The Episcopal Diocese of South Dakota

You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me. John 12:8 We begin Holy Week with one of Christianity’s most provocative texts on wealth and poverty, when Jesus says, “you always have the poor with you.” In the United States, this statement has become a rationale to dismiss Jesus’ numerous teachings about compassion and care for the most vulnerable. Many point to those words from Jesus as a way to justify indifference to poverty. But if we look more closely at the story, we see an entirely different message than indifference. In the passage, Judas voices a desire to gather money for the poor, but in reality, Scripture tells us he intends to divert these funds for his own gain. The Gospel of John reveals Judas has a special role as keeper of the common purse and is embezzling from it. Jesus’ uncharacteristic statement thwarts Judas from taking another opportunity to steal. Tragically, Judas’s corruption is not an isolated incident in the story of Christianity. The church is made up of imperfect people, and corruption and embezzlement happen. This underscores the need for strong safeguards and transparent standards to ensure that gifts directed to the most vulnerable are used as intended. Today’s readings Psalm 36:5–11 | Isaiah 42:1–9 Hebrews 9:11–15 | John 12:1–11 It may seem unusual to broach the topic of financial transparency and safety measures at the beginning of Holy Week. But stewardship and care for the poor are intrinsically bound. It would be a disservice if I did not acknowledge that Episcopal Relief & Development has established such safeguards. As a regular donor to Episcopal Relief & Development, I contribute with complete confidence that my donations to “the least of these” are used as intended.

So the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the council, and said, “What are we to do? This man is performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.” John 11: 47–48 I’ve been reading a book on the history of theological education. I promise this is more exciting than it might seem at first. As it turns out, the history of how Christians have formed and educated followers of Jesus cuts to the very heart of the faith itself. And this is especially so when in the season of Lent. In the early church, one of the main vehicles for formation was a multi-year catechesis prior to baptism. Created at a time when Christianity was persecuted by Rome, this catechesis sought to prepare disciples to faithfully live out Christian values in a culture that opposed the faith at every turn. Rome, for instance, had little tolerance for Jesus’ many critiques of wealth and power, nor did Roman officials understand or value Christians’ compassion for the poor. Interestingly, as the centuries passed, this multi-year catechesis was shortened until it became the 40-day period of Lent. This stretch we are walking together, then, is what’s left of a very ancient road that many walked before us, training Christians to be an alternative and countercultural community throughout time. Today’s readings Psalm 85:1–7 | Ezekiel 37:21–28 | John 11:45–53

I have become a laughingstock all day long; everyone mocks me. Jeremiah 20:7b While living in Spain this past year, I saw a lot of medieval Christian art, perhaps more than I ever expected to in my life. One thing I’ve been struck by is how often the Christian figures in medieval scenes appear calm and serene, even when they are being shot by arrows or crucified upside down or holding their own severed heads. Even in the midst of great suffering, many are depicted as serenely unmoved. As wonderful as these images are, the prophet Jeremiah is something of a relief because he is far more relatable. In the face of persecution and suffering, Jeremiah is vexed, passionate and conflicted. He doubts God; he wrestles with his people; he complains bitterly. Biblical scholar Judy Fentress Williams puts it well in her book, Holy Imagination: A Literary and Theological Introduction to the Whole Bible, when she writes, “Jeremiah exposes the inner life of the prophet who stands in the liminal space between God and God’s people,” and that “he is, for the most part, rejected by his people, and he has a tormented relationship with the God who called him.” I appreciate Jeremiah’s witness and the opportunity to go beneath the still surface and witness the inner turmoil of a prophet. Our spirituality is enriched by a long line of prophets and thinkers who questioned and wrestled with God. Jeremiah’s experience can be an inspiration for us today. Today’s readings Psalm 18:1–7 | Jeremiah 20:7–13 | John 10:31–42 In what ways can the experiences and doubts of individuals like Jeremiah serve as valuable sources of inspiration and guidance in navigating your relationship with faith, calling and community?

