With his Triumphal Entry on Palm Sunday—lowly and riding on a donkey—Jesus set in motion events that would forever redefine greatness. But can we perceive this greatness? Those who cling to a model of greatness exemplified by warhorse-riding conquerors like Alexander the Great and Caesar Augustus are a theological anachronism—instead of living in an AD reality they're still stuck in a BC world.

This week's gospel reading takes us to the home of Lazarus, where the sweet fragrance of Mary’s worship contrasts the stench of death from the chapter before. Jesus, deeply moved, enters the dead places —not just in Bethany, but in our lives too. He is the Resurrection and the Life, the one who calls us out of darkness and into eternal life. 

The father’s house in the first century Jewish world was a picture of security, provision, stability and love. It is the central point of all the activity in the story Jesus is telling in Luke 15. The youngest son leaves and returns to the father’s house and the party that is thrown, the one the older son refuses to join, is held at the father’s house. In this story Jesus reveals the heart of God our Father and we have the opportunity to ask ourselves, “Who do I identify with? The younger son or the older son?”  

In the midst of cancel culture, political polarization, and waging war comes a timely parable from Jesus. Our instinct to act in frustration and impatience, especially toward people, is challenged by Jesus’ call for patience and trust in Luke 13. True wisdom is rooted in patience—trusting the slow, often unpleasant process of growth and redemption rather than hastily discarding what appears fruitless. Ultimately, we are called not to carry axes in judgment, but to follow Christ in carrying the cross, becoming agents of grace who, like the Gardener, offer time, care, and hope for transformation. 

Following the Transfiguration Jesus enters the second half of his ministry—which is essentially a slow, steady March On Jerusalem. Jesus leaves Galilee and begins a weeks-long journey toward the holy city, toward Jerusalem, toward the cross, toward the kingdom of God arriving through his death, burial and resurrection. This final march on Jerusalem is what we remember during Lent.

As we enter the season of Lent, the Lectionary appropriately takes us to the temptation of Christ. Before Jesus ever preached a sermon or worked a miracle, he faced off with the devil in the wilderness. And perhaps no one has explored the the temptation of Christ in a more profound way than Fyodor Dostoevsky did in his famous parable of "The Grand Inquisitor."

Jesus is the kingdom of God in person. And Jesus is the one who now fills all things everywhere with himself. What happened to Jesus on Mount Tabor when he was transfigured in appearance from an ordinary Galilean Jew into his true appearance as the glorious Son of God, is what will happen in the eschaton to all of God’s creation.

In his Sermon on the Plain Jesus tells us that God is our Father, and that our Father is merciful; and because we are children of God, we should be merciful just as our Father is merciful. Jesus calls us to mercy, not merely because mercy is a superior ethic or because mercy tends toward peace, as true as that is; rather, Jesus calls us to be merciful because that is what God is like!

There is no easy alliance between the kingdom of the world and the kingdom of God, and all attempts to create an easy alliance between these two kingdoms are misguided and doomed to failure. The kingdom of the world is founded on greed and war—Mammon and Mars. The kingdom of God is founded on the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Furthermore, these two kingdoms are organized around irreconcilable values. The kingdom of the world values economic power and military might, while the kingdom of God values co-suffering love and divine mercy.

When Simon Peter first got a glimpse of who Jesus really is, his initial reaction was one of fear. The transcendent and holy otherness of Jesus simply overwhelmed Simon Peter. But the Lord’s response to Peter’s fearful reaction can be understood as something like this: Don't be afraid of me, follow me. If you follow me, I will make you into a new person—the person you were always meant to be.