Our reading for Ash Wednesday is Luke 9:51-62–a real pivot point in Luke’s story. Jesus sets his face to go to Jerusalem, and the story gains a sense of focus, momentum, and urgency. Should we be surprised, then, that he wastes no energy on anger or retaliation when the Samaritans won’t host him? Should we be surprised that he asks people he encounters to follow him right there onthe spot, without a care for the people and responsibilities they leave behind? That’s a hard ask to understand if we’re just talking about your average Tuesday. But Jesus isn’t in ordinary time anymore.

This week we’re reading the stories of Jesus’ transformation on the mountain top and the disciples’ failed attempt to heal a possessed boy as told in Luke 9:28–45. We discuss the significance of Jesus’s transfiguration and the importance of the command from the heavenly voice, “Listen to him!” We talk about the appearance of Moses and Elijah and the coming Exodus that Jesus will undergo in Jerusalem through his crucifixion and resurrection. And we wrestle with the urgency Jesus must feel, knowing that the end of his life is near, and his frustration at the disciples’ inability to exercise the power he has given them. We wonder what power has been given to us, and whether we, too, might be able to cast out the demons that surround us, if only we could learn to believe.

This week, we are reading Luke 7:36-50, where Jesus, a Pharisee named Simon, and a woman who is a sinner come together at a dinner party. The emotional intensity of this story is hard to overstate. As the woman cries over Jesus’s feet, we wonder – what is the tenor of emotion that has cracked her open? Is it guilt & pleading? Gratitude or vulnerability? Is it longing?  Jesus says that her faith has saved her, but what can we say about her faith from this short story where she never speaks? And how is it that she is laid bare in Jesus’s presence, when the dinner host seems so ... calm?

This week we’re reading Luke 7:18-35. John the Baptist has been in prison since Jesus’s baptism, so he hasn’t been able to witness any of Jesus’ ministry for himself. Now he sends his disciples to Jesus to ask him if he is really the Messiah or if John should look for another. Imagine John, the great disciple preparing the way for the Lord, suddenly doubting his faith in Jesus. Rather than make a declaration to John, Jesus tells John that the blind see, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news proclaimed to them. That should be enough, Jesus seems to say. Among all our squabbles about who Jesus is or isn’t, who he should be or shouldn’t be, all that matters is that the hurting are being healed and that poor are receiving good news. 

This week, we are reading Luke 7:1-17 – stories of two miraculous healings, both of which seem to focus more on the person who is well, who is concerned or bereaved, than on the person whose body is failing. What might that tell us about the nature of healing, or faith, or community? And of all the suffering one might alleviate, why does Jesus respond to these two cases? One, an Israelite woman who mourns her son, one a Roman man concerned for his slave. A powerful person and a vulnerable one. Is there a system at play? Is that even the right question? 

This week we’re reading three stories of Jesus told in Luke 6:1-16. In the first two, Jesus is in a dispute with some Pharisees about observing the Sabbath. In one story, Jesus seems to claim authority over the Sabbath, given his identity as the Son of Man. In a second story, Jesus presses the boundaries of mercy, healing a man on the sabbath even though he is not in life-threatening danger, creating anger among the Pharisees. Then, in a third story, Jesus calls the twelve apostles who will carry on his ministry after his death and resurrection. Together, these stories make us think about the relative importance of sabbath and mercy, the extent of our obligation to engage with our community on its own terms, and the danger that accompanies apostleship, both for the twelve and for Jesus himself.

This week, we're reading Luke 5:1-11, a story of a miraculously large fishing haul. In the midst of stories of miraculous healing, why is it this one, about fishing, that launches Simon Peter into his discipleship? Is it because the miracle is so stark against the backdrop of his knowledge and experience? Is it because he has tools to help Jesus in this case, to partner with him? What did it take for Simon to walk away from the kind of catch he’d probably dreamed of all his professional life – to just leave it there in the boat? 

This week we’re reading Luke 4:14-30, the story of Jesus giving his inaugural sermon at his home synagogue in Nazareth. In the Gospel of Luke this passage serves as a kind of mission statement for the ministry of Jesus, which he envisions as fundamentally “good news to the poor.” This is a good measure, we think, for our own communities. To what extent is our work in the world good news to the poor, and so to what degree does it conform to the Gospel of Jesus? Yet, while the people of Nazareth are initially receptive to Jesus’s message, he goes on to describe his ministry in light of the Israelite prophets Elijah and Elisha, who in Jesus’s telling focused on ministering to people outside of Israel altogether. Understandably, perhaps, this comparison makes the people of Nazareth angry, as he seems to say his ministry has nothing for them. Why does Jesus do this, we wonder, and what does it have to say to us today? If Jesus is always pressing toward the margins, then what is the good news for those in the center? And if Jesus is constantly expanding the boundaries of inclusion, how can we remain rooted in the communities that have shaped us? 

This week, we read Luke 3:1-22, a text that orients us first in all of competing political powers at play at that moment in history – and there are many! But then we simultaneously zoom IN to the personal and zoom OUT to the godly with the accounts of baptism. We wonder - Does something change in that ritualized moment, or does the ritual mark a shift that has already happened, or is the ritual lay a foundation for change in the future? Can they all be true? We wonder about the paths we are on and the paths available to us, laid by our ancestors or by God or by the needs or cravings of our bodies or our communities. Can we hold onto both our own belovedness, and the belovedness of others? Can they both be true?

This week we’re reading Luke 2:41-52, the story of twelve-year-old Jesus left behind in the temple as his parents return home from the Passover celebration. We talk about the ways repeated rituals like that ancient Passover pilgrimage can open up space for new and profound encounters with God, opportunities to integrate one’s own life into the story of the Torah and into the light of God’s revelation. We also ponder the tension in this text between Jesus’s earthly family and his heavenly Father. While it seems at first as though Jesus’ relationship with God necessarily takes precedence, we find that ultimately Jesus goes home to live obediently with his earthly family. We think about the tensions in our own lives between God’s calling and the calling to be with our own families, and what it means to discern our own priorities in any given moment.