They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews. Now there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. And so, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation, and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

— John 19:40-42

In our Community, we do not eat meat on Fridays or Wednesdays because Jesus was betrayed by Judas on a Wednesday, then was crucified on Friday. Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are even stricter days of fasting in which we only eat plain bread, plain yogurt, some fruit and cheese. We also begin a deep silence, or Greater Silence, after the Maundy Thursday service until Easter morning. On Good Friday, we walk the outdoor Stations of the Cross with visitors, and we spend the entire day either worshiping in the chapel or in private meditation.

This combination of fasting and silence adds a profound depth to our experience of Jesus’ crucifixion. We usually have several guests staying with us during Holy Week, and even though we are in silence, our connections are strengthened. We all suffer together through the long, solemn hours of the day as we pray Lauds, Terce, the Good Friday Liturgy, Vespers and Compline together. At 3 p.m. on Good Friday, the house bell tolls 33 times for each year of Jesus’ life.

I often marvel at the fact that I used to avoid the services of Holy Week. Now, I embrace them. When I was younger, I couldn’t bear to think of Jesus’ suffering and death, but I have learned that walking through grief increases my gratitude for life and redemption.

Our eldest Sister is 89 years old, and she observes every fast and custom on Good Friday along with the rest of us. Whenever I get hungry and tired, I tell myself that if she can do it, so can I. It is all for Jesus.

Reflect: Which parts of the Holy Week observances deepen your experience? Are there any you would rather avoid?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, “Take; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”

— Mark 14:22-25

Many churches these days observe MaundyTHURSDAY as a penitential event, but at our Convent, we observe it as a festal, joyful celebration of the institution of the Eucharist. White or gold vestments are worn, the Gloria in excelsis is sung after being omitted throughout Lent, and the music is exuberant. We usually have several guests staying with us for Holy Week, and some newcomers are a little taken aback by this. They are used to seeing a somber MaundyTHURSDAY service with no Gloria, simple music and red vestments.

A few years ago, we were urged by clergy friends to change our “old-fashioned Anglo Catholic” relic of a service to the more contemporary penitential one. We politely declined. For us, the festive spirit of MaundyTHURSDAY interrupts the austerity of Lent and places us in the Upper Room, where Jesus and his friends joyfully celebrate the Passover while still hoping that his predictions of death will not come true. It provides a stark comparison with the moment after we have all shared the feast, when the body and blood of Christ leave the chapel and go into the Altar of Repose. At this point, our festal celebration suddenly transitions to darkness as Jesus goes to pray at Gethsemane. We know he will be arrested there and sent to his death. Watching the altar being stripped of its festal trappings, we feel a sense of bewilderment and desolation. The candles are extinguished. Our brief moment of joy in the depths of Lent is gone. Gold vestments are replaced with red. We depart in silence.

The first time I experienced this service, I plunged into grief. I went back to my room and cried the same tears I have cried many times at funerals. Our liturgy had moved me to the point where I was truly feeling loss and desolation.

If clergy approach us in the future and suggest that we change our liturgy, we will once again politely decline.

Reflect: What parts of Holy Week are the most moving for you? What emotions do you experience?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others. Have you not read this scripture: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes?”

— Mark 12:9-11

If you read this parable of the vineyard through the lens of human psychology, it seems irrational. Why would a vineyard owner keep sending slaves to collect his profits after even one of them was killed? Why would he send his only son after so many slaves had been beaten and killed? Why did the vineyard owner not bring a band of soldiers and kill the wicked tenants?

The parable is not about human logic; rather, it reveals something about the nature of God. Jesus recounts how God’s chosen people repeatedly rejected a long line of prophets and ultimately even the Son of Man. A human vineyard owner would have acted swiftly after the first servant was killed, but God did not punish Israel after the first prophet was rejected. Instead, God sent many more prophets—including John the Baptist—and finally his only beloved Son. God’s perseverance in sending one prophet after another shows his patience with the Israelites. God knows all too well the stubbornness of humankind and keeps hoping they will finally understand. But Jesus, in the parable, explains that killing the son of the vineyard owner is the final rejection of his word. After he himself is killed, Jesus says, God will destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others. In the ancient world, abandonment by God often doomed a people to being conquered by another nation. Taking Jesus’ message to the Gentiles would leave Israel vulnerable to its enemies. Less than 40 years later, during the First Jewish-Roman War, the temple would burn to the ground. Many Jewish people would be killed, captured to be enslaved or forced into exile. The war would rage on until the Romans triumphed at the Siege of Masada and eliminated the last of the Jewish rebellion.

