The Episcopal Diocese of South Dakota

Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” John 20:18 This is the final reflection on this journey, and I want to end by saying what a privilege it has been to accompany you along the way during this season of Lent. Having walked through these forty days together, let us now share in Easter joy. Each Gospel has a different account of the moment the disciples discover Jesus’ empty tomb. In reading the four accounts this year, I was struck by the way angels appear in the texts. In John 20, two angels dressed in white sit where Jesus had been lying. In Mark 16, an angel appears as a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side of the interior of the tomb. In Matthew, the earth trembles as an angel descends from heaven to roll back the stone and sit on top of it. And in Luke 24, two angels assure the women who have come to Jesus’ tomb that Jesus is alive. Sometimes the angels bring words of reassurance. In other stories, they simply state that Jesus has been raised. And in one instance, the angels are confused as to why Mary Magdalene is crying. Doesn’t she know? Christ is alive and has been raised from the dead. As we come to the end of this season, I am reassured by the physical placement of these angels. The Gospels tell us that these messengers are seated on top of, beside or just inside death’s tomb. They have come to announce a new reality, and I wonder if we, as Christians, aren’t called to join these angels in doing the same. Fearfully, tremblingly, very imperfectly, we are called to sit in places of darkness and terror and proclaim that death has no victory here. Today’s readings Psalm 118:1–2,14–24 | Acts 10:34–43 or Isaiah 25:6–9 | 1 Corinthians 15:1–11 or Acts 10:34–43 | John 20:1–18 or Mark 16:1–8 Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia. Christ has risen indeed.

So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away. Matthew 27:59–60 About a year ago, the United States Surgeon General warned of an epidemic of loneliness. He described acute isolation as significantly more widespread than previously imagined and as equally or more dangerous to Americans’ health as smoking and obesity. I found myself thinking about this epidemic of loneliness while reading Matthew 27:57–66, which describes Joseph of Arimathea wrapping Jesus’ body in cloth, laying the body in a tomb, rolling a stone to shut the tomb and walking away. Jesus is isolated and shut away, separated by a wall of cold stone. In Christian tradition, Holy Saturday commemorates the time when Jesus descended into the depths of hell. I recently saw a dramatic, medieval Christian painting portraying Jesus entering hell through the open mouth of a crocodile-like demon. As a person in the twenty-first century, though, I imagine this scene somewhat less literally. Today, as Jesus is entombed, I imagine Jesus entering the hell of acute loneliness, descending to the depths of isolation and pain. Tradition has it that Jesus enters hell in order to share in this experience—and to redeem and liberate us from its grip on our lives. Let us pray that this may be so. There is so much isolation and loneliness in our world today and so much hunger for genuine connection. Easter has much to do with the grace found in friendship and community. Today’s readings Psalm 31:1–4,15–16 | Job 14:1–14 or Lamentations 3:1–9,19–24 | 1 Peter 4:1–8 | Matthew 27:57–66 or John 19:38–42 Reflect on how the Good News of the Resurrection can take away the sting of loneliness. How can you be Christ’s hands and feet in that work?

The woman said to Peter, “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” He said, “I am not.” John 18:17 On this Good Friday, I invite us to reflect on the imperfections of Peter. This is the disciple who Jesus calls his rock, and who, in time, becomes “the rock” on which Jesus’ church is built. But John’s Gospel doesn’t present Peter in a particularly positive light. Some of Jesus’ last words to Peter are a chastisement: “Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?” (John 18:11). Famously, Peter devotedly follows Jesus as he is bound and led away but also saves his own skin by denying three times that he ever knew Jesus. At the moment of Jesus’ arrest, “the rock” that Peter resembles isn’t granite—a rock that you can build on. Rather, he is more like porous pumice, rough around the edges and caving in all too easily. Why does John’s Gospel include these embarrassing details about Peter, who becomes perhaps the most important disciple? I see these details as a sign of hope. Through Peter’s fallibility, the story involves all of us. Christianity is not only for the heroic, the unspeakably wise or the extremely brave. It is also a faith for people who overreact, who get it wrong quite often and who run away. On Good Friday, Jesus is arrested and led away to be crucified, and Peter utterly fails to live up to what he had previously promised to do. This is a source of embarrassment, yes, and yet it’s exactly this full and complicated humanity that Jesus redeems in the days to come. Today’s readings Psalm 22 | Isaiah 52:13—53:12 | Hebrews 10:16–25 or 4:14–16; 5:7–9 | John 18:1—19:42 Think of your life and spiritual journey. When have you, like Peter, failed to do what you promised? When have you, like Peter, been a rock for others?

Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. John 13:16–17 On Maundy Thursday, we see Jesus using every part of his body to convey a single message: he and his followers have come to serve. After washing the disciples’ feet, Jesus states, “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you as an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (John 13:14–15). Since Jesus mentions his role as a teacher, I want to reflect on his teaching methods. Jesus frequently conveys his messages at a slant. He teaches in parables, and Christians have been puzzling over their meanings for centuries. Jesus uses intentionally obscure gestures. For instance, when he faces a tough line of questioning, Jesus raises a coin and proclaims, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” In contrast, during the Last Supper, Jesus throws his full body weight to convey one clear message. He uses every tool at his disposal—dramatic, symbolic action and words—to emphasize his message that those who follow him are there to serve, not to be served. He desperately doesn’t want his future followers to get this part wrong. And yet we do. It is mildly funny to see how Peter immediately misunderstands what Jesus was trying to convey. Peter first refuses to have his feet washed and then he goes to the other extreme and asks Jesus to wash every part of him. Today’s readings Psalm 116:1,10–17 | Exodus 12:1–4,(5–10), 11–14 | 1 Corinthians 11:23–26 | John 13:1–17,31b–35 To what extent have we received Jesus’ message about service? Do we really see our ministry as one of service or are we trapped in the role of waiting to be served?

After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” John 13:27 Today’s passage from John’s Gospel portrays an intimate and dramatic scene of pain and betrayal. Jesus is eating supper with his close friends when he becomes troubled in spirit and announces to the group that one of them will betray him. He then signals with a piece of bread dipped in a dish who it will be, and knowing full well what is to come, Jesus tells Judas to carry out his betrayal quickly. Sometimes when I reflect on the Last Supper, I picture the famous painting by Leonardo da Vinci that depicts Jesus and his disciples all seated on one side of a very long table. John’s portrayal, however, suggests something less formal and much more intimate. In this small group of friends, Jesus is able to dip his piece of bread, hand it to Judas, and get his message across immediately. Not only is this group of friends physically close, Judas is portrayed as being even closer. John’s Gospel makes a point of saying that Judas has been entrusted to make preparations for the celebrations and offer donations to the poor. The one who has been entrusted with great responsibility heads out into the night to carry out the ultimate betrayal. Today’s readings Psalm 70 | Isaiah 50:4–9a Hebrews 12:1–3 | John 13:21–32 What is John’s Gospel trying to say to us here? What is the Gospel writer attempting to warn us about? How can it be that sometimes those who are seemingly closest to Christ betray all that he represents?

Reminder: Clergy Retreat Registration is DUE on Tues. April 2nd. The registration form can be found on the Diocesan website, under the main intro photo, look for the words "Find a Form" (purple bar) open this button, you should see a blue folder "clergy retreat" here you will find the Google registration form.

While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light. John 12:36a As we approach Good Friday, Jesus begins to collect and sum up his most important teachings and messages with his followers. In today’s passage from John, he reemphasizes the unique relationship Christians have with death: when a grain of wheat falls to the ground, what appears to be an end is, in fact, just the beginning. He then imparts a message that well applies to our long journey together this Lent: “The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.” This passage encapsulates Jesus’ sense of urgency. Clearly, Jesus is referring to his own time on earth when he says, “The light is with you for a little while longer.” However, I believe his words are paradoxically timeless and universally applicable. In addition to urgency, he speaks of light as a symbol of hope, humanity, love and life—a primordial flame representing humanity’s resilience over the forces of evil in the world. Our time on earth is brief, and our moments with our loved ones are rare and precious. As Jesus faces his impending crucifixion, he also understands the formidable forces converging on his followers. While we are in the light, we must walk in it, taking steps forward in response to the Gospel’s call, even as we acknowledge the day is growing shorter. Today’s readings Psalm 71:1–14 | Isaiah 49:1–7 | 1 Corinthians 1:18–31 | John 12:20–36 When you feel like darkness is overcoming you, how can you return to the light? Think of a particular passage of Scripture, prayer or a hymn that draws you near to Jesus. Say—or sing—it today.

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?