temperatures. Believe it or not, even in those conditions, 70 hearty souls drank hot cider and ate bratwursts from the grill that had been transplanted to the middle of the street.

One of the things that many of us on Dover Drive share in common is a deep abiding love of dogs. We know our neighbor dogs' names, and say “hi” to them as we pass by their yards. We ask after their health, take them home when they stray, and, in my case, do everything I can to make my pesky pooch play nicely with others. So, when I heard that my neighbor dog, Eddie, was diagnosed with cancer and given “weeks, not months” to live, I immediately felt that tug of time that clenches the heart of all of us dog lovers. I did not expect that “weeks” was going to mean two.

So, last Sunday in the frenzy of getting the house ready for guests, my neighbor Nina came over to ask if I could help her with “Eddie”. Nina had a meeting to attend and needed to be gone from her house for a couple of hours. But “Eddie” was acting strangely. She (“Eddie”) was panting hard, and was unable to sit, stand or lay down comfortably. Though hoping that I might be able to watch “Eddie” while she was out, we determined that as “Eddie” felt more and more uncomfortable, as her breathing became more and more labored, that, in fact, Nina was the only one who could soothe her growing anxiety. So, Nina cancelled her meeting and stayed home with Eddie. I went back to my cleaning frenzy.

Eight hours passed. The party at my house came and went, and with the last guests out the door, I took to cleaning up. I didn’t get very far. As soon as I encountered the apple pie that was left by a partier, I was immediately taken over by the hand of the Holy Spirit, and instructed by said HS to take some pie to my neighbors Mark and Nina and find out how “Eddie” was doing. I crossed Dover Drive to find their house dark, but the front door open. I knocked lightly on the door, thinking that I would just step in and leave the pie in their kitchen. As I entered their house, I heard Mark (Nina’s husband) calling, “Who is it?” from downstairs. Mark met me at the top of the stairs, and immediately encouraged me to come down with him. In their wonderful music room in the basement, I found three other folks, Nina and two of her friends, on the floor surrounding “Eddie”. With only the light from the stairway softening the scene, I was told that “Eddie” had just died a few minutes before all on her own. The house call veterinarian had come, but complications had made injections particularly difficult, and by the time an alternative method was decided on, “Eddie” made her transition all by herself.

There is something absolutely extraordinary, absolutely intimate, and absolutely incredible about being present when a loved one dies. It is a space in which hearts are open to each other, in which there is no guile, no disguise. It is a place in which only the truth can be told, with or without words. The five of us spent the next hour together in that amazing quiet place, sharing stories about “Eddie”, stories about other loved ones who we did not get to know long enough. We shared silence together, all cognizant that this loved soul was on a new journey, on the path to her source, all aware that it is the one journey we must all take alone. Ultimately, we each felt that we had been brought to that moment to give ourselves in the gift of “being with”, which may well be the greatest gift of all.

From Pam White, communications coordinator:  I had trouble getting out of bed this morning.  My parents left yesterday after a fun-filled, action-packed, ten-day visit.  Then last night we ended up with a houseful -- our friend Dan came over to help set up my new laptop and transfer files to it from my old computer.  My son Jeff stopped by to pick up some new clothes my mom had ironed for him to take on a business trip this morning.  My daughter Heather was home to borrow her sister's laptop for her thesis defense this morning.  Her husband joined us later.  We watched the Rockies beat the Astros 5-1, and, truth be told, the wine and beer flowed pretty freely.  It was one of those wonderful impromptu family get-togethers filled with laughter and love, but on a Monday night?  Whew!  I was exhausted!

I definitely needed a pick-me-up on the way to work, so I stopped by Starbucks.  I expected a caffeine jolt, but what I got was an even better treat.  I ordered a chai and a reduced-fat turkey bacon sandwich, and pulled up to the drive-through window with a $10 bill in hand, only to be informed by Chris at the window that the woman ahead of me had paid for my breakfast!  I caught a glimpse of a tan SUV as it turned the corner ahead of me.  I didn't recognize the car.  I don't know if the generous woman knew me or if her gesture was simply one of those "random acts of kindness" you read about on bumper stickers but so seldom experience.  I DO know that it made my day. 

I also know that it's made me want to pass it on, pay it forward, perform my own good deed.  But what?  I don't know yet, but I'm sure the Holy Spirit will guide me, and sometime in the next hour, day, or week I'll be given an opportunity to do something kind for a stranger.  Whatever it is, I'll do it with gratitude to the woman who brightended my Tuesday morning.

Her gift has made me think bigger than that, too.  It's made me think about the way I tend to go through my days in a hurry -- worrying about work and errands and what to cook for dinner and crossing things off my "list"... you get the idea.  How often do I stop to think about the stranger ahead of me (or behind me) in line?  the person driving the car next to me?  the person I pass on my walk?  I may smile, nod my head, or even voice a quick "Hi" at these people, but do I really THINK about them?  I needed to be reminded that every one of the people with whom I cross paths on a daily basis is a child of God, worth more that an cursory glance.  I'm going to try my best to start SEEING the people around me.  Do they look troubled?  happy?  sad?  excited?  If I do that, I have a feeling I'll find lots of opportunities to brighten someone else's day and to make someone else feel special.  

Wow!  I thought the woman this morning bought me a cup of chai and a sandwich.  Turns out she opened my eyes, and my heart, in a new way.  Thank you, whoever you are!