This outcome brings up several difficult questions. How could a loving God exact such violent punishment on his chosen people? Why wouldn’t an all-knowing God find a method that was certain to enlighten the Israelites? Why would God allow this violent trajectory of history to play out? Believe it or not, we are all welcome to bring difficult questions like these to God in our prayer life. “God, help me understand” is always a welcome prayer. We may not receive definitive answers, but we often find helpful flashes of insight.

Reflect: Can you think of other difficult questions that this parable raises?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

Jesus said to them, “I will ask you one question; answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin? Answer me.” They argued with one another, “What should we say? If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ But shall we say, ‘Of human origin’?”—they were afraid of the crowd, for all regarded John as truly a prophet.

— Mark 11:29-32

I don’t know about you, but if I got angry and demolished the whole system of sacrifices and money-changing at the temple, I would not go back there ever again. But Jesus goes right back the next day. The elders challenge him, asking by what authority he was doing such things. Instead of saying “OK, guys, I’m really sorry. I lost my temper. I’ll pay for the things I destroyed,” he asks them a question that completely confounds them: “Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” In their fear of further antagonizing the crowd, which regarded John as a prophet, the elders simply reply that they do not know. Jesus says, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”

This is an extraordinary moment in which Jesus could have saved his own life by cooperating with the authorities. Instead, he continues on the path to suffering and death by further incriminating himself. As a good Jew, he knows full well that the punishment for claiming to be God is death. Most of us would let our self-preservation instincts kick in and do everything possible to stay alive, but Jesus knows that his death and resurrection will change the world.

Sometimes in my work, I visit with people who are terminally ill. We often pray together, and patients and their visitors ask me the hard questions. Why can’t God save my loved one? Why is this part of God’s plan? The only thing I can answer is “because death doesn’t mean the same thing to God that it means to us,” and this is true. In our earthly life, we try to stave off aging and death because both are too frightening for some of us to face. And yet we all age, and we all die. To God, death is a transition into another life.

My favorite part of the funeral liturgy is the preface, “For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens” (The Book of Common Prayer, p. 382). In Jesus’ resurrection, we see that God has power over death. He faces our greatest fear and overcomes it.

Reflect: What were you taught about death when you were growing up? How have your beliefs around death changed?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

On the following day, when they came from Bethany, he was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to see whether perhaps he would find anything on it. When he came to it, he found nothing but leaves, for it was not the season for figs. He said to it, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard it.

— Mark 11:12-14

After the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, Jesus and the twelve go out to Bethany. On their way back to Jerusalem the next day, Jesus becomes hungry and looks for figs on a tree but finds none. He tells the fig tree it will never bear fruit again, and the group journeys on.

When they reach the temple, Jesus becomes angry and drives out the people who were buying and selling there. This scene is particularly striking to me because it’s the only one, to my knowledge, where Jesus becomes truly angry. He has been frustrated in some instances, but this is the only time when he is so furious that his anger becomes physical. He overturns the tables of the moneychangers and the animal vendors and says: “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers.”

Whenever I try to determine if something is worthy of my righteous anger, I look to the person of Jesus. What angered him? What frustrated him? Of all the things that happen to him—the nails, the scourging, the mocking and the ridicule—the only thing that truly brings his wrath is when people are ripping off the poor. Jesus, as the incarnation of God, wants his house to be a place of holiness and prayer. He wants the poor to be lifted up and treated with compassion. Instead, the people in their human blindness have figured out how to turn the temple into the ancient world’s version of a tourist attraction.

Jesus is teaching us what is worthy of our anger and how we can use that anger to break down systems of injustice that take advantage of the poor. Because Mary and Joseph were poor, they had to exchange their limited funds with a moneychanger for temple currency to buy two small sacrificial doves to present their son at the temple. The usual sacrifice in these circumstances was a lamb, but the poor were permitted to purchase doves. Mary and Joseph were some of the poor people being exploited every day in God’s house.

