By Carmen Horst
Master of Divinity Student

Read: Mark 1:9-15

Reflect: Call it a personality flaw, or just plain human nature; I love to hear the phrase “Good job,” especially when I know I deserve it. As a child I practiced piano so that my teacher would say to me, “Good work.” I obeyed my parents for the same reasons. In school I always did my homework; in life I follow the rules (most of the time). I care about performing well because I long to hear, “Well done.”

What is striking about the Gospel of Mark’s report of Jesus’ baptism is that Jesus hasn’t yet done anything. Jesus is the beloved without having to prove it for the entire world to see and comprehend that, indeed, Jesus deserved it. The Father is pleased with Jesus just for pleasure’s sake.

Jesus will go on to do healings, miracles, and to bring about the Kingdom, but not before a testing time in the wilderness. God’s pleasure with Jesus, God-in-the-flesh, didn’t push Jesus to go out and get some more praise. Instead he is led by the Spirit into the wilderness.

I work hard because I am addicted to hearing someone say: Nice work. And then I work harder, doing better work because I have to hear it again. What I continually struggle with is inherent goodness. I need to be constantly reminded of God’s pleasure for all Creation – especially for human beings. Human beings are created and loved apart from anything we do. God saw Jesus being baptized by John and smiled with great joy, because Jesus, God’s Son, became one of the human beings God loves so much.

Respond: Loving God, we confess our tendencies to try to earn your delight. Thank you for showing us the expanse of your love through Jesus, your beloved Son. Help us to soak in your great pleasure and infinite mercy. Amen.

By Marcy Gineris
EMU Web content editor

Read: Genesis 9:8-17

Reflect: The beauty of nature has always been a wondrous thing to me. The vibrant colors of a rainbow, in particular, bring with them a sense of awe. I have never seen a sunset or a rainbow without sharing a prayer of thanks with the Lord.

This sense of hope and renewal escaped me, though, as I worked through the many emotions accompanying my mother’s passing. Life took on a dulling effect, and the grey undertone seeped further and further into my mindscape as I went through the motions of daily life. My son’s smile and my daughter’s jokes and laughter were the only things that broke through the dullness.

One day I noticed I had forgotten to count the number of rainbows my mother’s prism suncatchers threw across the kitchen and dining room each day as the morning sun filtered through the windows. It was a counting game she and my son had played many times. We never found less than 11, and one time we even found 14. I wondered how many mornings I had walked past the rainbows without bothering to consider them. I realize now my mother loved these tiny rainbows for reasons other than their beauty.

I had numbed myself to the power of God’s promises, the beauty of renewal all around us. As I processed this I returned in my mind to my last week with my mother. Those days our time was spent on the sixth floor of the hospital, my sister and I reading to her from the cracked and faded Bible she had been given on her 16th birthday. (I keep it with me now, its once-white cover a dingy grey, a poignant reminder that with age comes wisdom and a new kind of beauty.)

Over and over during those difficult times we shared the Lord’s prayer, and without fail, our strength and faith were renewed.

One morning during our hospital stay, a beautiful white snow covered the ground, several inches deep, offset by a powder blue sky. I thought I glimpsed a rainbow, too, and I hurried to tell my mom while I still had the opportunity. How lucky and blessed we were to have the strength of prayer to draw upon, and a symbol of God’s promise nearby!

And I had forgotten that. So I search once again for the rainbows in the kitchen each morning, and count them with my son, knowing the Lord is near.

Respond: May we always remember our Lord is near, and never forget the beauty and importance of God’s promises.

By Brian Martin Burkholder
EMU Campus Pastor

It might be that this Lenten journey does not resemble 40 weekdays of fasting and penitence. Many of us hardly know what true fasting and penitence looks like. We’re pretty high on living into an Easter faith with almost daily Easter feasting! What would it mean for us to give ourselves to practicing a genuine Lenten journey?

The scriptures selected for Lent 2009 invite us to encounter significant God-initiated covenants and the journey of Jesus from being anointed by God through baptism to faithfully surrendering his life on the cross. How might we respond?

Perhaps we could start by following Jesus into the wilderness – asking ourselves questions similar to those thrust at Jesus. We might also consider what it took for Abram to trust God enough to journey into an unknown wilderness. In what kind of wilderness do we find ourselves? A financial wilderness? A pain filled wilderness? A self-righteous wilderness? A wilderness lacking deep trust in God?

As we postpone the Easter feast and journey in Lent through reflecting on the darker, hidden, challenging parts of our lives, might we catch a glimpse of the depths of God’s love and grace? Could we find that our trust in God draws us closer to experiencing the depths of God’s love and grace in our lives – even in the midst of fasting?

I invite us all to take the risk of moving toward a genuine Lenten journey this year. Let the sense of emptiness come and strive to not fill it with fluff. Ponder the big questions of life and faith and even doubt. Embrace the depths of reflection that does not quickly resolve. We can be travel companions. Perhaps this guide will help.