Some Thoughts on Father Rol’s Retirement

From Diane Wells, Parish Administrator:  It is almost impossible to imagine St. John’s without Fr. Rol. He has put his indelible stamp on everything from the architecture of our buildings to the formation of our hearts.  We would all be quite comfortable to go on with the current state of affairs, to maintain the status quo to which we have grown so accustomed.  However, as Father Rol himself would remind us, Christians are not called to be comfortable.  We are called to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves; we are called to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; we are called to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.  Indeed, we are called to bring forth the kingdom of God, to carry on the sacred work of Father Rol and all of the rectors who led St. John’s before him.  In order to do this we must hold in our hearts the knowledge that inside every ‘coming to an end’ is the seed of something else ‘coming to a beginning’. It is now our turn to step forward and work without haste and without rest to help create the future that Father Rol has so faithfully set the foundation for.

Mission Trip to the Domican Republic

From JK Melton, Director of Youth and Young Adult Ministries:  Our youth continue to prepare for our mission trip to Haina, Dominican Republic, in June. Plane tickets are bought, funds are secured, and we've all taken our typhoid pills. We are excited to go and be with the people of Iglesia y Colegio San Marcos, and Episcopal Church and School, serving 325 parishioners and 750 students in a down and out industrial town just outside of Santo Domingo.


We had two meetings last week to discuss trip logistics. We started our meeting by writing down our hopes and dreams for the trip. Here is a sample of them:

- I hope to learn about the people in Haina and how they live.

- I hope to learn about another culture. We are so sheltered here!

- I hope it is fun and productive.

- I hope to use my Spanish.

- I hope for the adventure of a lifetime!

- I hope for a sense of connection to the broader world.

- I hope we are able to experience the culture. I want to hear music, dance, speak Spanish, and meet local people.

- I hope we eat some great food.

- I hope we have a look at just how privileged we are.

- I hope to have an experience that makes a good story. Then, I'll tell it!

- I hope to return as excited and proud as I was after the last mission trip.

- I hope that I can see how I can make a difference in the world.

- I am excited to learn more about the spiritual journeys of the folks going on our trip, and I'm eager to learn about those of the people in Haina.

I anticipate that we'll easily find these hopes and dreams fulfilled. We'll make new friends who live very different lives than we do, and in the process, we'll be able to grow in our understanding of just what Jesus meant when he told us to take care of all of those who are in need.

God Came to Earth as a Baby

From Cathy Ode, Director of Children's Ministries

God came to earth as a baby on that very first Christmas.

What does that mean to you?

When I was little, I didn't think much about Jesus. Pretty much the only time Jesus entered my consciousness was at Christmastime, when I'd see manger scenes large and small -- a big one oudoors in a New England town square, a small do-not-touch creche at a grandparent's house. If anyone had asked my child-self who Jesus was, I'd probably have said, "Well, he's this baby..."

As I grew, Jesus became a man to me but one frozen in ancient, irrelevant history. "What would Jesus do?" Well, what did I care?! We moved a lot because of my dad's job, and I went to lots of different churches. But I always felt like an outsider. I never got to know any of the other kids at Sunday School. And I certainly never felt like I knew Jesus. He was a symbol, a stranger. He was the mascot for a club I never quite fit into.

I began attending church on my own while I was in college. There happened to be a Lutheran church two doors down from a co-op where I lived sophomore year. It was pretty easy to roll out of bed and down the street a couple times a month. I wasn't thinking much about Jesus, but I was aware of a craving for something. Community maybe? A home away from home? An anchor for my crazy college life? In that church community I was fed and befriended, both literally and spiritually. And there was a dim awareness that somehow we were all distant relatives of Jesus, and that I belonged in their midst.

Pregnant with my first child one Advent a few years later, I began to know Jesus in a brand new way. Those stories -- of Mary traveling, young and afraid -- resonated strongly for me. I was newly (and shakily) married, in a new town with no family or friends to share the joy of impending birth. Mary's experience helped to make Jesus real for me, as a flesh and blood baby of all-too-human parents.

As a young mom of two, I became a youth group leader. I knew by now that Jesus wasn't a fiction or a fable. Although I didn't know Jesus well, I had a deep sense that he knew me. And that made an enormous difference in my life. I felt called to share this deep conviction with teens, a calling that scared me half to death! Adolescents can smell hypocrisy a mile away. I still didn't know how to reconcile my belief with my unbelief. But I'd received by then the gift of faith, or "the hope for things that are not seen but are true." (Hebrews 11:1)

Fast forward a couple of decades. I'm a bona fide "church lady" now: fifty years old, with gray hairs and a grown-ups office at St. John's. My relationship with Jesus has weathered some storms that sank other relationships.

And here's what Christmas means to me this year -- God came to earth as a baby to teach us our role in bringing about the reign of heaven on earth. A baby must be held, fed, clothed, protected, cherished above all else for at least one moment early in life. God lay there helpless in the straw. God waited to be picked up, snuggled close, and gazed at with adoring eyes. Had that not happened, the promise could have died there in the manger. But Joseph and Mary got it (with a little help from angels, shepherds, and kings, perhaps!). And we need to get it too. Omnipotent, all-powerful God can't do it alone. I am thankful for the wisdom of our childhoods, "Jesus is this baby..." Love comes to us fragile and in utter need of our care. O come let us adore him. And then let's pick him up and get to work.