Good News: March 6, 2019 (Ash Wednesday)

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Read: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Jesus said, “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before others (to be seen by them). If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.” (NIV)

Who doesn’t love applause? Who doesn’t love being appreciated and thanked for doing something nice? How many people – friends – have we lost over the years because the relationships seemed one-sided? Our egos may not demand recognition, and yet they can be so easily bruised. I sit here writing this while realizing I have not sent a thank-you note to some people who put me up on a recent outing. I said “thank you” before I left, of course, but Momma taught me one should always, always, always send a follow-up note – using real pen and paper (or card stock) and a stamp. It is the TIME we spend that says Thank you; not the paper, per se.

It is nearly impossible to do an act of kindness (or righteousness) that won’t be seen by others. It is also nearly impossible to do it so “ego-free” that only God will notice. I read what Jesus says and I answer, “My God, that’s impossible!” I suspect Jesus smiles and answers, “Yes, that’s the point.” If we think about it, the story of Lent is simply: I can’t; God can; I think I’ll let him.

I find I am happier when I realize I have fallen short of the ideal and have an opportunity to rectify matters. Others may not see it, but God does; that’s rewarding. I am happier when I do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. Others may not see it. God does; that’s rewarding. Jesus invites us to let go the ego long enough to realize that (doing) that frees our hands. With hands free, we can place them in God’s; that’s rewarding – more than enough.

God, help me learn to place my hand in yours. Thanks! Amen.
-Keith Axberg

Good News: Good News?

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When I pondered the idea of doing a Lenten devotional in December 2017, Michael Boss suggested the idea of “The Gospel According to ________________” as a theme. I already had a theme in mind for last year, but I put Michael’s idea away for future use.

As I read through the Gospel readings for each Sunday, I saw that some of them were hard words to hear, and I thought about the question of “why is this good news?” Why is it good news that the Prodigal Son is thrown a party when he returned home after squandering his inheritance? Why is it good news that a fig tree is going to be thrown to the fire for not bearing good fruit until the gardener saves it and asks for another year to give it extra attention? Why is it good news that a woman pours expensive oil on Jesus’ feet and dries them with her hair?

As I started reading the devotions that people submitted, I started thinking that a better title would be “Good News” as it is literally what the word “Gospel” means. The Koine Greek word for “Gospel” is εὐαγγέλιον (transliterated as euangélion), which means literally “good message”. (Our English word “Gospel” comes from the Old English word “gōdspel”.) In any language, the Gospel is “good news”.

It *IS* good news that Jesus longs to wrap us in His arms and protect us like a mother hen protecting her chicks. It *IS* good news that God welcomes each sinner back to the fold when we stray. It *IS* good news that Jesus died on the Cross for us.

Every devotion is laid out the same way. There is a passage to read, a reflection, and then a prayer at the end. We at St. Paul’s wish you a blessed Lent and Holy Week.
-Jen McCabe

Metanoia: Credits and Acknowledgements

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The cover picture was taken in 2001 at Clonmacnoise, Ireland by Kathy McCabe. Text was added using Microsoft Paint.

My deepest thanks go to all our writers: Keith Axberg, Rob McPeak, Mary Ann Taylor, Michael Boss, Carol Boss, Cathey Frederick, Sherri Greenleaf, Barbara Cheyney, Sally Rode, Tom Worrell, Penny Worrell, Sister Katherine, Vicki Wesen, Marilyn Allen, Ashley Sweeney, and Francisco Lopez.

Additionally, I would like to thank Ashley Sweeney for being available for consultation, Michael Boss for helping me brainstorm layout and topic, and both Rob and Helen McPeak for the text conversations about anything that came up while editing.

Metanoia: April 1, 2018 (Easter Sunday)

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Acts 10:34-43
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Mark 16:1-8
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

And they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. (Mark 16:8b)

So, now you have to decide.

Did you notice how the women at the tomb brought their practical questions right along with them? “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” They were thinking clearly.

Then they were alarmed. They were blown away! And some calm young angel told them Jesus was not dead but raised. “But go, tell his disciples…” Riiiiight.

These are practical women, thinking ahead about heavy barriers, unafraid to anoint lifeless flesh for honorable burial. They know that dead is dead. They saw Jesus’ death with their own eyes.

