Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Joseph lives it in Egypt. Jesus preaches it in the gospel. The Spirit guides us into merciful lives with the power of forgiveness to reconcile what is fractured and divided.
Our scripture readings today discuss the importance of being rooted in love and grounded in God’s beloved community. Blessing comes not from having everything all together but from being in relationship with one another especially in times of struggle and pain. Together we remember how to trust God through anxious times.
Widows are visible everywhere in today’s readings. Jesus denounces those scribes who pray impressive prayers but devour widows’ houses. He commends the poor widow who in his view gave far more than the major donors. Jesus doesn’t see her simply as an object of compassion or charity. She, like the widow of Zarephath who shares her last bit of food with Elijah, does something of great importance. Today we are invited to reflect on what we have to offer, what God can do with what we bring and how do we lift up those on the margins?
The rich man who comes to ask Jesus what he should do to inherit eternal life is a good man, sincere in his asking. Mark’s gospel is alone in saying that Jesus looked on him and loved him. Out of love, not as judgment, Jesus offers him an open door to life: sell all you own and give it to the poor. Our culture bombards us with the message that we will find life by consuming. Our assemblies counter this message with the invitation to find life by divesting for the sake of the other.
When Amos reports his vision of God judging Israel for its mistreatment of the poor, he becomes a threat to the power of the priests and the king. John the Baptist also speaks truth to power, and Herod has him killed. In Herod’s fear that Jesus is John returned from the dead, we may hear hope for the oppressed: all the prophets killed through the ages are alive in Jesus. We are called to witness to justice in company with them, and to proclaim God’s saving love.
The mustard seed becomes a great shrub that shelters the birds, recalling ancient images of the tree of life. We’d expect a cedar or a sequoia, but Jesus finds the power of God better imaged in a tiny, no-account seed. It’s not the way we expect divine activity to look. It may not appear all that impressive, but while nobody’s looking it grows with a power beyond our understanding.
On this final Sunday of Easter, we hear this last piece of Jesus’s farewell to the disciples where Jesus moves from lecture to prayer. At a time when it would be understandable for Jesus to be worried about himself, he is thinking and praying for the disciples and for us. In prayer, Jesus asks that we are one. And this continues to be our prayer- not that we would all be the same but that we will continue to remember our common love in Christ and the call to love one another.
This Sunday’s image of how the risen Christ shares his life with us is the image of the vine. Christ the vine and we the branches are alive in each other, in the mystery of mutual abiding described in the gospel. Baptism makes us a part of Christ’s living and life-giving self and makes us alive with Christ’s life. As the vine brings food to the branches, Christ feeds us at his table. We are sent out to bear fruit for the life of the world.
On this Good Shepherd Sunday, we embrace the fact that we are sheep and God is our shepherd who feeds us, walks with us and cares for us all the days of our life and after. We are also celebrating our relationship with camp today with special staff from Caroline Furnace.
As we continue through the time after Epiphany, stories of the call to discipleship show us our collective calling to show Christ to the world. Jesus begins proclaiming the good news and calling people to repentance right after John the Baptist is arrested for preaching in a similar way. Knowing that John was later executed, we see at the very outset the cost of discipleship. Still, the two sets of brothers leave everything they have known and worked for all their lives to follow Jesus and fish for people.