After Jesus and his disciples leave the temple, they once again pass by the fig tree. The disciples are amazed that it has died and withered. The cursing of the fig tree symbolizes Jesus’ anger at his own people for practicing piety and collecting huge sums of money from believers and yet bearing none of the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. When religion becomes an empty moneymaking machine, it contributes to its own death.

Reflect: As we move into Holy Week, what are some issues that your faith calls you to engage? How can you bear the fruits of compassion in those situations?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

— Mark 10:51-52

Jesus heals the blind in all four Gospels, and each story is deeply moving. Earlier in Mark, he heals a blind man by spitting and making mud. Here, Jesus simply says, “Your faith has made you well.” Mark’s telling of this story is so vivid that it is easy to put ourselves into the scene and hear the blind beggar calling out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” We can see the man spring up, throw off his cloak and rush to Jesus to be healed.

How strong this beggar’s faith must have been, that it brought about his healing. Jesus tells him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” What great faith he must have had to recognize who Jesus truly was, even without being able to see him. In the darkness of his blindness, the beggar could still see the light.

The healing of the blind, of course, also has a symbolic meaning. Jesus is trying to make the world see the truth, and even his disciples are blind to it. Sadly, humans in the past—and even today—are still blind to the full reality of God’s glory. The world is still choosing not to follow Jesus’ command to serve one another in love and to make the least of us the greatest.

This is one of the Gospel passages that inspired the Jesus Prayer, which is “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It is meant to be repeated over and over, and it was first used by the Desert Mothers and Fathers in Egypt in the fourth century. When done consistently over time, it is a deep and powerful way to invite God’s mercy into our blindness. I highly recommend it.

Reflect: When have your eyes been opened on your spiritual journey?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.”

— Mark 10:35-39a

At this point in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus and his disciples begin their journey to Jerusalem. On the way, Jesus tries once again to explain what is to come—his suffering, death and resurrection—but the disciples still don’t get it. They do not want to believe that their teacher and friend will endure such suffering.

Their denial is such that James and John come to him and ask if they can be the equivalent of a chief minister and lord chamberlain by sitting at his right and left hand in glory. Instead of being impressed by their wish to serve, Jesus scolds them. Clearly, they are envisioning a future that is the opposite of God’s plan.

Oh, how many times I’ve done that! When I joined the Convent, I prayed for God to use me in any capacity to build up the church and the religious life. I was grateful for the opportunity to live and serve in New York City in a ministry to the unhoused. Every day, I prayed fervently to do all I could for my Savior. At the end of every one of those prayers, I would always ask, “And please, God, whatever you do, please don’t let me ever be elected Sister Superior.”

And guess what God did? In 2018, the Superior told me I’d be coming back to the mother house from New York. I was heartbroken. I did not want to leave my ministry there, and I did not want to leave all my friends and colleagues. The community insisted, though, and I grudgingly came home. When I returned from New York that summer, various Sisters kept pulling me aside and whispering that they wanted to elect me Superior. That was why I had been told to return to Mendham.

I prayed, “OK, God, we talked about this. Remember? That is the one thing I cannot do. I am woefully unqualified! Surely these nuns will come to their senses if you intervene! Please Lord, take this cup from me.”

In spite of my pleas and my fervent attempts to keep my story on my track, I was elected Superior less than a year after I made my life profession to become a nun.

My prayer after the election was, “All right, God, if you’re going to force me to face my fears, you’ll have to run this community through me. I cannot do it, but I can be the instrument of your will for us.” This past December, I was re-elected to a second fiveyear term.

The disciples were focused on their own vision of Jesus reigning supreme on an earthly throne with a firm hierarchy of disciples in place. God’s plan was, as always, much better.

Reflect: When has God made you face your fears? How did you feel about God’s plan as opposed to your own?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

— Mark 10:21

When I was discerning the call to be a nun, this passage leapt into my mind. I was 46. I had a successful career as a photo editor in Hollywood, and I had dozens of friends. My job was stressful, yet I was always terrified of getting fired. I clung to the security of the paycheck even though it was costing me my health. I’d been like that since I was 7 years old, knocking on doors offering to rake leaves for the neighbors for a quarter. Not earning money, getting rid of all my belongings and moving away from all my friends was daunting to me. I had been earning money since I was a child. How would I survive without a paycheck?

