Read: John 4:5-42

Judgment is so easy and makes us feel superior. “I may have my faults, but at least I don’t… I never …” We think it makes us feel better, while it is poisoning our spirits. Of course, we don’t like it when we are the ones being judged. We feel ashamed, and shame hurts. It takes away our humanity and makes us feel less than, apart from others.

Some behaviors must be corrected for society to function. But there is a kind of shaming that goes deeper than that, which destroys the soul, leaving little hope for rehabilitation. This shame denies the image of God present in every person. As Episcopalians, when we shame others we betray our Baptismal Covenant to respect the dignity of every human being. The one who is shamed is separated from the larger community, and both suffer because of this. The individual loses the support system of community, the community loses the gifts of the individual.

When Jesus spoke to the woman at the well, he initiated the process of reconciliation. He knew she needed a drink of life-giving water more than he did. Simply by acknowledging her, he restored her humanity. By telling her about her past, he demonstrated he truly knew her, although they had never met. He then shared with her what he hadn’t told anyone else, that he is the Messiah. It’s really not surprising that he would share this with an outcast because Jesus worked on the margins of society, where the need for hope and redemption was greatest.

Once the woman was restored, she rushed back to the very city that shunned her, forgetting her former shame and proclaiming the Messiah. The people, seeing a person refreshed and renewed, immediately left to see the Messiah for themselves. The outcast was restored to her place, the community was made whole, and the good news was heard.

Gracious God, help me to follow the example of Jesus, and see your image in every person I meet. Help me to remember that I, too, carry your image and to care for it as the precious gift it is. Amen.
-Carol Treston

Read: John 4:5-42

And at this point the disciples come to him and were astonished that he was conversing with a woman… (Excerpt translated by David Bentley Hart)

I once heard a bishop describe the collective of young men that Jesus called around him as disciples as “the duh zone.” It rings true. In the four Gospels, these disciples are typically uncomprehending, surprised and discombobulated by what Jesus does and says. You might picture Homer Simpson hitting his forehead as he utters “D’OH!”

This story of the Samaritan woman illustrates the “duh zone” in which they operated, shocked as they were by finding Jesus talking with a woman, and not only a woman, but someone outside the circle of the Jewish community! Why would Jesus be talking with her? Well, maybe because she was a human being created in God’s image, who Jesus recognized as a sister in creation? Maybe that? (cue GIF of Homer Simpson).

I can attest to an early life formed in Christian culture that looks more and more in the rearview mirror as the “duh zone.” I’ve had a lot to unlearn, chiefly the idea that some people were inside and some people were outside of the circle of God’s love.

So, the more we perceive the immeasurably wide circle of God’s love in Jesus, the less apt we are to shame people. The more apt we are to perceive that Jesus is always having a real conversation with people through the Spirit. Everyone we meet. Including those of us in the “duh zone”.

Holy One, in Christ you showed such patience with your friends when they didn’t “get it.” I know that I’m slow to “get it” too. I know I’m standing in the need of your love. Thank you that your circle of love has no limits and help me to live in that truth. Amen.
-Fr. Jonathan Weldon

Read: John 4:5-42

Back in the day when my kids were small, I had a conversation with one of them in which I reminded them to go brush their teeth. The child in question bristled at the insulting suggestion that they had dragon breath and informed me that I shouldn’t say that to them because “it’s mean.” I wondered aloud if it would be nicer to lie to them instead and let them run all over town with dragon breath, offending all their friends? Predictably, the child said: “Yes! That’s nicer!” Leave their stink alone, thankyouverymuch.

Like stinky-breath kid, truth can sometimes seem rather unappealing and rude to me. Peering into a difficult truth that God is bringing to my attention sometimes requires more humility than I’m prepared to offer at this juncture, thankyouverymuch. I have reasons. I have history. I have justifications, defenses, and shame stashes that I nurture like old friends. I recognize the argumentative woman in John 4 who demands answers but doesn’t much like the answers as they strike uncomfortably close to broken, messy places. She pushes back at least 6 times against Jesus’ requests and revelations, as he persists in loving her, not dissuaded by her defensive brokenness.

John 4 makes me fall in love with this Jesus the truth-teller, the tender friend, the persistent Savior. So much about Jesus is revealed in how he cares so beautifully for the defensive Samaritan woman. He knows “everything about her” and needs her to know that he knows it all: why she balks, every resistant thought, excuse, justification, insecurity, and historic shame. He knows it is panic-producing for her but presses in and persists in love and truth anyway because hope is just on the other side.