They left. Terror and amazement seized them. And they said nothing.

Still, here we are, you and I, reading Mark’s story and celebrating Easter… The church exists. So, somewhere along the way, somebody decided to say something to somebody.

Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome walked forward to meet their grief and discovered instead mind-boggling joy. In the face of this inexplicable gift, too precious to believe, these practical women had the humility and fortitude to decide that they had more to learn, more to share.

God is amazing.

So, now you have to decide: are you gonna say anything? Are you gonna be in on the joke, the wonderful, inclusive, humbling, powerful joke? Death is not the end. Are you gonna risk accepting that this illogical, impossible story is true? Can you laugh with God at the craziness of the resurrection?

Halleluiah; Christ is risen! April Fools!

Come, Holy One. Fill my belly with the laughter of joyful amazement that rises out of my having misunderstood, having been so stuck in narrow understanding when you are doing so much more when you are so much more. Come alive in me again today, that the parts of me that are dead may be enlivened and sent forth. Amen.
-Helen McPeak

Metanoia: March 31, 2018 (Holy Saturday)

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Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24
1 Peter 4:1-8
John 19:38-42
Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

On Holy Saturday in 2009, I was released from the hospital after six days with HELLP Syndrome, a nasty variant of preeclampsia that almost killed both Daniel and me. (Thankfully, they were able to transfer me to a hospital where the best high-risk doctor in the Mountain West performed an emergency C-section at 29.5 weeks to save us both.) I spent the next week dealing with horrible PTSD and post-partum depression as I struggled to come to terms with everything that had happened. Adding insult to injury, 30 minutes after we arrived home from Great Falls, someone called to scold me for not being down at the hospital with my baby. That phone call destroyed the hard-won progress the NICU nurses had made in helping me come to terms with Daniel’s impending long stay in the NICU. It was devastating.

I feel a kinship with the disciples as they were in hiding. They had seen their rabbi and leader arrested and crucified. Crucifixion was used by Rome as an example of why not to challenge their authority — Jesus’ disciples were likely terrified of facing a similar fate. Seeing Jesus crucified must have ended their hopes and dreams of Jesus being the one to come into Jerusalem triumphantly to overthrow the oppressive Romans. They could not even do the full burial rites because the Sabbath was starting, and Jesus needed to be buried before sundown. How devastating it must have been for them!

Jesus, in these times when we lack hope, remind us that things did not have the ending people anticipated; but instead, You triumphed and defeated death once and for all. Our hopes may be dashed, but You have better plans for us. Amen.
-Jen McCabe

Metanoia: March 30, 2018 (Good Friday)

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Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1-19:42
Psalm 22

March 1, 2011, will likely be known as the worst day of my life. Two days earlier, my son Daniel woke up with a fever and respiratory distress, and within 36 hours, he was on a ventilator at UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, California. That night, I was coming back into the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU) after dinner when I heard, “CODE BLUE! TOWER 7!” blaring over the loudspeakers. I was plastered against the wall as doctors, nurses, and a crash cart raced into the unit.

I followed them down the corridor and found them in Daniel’s room. I remember the feeling of one of the hospital chaplains holding me tightly as I watched them attempt to revive him. The attending physician then told me quite tersely that she would be recommending he be put on ECMO (the heart-lung bypass machine) because it was a 50/50 chance of her being able to revive him again if he had another cardiac event.

I remember various things from the next four hours: being unable to stop vomiting from the sheer intensity of emotion, calling my former husband Jon and my twin brother Sean to come be with me at the hospital, signing the paperwork giving them permission to put Daniel on ECMO, intermittently sobbing and then wailing after my tear ducts dried out, and eventually the new attending physician coming to tell me that Daniel improved on his own and there would be no need for ECMO. One week later, he was off the ventilator. Three weeks after that horrible night, we walked out of the hospital with our son very much alive.

A few months ago, I was reflecting on that night and was smacked upside the head by the Holy Spirit. God’s Son died that day on the Cross. GOD WATCHED JESUS DIE. That realization gave me so much healing as I realized that God was there with me in that waiting room that night, understanding everything I was feeling.

God, thank you for choosing to let your Son die to bring healing to this world. Thank you for going through the pain of watching your Son die so that we might not be alone in our darkest hours as parents. Amen.
-Jen McCabe