I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you. Genesis 17:7 Today’s Old Testament and New Testament readings center on the figure of Abraham. In Genesis 17, God bestows a new name, Abram, to Abraham, forging a covenant “between me and you.” This covenant carries with it the promise that Abraham will be “the ancestor of a multitude of nations.” The reading from John also focuses on Abraham. In mystical language, Jesus cryptically proclaims, “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.” In this rich tapestry of texts, I add my personal favorite New Testament portrayal of Abraham found in the Gospel of Luke within the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (16:19–31). The parable of Lazarus at the Rich Man’s gate paints a stark portrait of excessive wealth and abject poverty coexisting side-by-side. Lazarus, a beggar afflicted with painful sores, languishes in hunger at the gate of a wealthy man who indulges in lavish feasts every day. Upon Lazarus’s death, he finds solace in the compassionate embrace of Abraham. In contrast, when the wealthy man meets his demise, Abraham becomes the herald of God’s judgment. When the rich man implores Abraham for a miraculous sign to warn his wealthy brothers, Abraham tells him the sign he is hoping for is already present: “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead” (Luke 16:31). Today’s readings Psalm 105:4–11 | Genesis 17:1–8 | John 8:51–59 In our daily lives, how can we become more aware of those who “dwell at the gates” of our existence? How can we be like Abraham in responding with both compassion and justice?

But I see four men unbound, walking in the middle of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the fourth has the appearance of a god. Daniel 3:25 In the early church, when Christianity was illegal, it was dangerous for Christians to make or have images of Jesus Christ. Therefore, Christians often used symbols and select scenes from the Old Testament stories to covertly signal their faith. Among the most famous of these covert symbols is Jonah and the Whale, as Jonah’s three days in the belly of the beast was thought to be like Jesus’ three days in the tomb. For this reason, Roman catacombs where early Christians are buried feature depictions of Jonah getting swallowed and spit up. Another covert image comes from the famous story in our lectionary today about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, three men who were thrown into the fire for refusing to bow to a king’s image. It’s worth reflecting on why this became a popular early Christian motif. First, it’s a story of miraculous survival, one that brings their persecutors to faith in God. Second, the three men may have served as reminders to early Christians of the Trinity. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the three Jewish men were persecuted for doing what Christians were refusing to do: namely, worship the image of a king (in this case, the Roman emperor). These early Christian images—drawn from the deep well of Hebrew Scripture—emphasize struggle, miraculous survival and faithfulness to God amid persecution and adversity. They explore resurrection as miraculous survival amidst encircling flames and in the belly of the beast. Today’s readings Canticle [2] or 13 | Daniel 3:14–20,24–28 | John 8:31–42 What do these stories say about the themes of enduring faith and resilience in Christianity?

Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety. Luke 2:48b I’ve always felt a bit protective of St. Joseph. Carefully referred to as the guardian of Jesus— categorically not his father—Joseph strikes me as the quintessential third wheel. The Gospel of Luke describes this curious episode in Jesus’ early life when he goes missing for three days. When found in the temple, Mary tells her son, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” The Gospel writer uses this exchange to clarify who Jesus’ actual father is. Referring to the temple, Jesus tells his mother, “Did you not know I must be in my Father’s house?” Jesus makes an important point, yet I imagine Joseph standing awkwardly by, feeling both relief and perhaps somewhat slighted by the exchange. Here’s what we know about Joseph’s relationship to Jesus: We know Joseph wasn’t absent. He was a loving and present guardian to Jesus. Further, we know Joseph didn’t shrug off the fact that his son went missing for three days. He didn’t return to work or go golfing with his buddies. Along with Mary, he was consumed with anxiety for the well-being of this child. In other words, he loved Jesus deeply. We also know Joseph helped to raise a moral and spiritual genius. Something about the space that Joseph and Mary created together helped Jesus grow, flourish and live into his true identity. Today’s readings Psalm 89:1–29 or 89:1–4,26–29 2 Samuel 7:4,8–16 | Romans 4:13–18 | Luke 2:41–52 Joseph wasn’t Jesus’ father, but he was Jesus’ fatherly guardian. Give thanks for the parental guardians in your life who have helped you on your way.

When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." John 8:7 This past September, I visited Rome and spent several days walking through the streets of this living, outdoor museum. The experience reminded me that being a Christian requires wrestling with 2,000 years of history, one with chapters both inspiring and grotesque. One evening, my spouse and I visited Castel Sant’Angelo, a massive Roman tomb that was later converted into a prison for those condemned by the Roman Catholic Church. We attended an exhibit that told the stories of the heretics, scientists and women who were imprisoned there and later publicly executed in a nearby piazza. I saw the bright red robe and sword of the papal executioner encased in glass. Against this searing memory, today’s passage comes as a cooling salve. In John 8:1–11, religious leaders and an angry mob are preparing to condemn and execute a woman caught in an act of adultery. Jesus’ response is remarkable. He absolutely refuses to condemn the woman and saves her life by doing so. Further, he calls all who have gathered there to self-reflection about their own sinfulness, at which point the angry mob slowly turns away. In light of Christianity’s long history of condemnation and judgment, this passage is an incredible gift. May the example of Jesus be our guide as Christians move from condemnation to compassion, and from judgment toward self-reflection. Today’s readings Psalm 23 | Susanna (Apocrypha) [1–9,15–29, 34–40],41–62 | John 8:1–11 or 8:12–20 What is the role of compassion and self-reflection in your own Christian journey, particularly in the face of a history marked by condemnation and judgment?

Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated to you; and then use us, we pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the welfare of your people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The Book of Common Prayer, p. 832 Today’s readings Psalm 51:1–13 or 119:9–16 | Jeremiah 31:31–34 | Hebrews 5:5–10 | John 12:20–33

God is my shield and defense; he is the savior of the true in heart. Psalm 7:11 Last fall, I visited a German-speaking Lutheran Church in Barcelona, Spain, where twentieth-century pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer had served for a short time. He eventually returned to Germany, took part in acts of resistance against the Nazis and was imprisoned and executed as a result. Bonhoeffer was a rare voice of resistance among German Christians, and so this small community of mostly elderly, German-speaking Spaniards cherish his writings and memory. The sermon that Sunday was about a remarkable poem that Bonhoeffer wrote to his fiancé from prison shortly before his execution. This poem, which has since been made into a hymn, speaks directly to his fiancé with longing: “I long to live these fleeting days beside you,” and it describes his heart as “crushed by the weight of bitter days.” And yet, he also describes his profound sense of being accompanied, harbored and surrounded by the presence of angels: And when the silence deep spreads all around us, Then let us hear those swelling tunes begin From world unseen which all about us widens As all Your children raise their highest hymns.* *Translation by the Rev. Timothy M. Boerger Today’s readings Psalm 7:6–11 | Jeremiah 11:18–20 | John 7:37–52 How do you perceive and experience moments of spiritual guidance during times of adversity?

He reproaches us for sins against the law, and accuses us of sins against our training. He professes to have knowledge of God, and calls himself a child of the Lord. Wisdom (Apocrypha) 2:12b–13 Today’s lectionary passages include a striking passage from the Book of Wisdom. It is about a group of people lying in wait for a righteous man, “because he is inconvenient to us and opposes our actions.” They complain: “He became to us a reproof of our thoughts; the very sight of him is a burden to us, because his manner of life is unlike that of others, and his ways are strange” (Wisdom 2:14–15). This passage names an important but often forgotten reality: the prophets and Jesus were often burdensome and strange. Perhaps because we worship Jesus on Sunday, many of us believe we would have admired Christ while he was alive. Yet if you read the Gospels carefully, it is clear that he was frequently a confusing and exasperating presence even to his closest disciples. But this is not only true of the prophets and Jesus. When one considers the moral geniuses of the twentieth century, very few were recognized as such in their lifetimes. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated at the lowest point in his national popularity. Before her death, Dorothy Day was perceived by many in the Roman Catholic community as a holy terror. Thomas Merton’s outspoken pacifism resulted in his being ostracized by his own religious community. Each was a burden, each a “reproof of our thoughts,” and each was powerfully, faithfully strange. Today’s readings Psalm 34:15–22 | Wisdom (Apocrypha) 2:1a, 12–24 | John 7:1–2,10,25–30 How might Lent be an invitation to become more faithfully strange?

Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Exodus 32:12b Today’s selection from the Book of Exodus is one of the most extraordinary moments recorded in Scripture: God and Moses engage in a debate and God’s mind is changed as a result. Moses is a reluctant liberator who helps free Israel from Egyptian slavery. His story doesn’t follow the typical hero trajectory. There’s the Moses who protects the Israelites from the dangers of the wilderness, standing in the breach (Psalm 106) between the dangers of the desert and even between his people and God’s wrath. And there’s Moses, who loses his cool, angrily striking a rock with his staff, and never actually entering the Promised Land. The memory of Moses transcends his time, and he becomes the archetypal liberator for later generations. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is described as a new Moses, leading humanity out of the slavery of sin. More recently, Harriet Tubman was called “Moses” for guiding enslaved people as they escaped north to freedom. Reflecting on Moses reminds us of the fact that our faith is, at its core, about freedom. Freedom from slavery. Freedom from sin. Freedom from fear. May Moses’s example continue to guide our way. Today’s readings Psalm 106:6–7,19–23 | Exodus 32:7–14 | John 5:30–47 As we reflect on the iconic figure of Moses and his role as a liberator, how does the concept of freedom resonate with your spiritual journey and understanding of faith?

Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear the Voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live. John 5:25 One of the most fascinating aspects of Jesus’ message is the way he talks about both abundance and scarcity. For Jesus, there is materially enough for all. The feeding of the 5,000, his promiscuous generosity toward outcasts and his healing ministry bear witness to God’s abundance amidst poverty and inequality. And yet, the Gospels point to one resource that is scarce: time. “Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here…” Jesus says in today’s passage. Jesus speaks of the shortness of time both in terms of his own life but also in a cosmic sense. He knows his time with the disciples is very brief—and that our own time on earth is, too. Jesus’ physical presence on earth was brief; his public ministry was just three years. The Gospels convey a sense of urgency to Jesus’ ministry; he is constantly rushing from one place to another, always aware of the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. In our own lives, I believe we are called to somehow embody this Jesus-like witness to both abundance and scarcity. There really is enough for all, but time is short, the situation is urgent and we must act quickly. Today’s readings Psalm 145:8–19 | Isaiah 49:8–15 | John 5:19–29 How can we strike a balance between embracing abundance and embodying the sense of urgency Jesus displayed in his ministry?

My Father is still working, and I also am working. John 5:17 I recently noticed a linguistic quirk, or what might be considered a false cognate, between English and Spanish. In English, the word “fastidious” generally praises a person’s meticulous attention to detail. However, in Spanish, calling someone “fastidioso” describes them as overly fixated on minutiae to the point of being annoying. In today’s Gospel, Jesus displays little patience for the religious fastidiosos of his day. He heals a man who has suffered for 38 years, and when religious authorities object because the healing takes place on the Sabbath, Jesus redirects their focus to the greater miracle of the healing itself. In response to their rule-based objections, Jesus states, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” As someone who values rules, order, policies and procedures, I often grapple with whether I am being “fastidious” or “fastidioso.” I believe that religion, perhaps especially Anglicanism, tends to attract and cultivate a certain fastidious personality, for better and worse. Jesus’ example reminds us to focus on the bigger picture. God continually invites us to recognize the transcendent miracles happening in our midst. Today’s readings Psalm 46:1–8 | Ezekiel 47:1–9,12 | John 5:1–18 In your life, how do you balance between upholding rules and policies while also recognizing the importance of seeing the larger, transcendent miracles that unfold around you?

They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. Isaiah 65:21 In today’s reading from Isaiah, the prophet envisions God’s renewal of the earth, offering transcendent images of abundance that resonate with humanity’s deepest aspirations. These verses depict the end of infant mortality, the gift of long and peaceful lives, the ability to build and enjoy one’s home, and a world where children are not born into calamity and are free from exploitative inequalities. However, the reality we face today is far from this dream. According to the World Bank, many still live on less than $5.50 per day, children are born into war, climate change displaces millions and poverty and inequality affect infant mortality and life expectancy. The dream of Isaiah, where each person can build a home and live peacefully, seems distant. Despite these challenges, Isaiah’s vision serves as a guiding North Star. While we may not be there yet, it shows us where we are heading. Through collective efforts, including the work of organizations like Episcopal Relief & Development, we can join with God in the ongoing renewal of the earth, working toward a future that reflects the prophetic dream of Isaiah. Today’s readings Psalm 30:1–6,11–13 | Isaiah 65:17–25 | John 4:43–54 In a world where the dream of Isaiah seems far away, what actions can we take individually and collectively to move closer to that vision of abundance, equality and peace?

O God, you have taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor: Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. The Book of Common Prayer, p. 230 Today’s readings Psalm 19 | Exodus 20:1–17 | 1 Corinthians 1:18–25 | John 2:13–22

Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Luke 15:22b Today’s parable is one of Jesus’ most famous: the Prodigal Son. There are many ways of reading this story, including as a story about what counts as waste and generosity. Through this lens, this is a story about a younger son who receives his full inheritance and who then wastes it on partying and prostitutes. When he is starving and penniless, he returns to his father who generously offers even more for having returned (a robe, ring, sandals for his feet) and wants to throw a big feast. The older brother considers his father’s generosity to be its own form of squandering. “But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” This brings me to a strange and troubling fact about Jesus: he is frequently the advocate for what some have called “promiscuous generosity,” that is, generosity without a lot of terms. This is the type of generosity that upsets and scandalizes his disciples. It is a generosity, they contend, offered to too many people—and all the wrong sorts. Today’s readings Psalm 103:1–4(5–8)9–12 | Micah 7:14–15,18–20 | Luke 15:11–32 Are there times when we, like the older brother, find ourselves questioning acts of generosity toward those we deem unworthy? Do we struggle to give without conditions? How might this parable challenge us to expand our understanding of generosity and compassion in our lives?

