Before he leaves them, Jesus opens their minds to understand the Scriptures, so that they see for themselves that he had to suffer and die and be raised from the dead.

My favorite part of these ascension stories is this little detail Luke includes: that Jesus led the disciples “as far as Bethany.” It is there, in this town where his beloved friends Martha, Mary, and Lazarus live, that he blesses those who follow him and is carried into Heaven.

I love that Jesus returns one last time to the home of these friends, that he chooses to be with the woman who proclaimed him Messiah (John 11:27) and the woman who understood that He was going to Jerusalem that last week to die and so anointed him for his burial (John 12:3-7).

Though his disciples did not understand these things, Jesus’ friends at Bethany did. They recognized who he was and what he was about—perhaps only fleetingly and only partially, but enough to speak and act on what they knew.

I find this reassuring. My faith is not strong and constant, not nearly as strong and constant as I wish it were. But there are moments when I can proclaim with Martha, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God,” and moments when, like Mary, I know I will pour out all I am and all I have for Him.

And then there is the rest of the time, when I am not certain, when I doubt, as Martha did (John 11:39), when I reprimand and accuse, as Mary did (John 11:32).

But despite their frailty, their myopia, their doubt, Jesus blessed them, as He blessed His apostles, as He blesses me.


The lectionary passages for Ascension:
Acts 1:1-11
Psalm 47
Ephesians 1:15-23
Luke 24:44-53

On Tuesday, I took my kids to the Space Needle: we ate lunch while looking out at Puget Sound from 520 feet in the air. Then we walked around on the observation deck. We found their dad’s work building, spotted two helicopters on the roofs of local news stations, and counted four ferries, two sailboats, and a barge on Elliott Bay.

When they’d had enough, we came back to earth and took the monorail into downtown, played on the escalators at Westlake Center, watched a makeshift elevator deliver building materials through the windows of a high-rise apartment building under construction, and took the bus home—where I promptly collapsed on my bed.

Jane fell asleep after a half hour of squirming, and a half hour after that, Jack, bless his heart, got his own snack. He even brought me spoonfuls of his yogurt—including the very last bite. Usually I would have said, “Oh no, honey, you eat it.” But I’d been thinking about receiving love, so I let him give me that last bite. Then he brought me strawberries (he even washed them!) and poured me a glass of apple juice. When Jane woke up, he got her a snack, too—without my even asking.

Jack abides in my love for him—it’s the foundation that secures his life—and that enabled him to give love on this day when I was weary and worn out. When we abide in Jesus’ love, we, like Jack, bear “fruit that will last,” the fruit of loving one another as He loves us.

The Lectionary passages for the 6th Sunday of Easter:
Acts 10:44-48
Psalm 98
1 John 5:1-6
John 15:9-17

Mostly I thought it just showed how incredibly dumb sheep are. Which is probably the point because in the Good Shepherd analogy, we are the sheep.

But if I’m honest, most of the time I think of myself as the shepherd—loving, kind, compassionate—or at least the sheep dog, smart and obedient.

And then there are the days (like oh, say, today, for instance) when the truth will out.

While I was dressing this morning, my children had a poop party in the bathroom. My daughter chose this day, when I have a cold, a headache, and a fever (it’s probably swine flu…), to poop on the bath mat, step in it, and then traipse round the house. The words I uttered—in a shrill voice at decibels I did not know I could reach—were fouler than the crap all over the bathroom floor, tub, and toilet.

And it went downhill from there.

Evidently, I’m just a sheep, prone to running amok when life doesn’t go my way. Which is why it is good to remember that I have a Shepherd who is with me, even when I can’t see past my own stuffed-up nose. Jesus bears my burdens, and that includes the burdens of being ill, angry, and a miserable mother. He carries those—and me with them—holding me close because that’s the only place I’ll ever be okay.

The lectionary passages for the 4th Sunday of Easter:
Acts 4:5-12
Psalm 23
1 John 3:16-24
John 10:11-18

–Merriam-Webster’s 10th Collegiate Dictionary

Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure.

