BibleWorm

Today we are reading John 18:28-40 - Jesus has been brought to the Roman authority by the religious authorities, and *all* the authorities mostly seem eager to make this situation go away. The story made us wonder - Why is it so very hard to speak what is true? How can it be that the intersection of religion and political power in this story seems to make it even harder? We might think that in a criminal case, one would focus on establishing the facts. And that in a religious system, getting to the truth of things would be first and foremost on everyone’s mind. But in this story, this is not what's true, and we can only wish this bore no resemblance to the world we know.

This week we’re reading Peter’s denial of Jesus as told in John 18:12-27. In what may be one of the most challenging discussions we’ve ever had, we discuss the moral injury that accrues, for Peter and for ourselves, when we encounter the gap between who we thought we were and who we turn out to be in life’s most challenging moments. We think about the incremental decisions that lead Peter to denying both Jesus and his own true self, the well-meaning denials that seem to start out innocently enough but build until Peter has rejected Jesus altogether. We notice that when the rooster crows in John’s version of this story, Peter doesn’t even notice, so little has he even realized what he has done. When the rooster crows for us, we wonder, what will we notice?

Today we are reading John 13:1-17, the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples as they head into the day before Passover.  The story is just steeped in relationship – Jesus's relationship to God as he prepares to return to God, and Jesus’s deep connection to the people who are here with him on earth. How do these things fit together? Why does Jesus’s awareness of the power he derives from his relationship to God cause him to disrobe and don a towel and wash the feet of his students? Is this about cleansing, or hospitality? How can it prepare them for what is to come? 

This week we’re reading the story of the raising of Lazarus as told in John 11:1-53. We think about the disciples, so keenly aware of the threat to Jesus’s life but willing to follow him anyway, living in the light for as long as there is light to live in. And we ponder Mary’s words that bring Jesus to tears, as she invites him to experience the realities of human death and sorrow, saying to him what he has said to so many—“Come and see.” And we notice the threat that life brings to the Empire, as immediately after Lazarus walks out of the tomb the elites begin plotting to kill Jesus for the sake of the nation. A rich text in troubled times.

For our Ash Wednesday episode, we are reading John 10:1-18 and, I’m not going to lie, wishing we had a lot more experience with sheep herding and sheep folds. We wonder – who are these robbers and thieves climbing over the fence, and what kind of fence is this if robbers and thieves can just skip the gate entirely? What difference does it make that the shepherd walks out ahead of the flock, where he can lead and guide, but can’t really keep an eye on the sheep or attune to the surrounding dangers in the same way? What does Jesus mean when he refers to his *own* sheep – might there be sheep in the fold who are not his own? And after talking up all this trust and care and deep connection between the shepherd and his own sheep – whaddya mean the shepherd has other flocks too? It seems like this intimacy is not the gatekeeping kind. 

This week we’re reading the rich and challenging story of Jesus healing a man blind from birth, as told in John 9:1-41. The story begins by rejecting the common theology that suffering is a result of sin, insisting instead that this man coming to see is to be a revelation of the glory of God. Yet by the end of the story, we discover not only that this blind man has recovered his sight but also that the establishment religious leaders, who have thought themselves sighted, have in fact been blind all along. We reflect on the importance of telling one’s own truth clearly and of not reducing it to what is acceptable, whether theologically or politically. And we wrestle with the tendency of establishment people, in this text and in our own world, to  expel people from our communities rather than listen to what their experiences could teach us. Those who refuse to see will indeed remain blind, but if we open our eyes, it is yet still possible to live in the light.

Our reading today is John 4:46-54 and 5:1-18 – the first healing stories we’ll read this season. And in this time when access to healthcare seems like its own miracle, stories that really struck us both. We remember the signs and wonders of Exodus, and their importance in building a lasting faith for the people, as we see Jesus offer signs and wonders of a different kind. We imagine what it would be to be so close to that pool of water that held within it a promise of dignity, or maybe even healing – and slowly realize over weeks and years that it will never be your turn to immerse. When Jesus heals these men, can we imagine he is offering something more than a broken fever, more than legs with the strength to walk? And can we imagine a way of healing, in this story and in our time, that’s not dependent on the established systems? 

This week we’re reading the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, as told in John 4:1-42. Here we find a story about a Jewish man and a Samaritan woman, from communities that have hated each other for centuries, finding common ground at the well of their mutual ancestor, Jacob. We notice that their interaction starts out tensely, shifting only when Jesus takes the time to see her deeply and acknowledge the pain she carries with her. We marvel at her insight, to recognize Jesus as the messiah when others have struggled to understand. And we reflect on her courage to share her experience with her entire village, inviting them to come and see Jesus even though she hasn’t fully figured things out for herself yet. What if we take this woman as a model for faith, we wonder, who calls us to engage across difference, inviting others to share our experience of Jesus?

Our reading today is John 3:1-21 ... and it contains within it what is probably the most famous of all biblical verses, John 3:16–for God so loved the world. We find the verse in a story about a man who is drawn to Jesus and seeks him out, but struggles mightily-almost comically-to understand what he’s saying.How do the story and the verse each help us to read the other more fully? What do love, and truth telling, and eternal life have to do with one another? And what does any of this have to do with that story about Moses and the snakes?

This week we’re reading the story of Jesus disrupting Temple commerce during the festival of Passover as told in John 2:13-25. Unlike the other Gospels, which place this story at the end of Jesus’s ministry, John places it at the very beginning, just after Jesus’ miracle of turning water into wine in Cana. If that story had led us to think that Jesus was going to be all “yes,” this story puts us squarely into the “no.” In this case, Jesus’s “no’ is to the intersection of worship and business, as Jesus declares, “Do not make my Father’s house a house of commerce.” But what does it mean that the temple—and by extension our own churches and synagogues—shouldn’t conduct business related to worship? Sure, we see how having a church gift shop might be a bit over the top, but travelers need to exchange money, pilgrims need to buy animals for sacrifice, and pastors need to feed their families. Perhaps, we think, Jesus is holding out an idealized view of a future in which money is no longer needed for worship. But here and now, in a world in which money is in fact necessary, perhaps we can at least try to minimize business of worship, making sure our finances support true worship rather than designing our worship to bring in more business.