Psalm 51:10 reads, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.”
Reflect on your newness in Christ as you journey through Episcopal Relief & Development's Lenten Meditations, written by Miguel Escobar, and discover new ways your faith is guiding you through the world. Use this space to read and re-read the Lenten Meditations each week.
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–
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?
Grant, O God, that your holy and life-giving Spirit may so move every human heart, that barriers which divide us may crumble, suspicions disappear, and hatreds cease; that our divisions being healed, we may live in justice and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
The Book of Common Prayer, p. 823
Today’s readings
Psalm 107:1–3,17–22 | Numbers 21:4–9 | Ephesians 2:1–10 | John 3:14–21
I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other.
Luke 18:14a
Every year on Ash Wednesday, Episcopal clergy engage in a somewhat peculiar debate. Some churches opt for “Ashes to Go,” offering quick prayers and ashes for people rushing off to work, while others view this on-the-go liturgy as unsettling and consumeristic, considering it an unnecessary concession to the busyness of people’s lives.
In my view, today’s passage from Luke provides guidance on the matter. In these verses, Jesus observes two individuals practicing penance. One follows all the religious protocols, offering lengthy prayers in a display of religious correctness and righteousness. The other is a tax collector who stands at a distance, uttering only a few words of penance. Jesus deliberately contrasts these two people, emphasizing that what truly matters is the humility and authenticity with which we approach God, rather than rigid adherence to external religious forms.
This serves as a reminder that God prioritizes sincerity and humility as we seek penance. As someone who embraces both traditional church practices and outreach on the sidewalks, I believe these qualities can be found in both settings. We need not position ourselves as judges of others’ prayers and penance; that task belongs to God alone.
Today’s readings
Psalm 51:15–20 | Hosea 6:1–6 | Luke 18:9–14
How can we observe traditional religious practices and also meet people where they are, recognizing that the authenticity and humility of our approach to God matter more than external expressions of faith?
We will say no more, “Our God,” to the work of our hands.
Hosea 14:3b
Today’s readings center on the theme of idolatry. Hosea condemns Israel for placing their faith in the Assyrians and worshiping the work of their own hands. Psalm 81 warns against having a “strange god among you,” and in Mark 12:28–34, Jesus emphasizes the priority of loving God with heart, soul and mind. In each case, Scripture underscores God’s desire that we place our faith solely in the One who led us out of Egypt.
Discussing idolatry in the twenty-first century may seem unusual, but I invite us to consider it as a prompt to reflect on where our ultimate faith lies. When faced with challenges, who and what do we truly believe in? Where do we put our trust?
While modern idolatry may not involve carving and worshiping statues, many of us (myself included) spend a significant part of our day with our heads bowed down to smartphones. Technology is often hailed as the solution to societal issues. Similarly, in almost every sector of society, people overvalue money’s ability to solve all sorts of intractable problems. These texts remind us to question where we place our faith and to return to something deeper and more intrinsic.
Hosea beautifully describes God as a Cypress tree and God’s mercy as dew, emphasizing the gap between the work of our hands and the steadfastness of the earth itself. What would it mean to reevaluate where we place our ultimate trust?
Today’s readings
Psalm 81:8–14 | Hosea 14:1–9 | Mark 12:28–34
In a world where technology and wealth often take center stage, how can we ensure that our faith and trust remain firmly rooted in something deeper and more enduring, as emphasized in Scripture?
They walked in their own counsels, and looked backward rather than forward.
Jeremiah 7:24b
The Bible provides a fascinating perspective on the moral significance of memory. Time and again, God reminds the people of Israel of their deliverance from Egyptian enslavement, underscoring the ethical significance of this experience. The memory of liberation is meant to inspire Israel to act justly, drawing from their experience and lessons of their past suffering and redemption.
However, in today’s passage from Jeremiah, God rebukes the people for fixating on their past and neglecting the potential of the future. They have become ensnared in the spiritual pitfall of nostalgia, as if they’ve forgotten to “remember the future,” as my spiritual director aptly puts it.
Remembering the future recognizes that each new day brings fresh opportunities and that life’s most significant moments are not confined to the past. It is a call to embrace the notion that new possibilities are ever-present, urging us to craft innovative paths for the days ahead. In essence, this perspective assigns moral weight to the future, affirming that God’s vision of freedom and abundance awaits realization in the days ahead. In this way, the future carries as much moral responsibility as our past, urging us to actively shape it in alignment with a greater purpose.
Today’s readings
Psalm 95:6–11 | Jeremiah 7:23–28 | Luke 11:14–23
How can we both cherish the lessons of our past experiences while remembering to build a more just and hopeful future?
Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.
Matthew 5:17
I recently toured Barcelona’s medieval synagogue in the city’s Jewish quarter on El Call Street. This synagogue likely stood on the same grounds as the one used by the Roman-era Jewish community. Archaeological excavations have uncovered Roman stones featuring Hebrew numerals for 18, a number symbolizing hope for protection from Roman authorities.
As a Christian, visiting such sites is a complex experience; historical danger often stemmed from Christians themselves. Our guide recounted medieval pogroms, the unjust blame Christians placed on the Jewish community for the Black Plague and the long history of Christian persecution against Jews, including the horrors of the Inquisition. This highlights the importance of today’s reading: a reminder that Jesus himself was Jewish and of the importance of the continuity of our traditions. There isn’t a separate God of the Old Testament and the New Testament; early Christianity held a nuanced view of the relationship between grace and law. Unfortunately, much of this continuity has become obscured over the centuries.