–1 John 3:2-3

In the first Beatitude, Jesus says, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God,” which is perhaps why John exhorts his readers to purify themselves—so that they may attain the hope they have of seeing God.

Of course, such perfect seeing is a long way off. In this world, we see in glimpses, snatches, through a glass darkly. But still, I long for such glimpses. I rejoice when I see, however darkly, through that glass.

Lately, the glimpses have seemed few and far between. This is not because God is absent. It is because I am. I have been preoccupied for a while now, obsessing over books sales (or lack thereof) and how that will affect my career as a writer. And so, worried about my future, I’ve not been present in my life—and have no doubt missed many graced moments when, if I’d been paying attention, I would have seen the presence and love of God.

In her book, Breathe, Keri Wyatt Kent writes that the opposite of simplicity is not complexity, but duplicity. Duplicity is a division. Di-vision. Two visions. We cannot live with two visions.

But I try. Oh how I try. I live with one eye on me and one eye on God. And it wears me out. Because here’s the thing: my eyes can’t do that. Invariably, both eyes end up looking at me, and I am inherently divided: my wants, needs, hopes, fears, loves, hates. Looking at myself isn’t just duplicity; it’s multiplicity, and it’s a recipe for crazy-making. (Just ask my husband. Never mind—please don’t!)

I need a single vision, one that is focused wholly on God. I want the single eye, the single heart that Jesus had.

Purify yourselves, as he is pure.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Create in me a pure heart, O God.

The lectionary passages for the Third Sunday of Easter:
Acts 3:12-19
Psalm 4
1 John 3:1-7
Luke 24:36b-48

According to Acts, none of the believers owned anything; they held all possessions in common. No one was poor or hungry or in need because all the believers shared everything they had. The apostles gave their testimony “with great power,” and “great grace was on them all.”

But it didn’t take long before the unity of the Holy Spirit was broken: the next chapter is the oh-so delightful story of Ananias and Sapphira, who held onto their possessions and then lied about it. Just as the idyllic days of Eden are gone forever, the idyllic days of the early church are, too.

But every so often, I have glimpses of the unity and beauty and blessing that is supposed to characterize the body of the risen Christ.

Today, I took my kids to the toy store—my 5-year-old son wanted to buy a space shuttle with the allowance money he’s saved. He hadn’t had the toy five minutes when his little sister asked to play with it.

To my surprise, he let her.

To my further surprise, after she’d played with it for a couple minutes, Jane said, “Here you, go, Jack,” and gave it back to him.

It was one of those graced moments when kindred dwell together in unity, when the precious oil of anointing falls on your life, and you know you are blessed.

It was such a small thing I feel a little silly mentioning it, like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. But then I think of the mustard seed and am heartened: great things come from small and humble starts; faith as a mustard seed can move mountains. So I’ll keep looking for the kingdom of God in my own small life, in the nooks and crannies (or toy stores), anticipating glimpses of Resurrection, the new life of unity in the Holy Spirit.

The lectionary passages for the second Sunday of Easter:
Acts 4:32-35 (during Easter, we read from Acts instead of the Old Testament)
Psalm 133
1 John 1:1-2:2
John 20:19-31

A few minutes into our conversation, Jack let out a piercing wail. He had let go of his balloon, and it floated to the top of the Fellowship Hall, some 12 feet above our heads.

“Oh sweetie.” I picked Jack up as he began to sob. “That’s so sad.”

Steve said to Jack, “Hey, pal, don’t worry. I’ll go get a ladder. We’ll get it down.”

“No, please,” I said. “Please don’t. We believe in letting him experience the consequences of his actions.”

But Steve had already headed across the Fellowship Hall in search of a ladder. He turned around. “It’s Easter, Kimberlee. There are no consequences.”

Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Christ is risen!
Alleluia! He is risen indeed!
And now, thanks be to God, there are no consequences.

The lectionary readings for Easter morning:
Acts 10:34-43 or Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I Corinthians 15:1-11 or Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18 or Mark 16:1-8

This post excerpted from the Easter chapter of my book, The Circle of Seasons: Meeting God in the Church Year (InterVarsity Press, 2008).