I put off joining the Convent for many years as I hovered over the threshold to the unknown. Then I was told I needed to be out of debt to enter a community, so that added another ten years. I often despaired that I would never get out of debt and that I had let God down by waiting too long. Somehow, though, God found a way. My boss suddenly gave me a significant pay raise. Friends asked me to do freelance work, and someone at church anonymously gave me $1,000. I started getting rid of my stuff and realized it all seemed like heavy weights to me. The idea of being free of all the clutter, knick-knacks and dishes I’d never used started to feel good.

When I was finally accepted into the Community of St. John Baptist, I quit my job and drove across the country with a friend. Any time I was seized with fear because I was jobless, I would repeat the words “God will take care of me” as a mantra. By the time we reached the East Coast, I had convinced myself that my mantra was the truth. I put my life into God’s hands and trusted that God would take care of me.

God then showed me the abundance of a life lived in his service. I have no income and no bank account, yet I feel more cared for now than I ever have. We Sisters have all we need within our lives of Holy Poverty. We live simply, but we are blessed beyond measure by God’s goodness.

Reflect: What do you think of this passage? Monastics take it literally, but it can also be interpreted differently for modern minds.

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

But from the beginning of creation, “God made them male and female.” For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

— Mark 10:6-9

In this passage in Scripture, Jesus seems to be condemning divorce. As you can imagine, his words here cause some discomfort for many people. I know some preachers who dread the Sunday when this Gospel is appointed for the sermon. I completely understand. It makes me uncomfortable, too, because I am also divorced, and so are some of my Sisters in the Convent. Many of my friends and family members have divorced and remarried. What is Jesus saying about all of us?

As is always the case with Scripture, there are many ways of interpreting Jesus’ words. Even in his own time, Jewish husbands were allowed to divorce their wives. Roman wives were also allowed to divorce their husbands. It was an accepted practice that was in keeping with the Law. Jesus says, “Because of your hardness of heart [Moses] wrote this commandment for you.” Jesus acknowledges that divorce is in the Law according to Moses, but he also points out that Moses wrote the Law because of the people’s hardness of heart.

The interpretation of this passage that makes the most sense to me is that Jesus is holding up an ideal for the union of two people. They should love each other to the point of becoming one flesh. They should be kind to each other, and they should take care of each other. It is only through human weakness that spouses become abusers, drive their families into financial ruin, or commit any of the many other destructive acts that take root in the human heart. Jesus is saying, “This is how it should be. Love should be eternal. Love is from God. Why can’t you people figure out how to love each other?” It is in keeping with his commandment for all of us to love one another.

Jesus then shows his boundless love by blessing the little children after the disciples scolded them. This is one of the few instances in Scripture where he becomes angry. He has compassion for these innocents, and he was indignant that they were being mistreated. In all his actions, Jesus demonstrates the essence of true love.

Reflect: How do you deal with challenging passages in scripture? Do you have a prayerful response that helps you with this encounter?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development

And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.

— Mark 9:47-48

When I was a kid in the Baptist church, we heard a lot about hell, and I can assure you that it kept me on the straight and narrow. Visiting preachers would deliver sermons on hell, and we learned all about the long list of things that might lead us into the lake of unquenchable fire. We even saw very low-budget scary films and slideshows about it, and I truly believed that they were scientifically accurate representations of a real flaming place with people wailing and gnashing their teeth just like in the movie.

Jesus talks a lot about hell in this passage, but what is he saying? He tells us that unless we rid ourselves of things that are destructive to us or others, we will “go to hell.”

The original Greek for the word hell in this passage, and at least seven other places in the Gospels, is Gehenna (γέεννα). Gehenna was an actual place outside Jerusalem, which has variously been described as a constantly burning garbage dump, a place of unclean burial for outcasts or a place of pagan child sacrifice. Was Jesus using Gehenna as an example of what hell is like, or was he using it as a metaphor for the hell we experience in our lives when we choose the path of harm and destruction?

What the actual, empirical truth is, we have no idea. Theologians and scholars have pondered the concept of hell over the centuries, and no one has ever figured it out. Nobody has ever been there to bring back a report. Jesus is speaking of something here that is beyond our comprehension. We do not know what this hell is, but we can comprehend the idea of ridding ourselves of destructive things. We know that following God will help us avoid hell, whether it’s in our own lives or takes some other form.

Reflect: What were you taught about hell? What is your belief about hell now?

This Lenten Meditation can be found at Episcopal Relief and Development