I believe we have a responsibility to learn more and repent for Christianity’s historical rejection of Jesus’ Jewish identity, and we must continue to recognize the deep connection between our faith communities.
Today’s readings
Psalm 78:1–6 | Deuteronomy 4:1–2,5–9 | Matthew 5:17–19
How can we actively promote and strengthen the understanding of the shared heritage between Christianity and Judaism in our communities and foster mutual respect and unity?
Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?
Matthew 18:33
In today’s reading, we come across a particularly intense Jesus. He compares forgiveness to a king condemning slaves to torture until they forgive their debtors just as their own debts have been forgiven.
So much for gentle Jesus, meek and mild.
And yet, perhaps the reason why Jesus’ imagery is so direct and startling is that this is one of his hardest teachings. Or it is for me, anyway. In my mind, I often see a spiritual ledger. On the left side are my debts—my mistakes, faults and sins—which have been met with compassion and grace. I think of friends, family and coworkers who have given me another chance and continued the conversation, even when I didn’t really deserve it. And then, embarrassingly, on the other side of the ledger are the times when I’ve failed to extend that same measure of compassion and grace to others.
Although we’ve had our debts forgiven, we are lording over others what is owed to us. Jesus’ message is stark and simple: forgive others’ debts as yours have been forgiven.
Today’s readings
Psalm 25:3–10 | Song of the Three Young Men (Apocrypha) 2–4,11–20a | Matthew 18:21–35
Can we identify moments when we have received grace and compassion? When have we struggled to extend the same to others?
But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.
Luke 6:35a
In today’s reading from 2 Kings, we meet Naaman, a foreign commander who suffered from leprosy. Through his wife’s Israeli servant, Naaman learns of Elisha the prophet and seeks a cure for his lifelong disease. The cure Elisha eventually offers is disconcertingly simple: he instructs Naaman to wash in the Jordan seven times so as to be healed.
Rather than welcome this news, Naaman is enraged by the simplicity of Elisha’s instructions. He was expecting a task as all-encompassing and consuming as his disease. His servants point out the irony in this, saying “Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it?” Naaman’s healing comes about in part because he sets aside his expectations and accepts the simplicity of Elisha’s instructions.
I think this is just the message we need for this moment in Lent. For some, Lent is a time of profound sacrifice, fervent prayer and self-examination—and this is certainly appropriate. The way of the cross is serious work, and Lent is a time of living more deeply into that. And yet we are also following the One who said “my yoke is easy and my burden is light” and whose life and witness was marked by penitence but also feasting and joy. Sometimes healing can come through the simplest paths.
Today’s readings
Psalm 42:1–7 | 2 Kings 5:1–15b | Luke 4:23–30
Do we sometimes make the journey more complicated than it needs to be? How might embracing simplicity and trusting in God’s guidance lead us to healing and a deeper connection with the way of the cross?
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?
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?
All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.
Matthew 23:12
Most leadership courses begin with the premise that a good, credible leader is someone who is clear about their values and models the way. If you want to encourage generosity, you must do so by publicly modeling generosity. If you want people to address conflict calmly and thoughtfully, you must model this for others. Leaders have the opportunity to set the tone and parameters for what constitutes appropriate behavior, and they often do so more effectively through their actions rather than their words.
In today’s reading, Jesus critiques the wide gap that frequently exists between religious leaders’ words and deeds. He notes that while the religious leaders of his day spoke of humility, their actions, titles, dress and performative righteousness modeled both self-importance and the need to be at the center of all things. This behavior stands in stark contrast to the grounded humility Jesus hopes his followers will model: “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted,” (Matthew 23:12).
Jesus’ critique is so piercing that it feels transcendently applicable today. If Jesus is truly our leader, then we must learn to model simplicity, humility and a desire to learn rather than be lauded as an expert. Then, we can grow in awareness that God is the main character of this story, not us.
Today’s readings
Psalm 50:7–15, 22–24 | Isaiah 1:2–4,16–20 | Matthew 23:1–12
If simplicity and humility are key values for Jesus, how might we model this in our daily life?
But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.
Luke 6:35
Nearly a year ago, my spouse and I visited the Eldridge Street Synagogue, a stunning place that was once a center of Jewish life on the Lower East Side of New York. After having fallen into disrepair, it was painstakingly restored, and today it is a museum rich in stories and artifacts from the community. Among the encased artifacts are two loan cards made to members of the synagogue in the 1920s. These cards record $100 and $25 loans issued and then repaid three weeks later at no interest. The word “paid” is scrawled in beautiful script over the first card.
Now, what on earth does this have to do with the Gospel reading today? This passage is one of my favorites because of a single line, an utterance so brief that it is rarely mentioned today. Quietly embedded within Jesus’ teaching on nonviolence and loving one’s enemy is what some have called Jesus’ single most important economic teaching: “But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.”
When I think about those loan cards from the Eldridge Street synagogue, I wonder about the people who needed those $100- and $25-dollar loans. Was an eviction imminent? Was it for relief in the wake of a fire? We don’t know much about the people who received those loans, but the fact that they were offered without interest tells us a lot about the compassion and care of the community that extended them. May we continue to use our financial resources to practice love and compassion in our communities.
Today’s readings
Psalm 79:1–9 | Daniel 9:3–10 | Luke 6:27–38
Why does Jesus talk about poverty so much? What does Jesus mean when he says that giving without interest is a way of loving others? What are the practical implications of this teaching?