Thank you Lord, for persisting when I am uncooperative. Thank you for not giving up on me when I reject grace. Thank you for the complete and tender way that you love me and refuse to leave me in the lie. I do not deserve you but I sure do love you. Amen.
-Nicole Smith

Read: John 4:5-42

The theme I chose for this reflection was in the category “shame.” Perhaps I should be a bit more “reflective” in my choice of Scriptural sources, but I look for the holes in the editorial schedule and boldly go where my better angels might otherwise fear to tread, trusting in the Almighty to put the right words to digital ink when the time comes.

I think the most obvious takeaway from Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well (talk about the perfect set-up for some brilliant biblical metaphor, right?), at least from the standpoint of “shame,” is that someone (a woman, no less) from a marginalized community would see the truth of the Gospel message when all the holier-than-thou folks in Jerusalem were blind to it.

But, of course, me being me, what I couldn’t get past in this part of John 4 was the shameless beauty of verses 35-38: “Do you not say, ‘There are yet four months, then comes the harvest’? I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see how the fields are already white for harvest. He who reaps receives wages, and gathers fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor; others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.”

It’s a shame that those of us here in Jerusalem have such a hard time with that concept.

Lord, may we all be like the Samaritan woman in our openness to, and trust in, your Word. Help us find the strength and courage to share the living waters with which we have been blessed with those who thirst or are in need. Let the sower and reaper rejoice together. Amen.
-Michael Boss

Read: John 3:1-17

“God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world …”

Our focus this year is on community.

Did you grow up in a world of tattletales? In a family with multiple siblings, it was easy to note what sundry members of the family were doing wrong at any given moment, especially growing up in such tight quarters as we did. Mom had a rule of thumb that guided us: Is anyone in danger of dying? If not, she wasn’t interested. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, of course, but that she wanted us to develop a sense of working out our problems constructively. There was no hitting, fighting, or screaming. Just: Fix it! Don’t fight over the last piece of chicken. If you want it, offer it to others first. If there’s a spill, don’t call for room service. Clean it up.

Jesus reminds Nicodemus that it is God who gives birth to God’s children. It is very much an image of God our Mother (in whom we are conceived, carried to term, born, nurtured, and under whose wings we are protected). If we ever want to know what love is, Jesus points out the maternal side of God and says, “There it is. Her love is unmistakable. It is sacrificial every step of the way!”

Mother gathers US. Not me. Not thee. US. As Jesus said, “God didn’t send me to rat you out or tattle, but to let you know dinner’s ready. The table’s set. There’re drumsticks for all. Come!” Like Nicodemus, Jesus bids us to perceive that God is mother to us all. We need only look up and see she is there, healing, restoring, and loving the world, one child, one community at a time.

Let us pray. God, you did not bring us here to be condemned, but nourished, healed, and strengthened by your Spirit. Fill us with joy and help us to feed and love others just as we have been fed and loved by you. Amen.
-Fr. Keith Axberg

Read: John 3:1-17

Four years ago, I went to the emergency room at Skagit Valley Hospital in respiratory distress. I had been treated very badly by an ER physician the year before when I refused oral steroids for a respiratory infection, so I was loath to return there. Unfortunately, I had gone from zero to seriously ill in three days as a result of Daniel fake-sneezing on me, and I was starting to get really scared. When they took my temperature, I had a decent fever and my ECG showed signs of tachycardia. My x-ray showed signs of pneumonia, and I was admitted to the hospital the second my ER physician saw my blood test results. Apparently, my hemoglobin levels were half of normal, and my room was flooded with people who started putting in another IV for CT contrast, taking even more blood to test, and performing an obnoxiously ticklish swab of my nose for influenza that left me wanting to shove a screwdriver up my sinuses. It turns out that Daniel had given me metapneumovirus, a cold virus mostly affecting children, and my body was unable to fight it off due to me being so severely anemic. The next morning, I woke up to a nurse telling me that my hemoglobin had dropped even more during the night, and they would be transfusing me NOW. A series of unpleasant ultrasounds followed as they tried to figure out if I was bleeding internally.

During the three days I spent in an isolation room at the hospital, my family and I were recipients of agape in a serious way from the people at St. Paul’s. Fr. Paul was there almost daily to check on me, and both Penny Worrell and Bob Johnson came to sit with me. I had phone calls from Sandy McDougall and Carol Boss while Cathey Frederick invited people to post kitty pictures on the church’s Facebook page to cheer me up. I came home to get well cards from numerous people in the church, and Barb Cheyney was on-call in case Daniel refused to eat by mouth for my parents and my parents needed to be taught how to tube-feed him.

None of this surprised me. Thirteen years earlier, the same love was shown to my grandparents when my grandfather Lloyd Cooley was in hospice, and it was the catalyst for me joining the church when I moved to Mount Vernon in 2016. I love being part of a church that shows this much love to everyone who walks through the door.

Lord, thank you for opportunities to show love to others in times of crisis and for those who show the same love to us. Amen.
-Jen McCabe