Here comes this dreamer. Genesis 37:19b The passage from Genesis describes how Israel favored one of his sons, Joseph, over the others—and how the hurt and resentment this engendered among Joseph’s brothers led them to conspire to get rid of him. The brothers begin plotting when they see him in the distance: “Here comes this dreamer.” While the reading is about Joseph and his brothers, I believe what happens to Joseph gives us insight into our actions toward other “dreamers” around the globe—artists, prophets and truth-tellers whose vision of a more just, equal and peaceful world disturbs those who are beholden to the status quo. “Here comes this dreamer,” they say. As someone who frequently listens to news out of Latin America, I think about the bravery of journalists whose truth-telling and commitment to exposing corruption has led to their arrest or disappearance. They dream of a more transparent, less corrupt society, and they frequently pay heavily for this vision. So much of what we hold dear is because of the sacrifice endured by everyday dreamers. Lent is an invitation to dream deeply with Jesus about a more peaceful, just and hopeful world. Yet we do so with a clear-eyed understanding of how the world treats its dreamers. May we be courageous and brave as we continue dreaming. Today’s readings Psalm 105:16–22 | Genesis 37:3–4,12–28 | Matthew 21:33–43 What steps can we take to support and uplift the voices of modern-day truth-tellers and visionaries who work for positive change, despite the challenges they face?

As part of his ongoing treatment for atrial fibrillation, Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has been advised by his medical team that he should receive a pacemaker. The procedure, scheduled for March 1, requires him to be hospitalized for one night. More information on this health history is available here. Bishop Curry will continue tending to light-duty work tasks until released to travel and increase his duties. Updates will be provided as necessary. Your continued prayers for Bishop Curry, his family, and his medical team are greatly appreciated.

There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus. Luke 16:19–20 To paraphrase the historian Diarmaid MacCulloch, one of the most striking things about the Gospels is the way in which “the rich and the beautiful people” are largely sidelined, and the poor and marginalized people’s everyday encounters with God are in the forefront. He argues this is a rare—indeed, almost unique—aspect of these ancient texts. This uniqueness is captured nicely in the story of the rich man and Lazarus. When reading the story closely, you may notice that almost unlike any other space in society, it is the rich man who goes nameless, and it is the beggar outside his door whose name we learn and whose experience of suffering and redemption we follow closely. In learning to see the world through Gospel eyes, we need to pay attention to whose names we know. So many of us know not only the names but also intimate details about the lives of the rich and beautiful people of the world—celebrities, royalty, athletes—yet we may have a hard time calling to mind the names of the people we pass every day on the street or even the full names of cleaning staff we’ve worked beside for years. The people whose names we care to learn tell us who we consider to be at the center of God’s unfolding story, and the Gospels have a very particular perspective on this. Today’s readings Psalm 1 | Jeremiah 17:5–10 | Luke 16:19–31 Whose experiences and struggles do you pay attention to, and how might this perspective align or diverge from the Gospel’s focus on those often overlooked by society?

It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be the first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Matthew 20:26–28 One of the most important, recurring themes in the Gospels is the large gap between Jesus’ descriptions of God’s kingdom and how his followers imagine it. In today’s passage, the mother of the sons of Zebedee makes the same mistake generations of Christians have made by equating Jesus’ coming kingdom with worldly wealth and power. She wants in—or, more specifically, she wants her sons to benefit from high positions in Jesus’ coming reign. Jesus’ response is one of surprise and bafflement. He has just finished describing the way of the cross that awaits him. How could anyone mistake the shameful crucifixion he must endure with powerful thrones, golden crowns and worldly power? Over the past year, I’ve visited many museums that focus on medieval religious art. Very often, Jesus is portrayed as a royal king, replete with golden crown, scepter and orb. While I understand that this imagery is intended to convey the glory and power of the resurrected Christ, ruling and judging from his universal throne, I can’t help but wonder whether such imagery misses the point. For generations, Christians have kept trying to put a golden crown on one who wore a crown of thorns. Today’s readings Psalm 31:9–16 | Jeremiah 18:1–11,18–20 Matthew 20:17–28 How do we sometimes confuse the true essence of faith and discipleship with worldly success and recognition? What steps can we take to better align our understanding with the teachings of Jesus and his message of selflessness and humility?