Saturday

“When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need.  So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs.”—Luke 15:14-15

I’m sure most of us respond to this part of the story of the Prodigal Son by thinking: ew, pigs.  Their defenders might assert their cleanliness, and their babies might be really cute, but the pig barn at the fair is NOT the most pleasant place to be on a warm summer’s day. 

If you were a first-century Jew, however, your first reaction would likely be not “ew” so much as “AAACK!”  Pigs weren’t just a little stinky; they were unclean.  As in ritually.  Jews did not—still do not—eat pork.  Even to be near these animals was to invite not just dirty clothes but a dirty being. 

Jesus could have chosen to tell the story with cows or with chickens.  He chose pigs for a reason.  Understanding the context helps us experience the full impact of this father’s love.  Even at our dirtiest, we are welcomed with open arms by our Father.

You love us at our worst, Lord—thank you.  We can never repay your grace, but we can clean ourselves up to live for you.  Help us with our washing, this day and always.  Amen. 

Friday

“Or what women having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?”—Luke 15:8

For years my grandmother and step-grandfather were prolific walkers.  They circled the old Mall 205 with geometric precision, ducking into every alcove to make a full circuit.  They rounded the blocks of their Southeast Portland neighborhood.  Along the way they picked up change—mounds of it—and kept faithful tallies of both mileage and money that accumulated at an astounding rate.

Their perambulations were evidence that we are not always as careful with our money today as the widow of Jesus’ parable.  These coins were likely worth far more than a penny, but in our disposable society, perhaps Jesus’ words carry multiple meanings.  The most important lesson is clear: God rejoices when his lost “coins” repent.  As well, however, we might consider this a warning to be mindful.  When we squander what we have—money, time or resources—are we truly living out God’s call? -- LG

Help us to be good stewards, Lord, of all you have given us—our time, our talents and the Creation that surrounds us.  As you care for us, so may we care for that with which you entrust us.  Amen.

Thursday

“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?  When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.”—Luke 15:4-5

I’m not sure how Irish farmers discerned their sheep from their neighbors’ sheep way back when, but these days the solution is easy: spray paint!  The Irish countryside is dotted with pink-necked sheep and red-sided sheep, green-headed sheep and blue-chested sheep.  That sheep over there with the orange rump?  That one belongs to McClean.  The nice ones with the fuchsia shoulders on that hill?  They’re the property of Eamon O’Sullivan.  And so it goes.

Sheep aren’t the smartest creatures in the world.  I recall Geoff creeping right up onto the tail of one as it stood absent-mindedly blocking a farm road.  Eventually it noticed our presence and sprang out of the way with an air of unmistakable indignation.  We, too, often fail to recognize dangers until the last minute, don’t we?  Good thing we share something else with the sheep.  We, too, are marked with an indelible spray-paint.  We are marked with the cross of Christ forever.  And who’s to say we can’t envision that as a colorful aerosol smudge? -- LG

Thank you, Lord, for marking us as belonging to you.  Help us heed your call when we feel lost.  You are our safety and our refuge.  Amen.

Wednesday

“See, your house is left to you.  And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”—Luke 13: 35

Jesus is warned: if he returns to Jerusalem, he will be killed.  The Pharisees are the folks who warn him of Herod’s intentions; in the end, of course, the Pharisees themselves will play a key role in his crucifixion.  But: he came back.  Jesus didn’t have to return to Jerusalem.  He could have gone along his merry way and lived out the rest of his life in the countryside, keeping his profile low and his wrists free of nails.  That wasn’t, however, in the plans.  Jesus returned to Jerusalem, not because he thought he could escape the authorities’ plans but precisely because God’s plan involved using them. 

Jesus acted—Jesus worked—to ensure that salvation belonged to all of us.  Herod wasn’t exactly a nice guy, and the Pharisees’ intentions toward Jesus were less than pleasant.  Jesus’ sacrifice, however, transcends earthly blame or responsibility.  Returning to Jerusalem was a gift—to all of us. -- LG

Lord, thank you for returning to Jerusalem when you knew what you would find.  Help us to live lives of active thanksgiving for your sacrifice.  Amen.

Tuesday

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!  How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”—Luke 13:34

In 1 Corinthians, Paul speaks of how children and adults see things in very different ways.  As children, we consistently wish to be older.  We wait with anticipation for the year we start school, turn “double digits,” obtain driver’s licenses and head off to college or other adventures.  We want to fly the coop.  The last thing we desire is to gather under a mother hen’s wings.

As adults, we often find there are advantages in being taken care of.   Maturity brings recognition of our limits.  Security becomes more important.  We leave our flighty years and desire to settle down. 

The Jerusalemites of whom Jesus was speaking did not yet understand the benefits of shelter in Jesus’ arms.  Growth can be a good thing, but Jesus’ words remind me to pray for the maturity to quell my more heedless desires for flight and take comfort in God’s shelter. -- LG

Lord, grant us strength to relinquish.  Help us find our shelter in you.  Thank you for your willingness to gather us near.  Amen.

Monday

“He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?’”—Luke 13:2

Despite our best intentions toward charity, it remains easy to presume that ill fortune befalls others as a result of their personal failings.  The closer to home the example, the harder I find it to resist this tendency.  Sure, those people in Ethiopia, or Cambodia, or Belarus are so desperately poor due to structural forces far beyond their control, but what about those who find life so hard here in the midst of such plenty?

Jesus’ words remind us that bad things happen to people no less (and quite possibly more) virtuous than ourselves.  Insert “Oregonian” or “Yamhill County resident” or “Newberger (?)” for “Galilean” and you’ll have the idea.  We all are in need of redemption.  We all are called to repent.  Thank the source of all Goodness that we have Jesus’ promise to call upon—regardless of our personal circumstances. -- LG

Lord, I need your help.  Rich or poor, healthy or sick, happy or sad I remain a person in need of your redeeming grace.  Today, yet again, I seek your forgiveness—and proclaim my thanksgiving for the sure knowledge you will grant it.  Amen.