Exodus 12:1-14

This is a challenging passage for me. This is the God of the Old Testament, the first covenant, although it alludes to the New Covenant with the sacrifice of the blameless lamb so its blood can mark God’s own people. All those firstborn children are collateral damage in God’s conflict with Pharaoh, whose heart, earlier chapters tell us, God Himself is hardening.

How can I square this with the God who tells me that love is the first commandment? What does this contrast between the Old and the New mean to the faith I was raised in, which includes the immutability of God from generation to generation?

I have to accept that faith includes mysteries and look for an understanding of what this passage teaches about that pursuit of faith. First is the importance of mindfulness, of devoting time and attention entirely to remembering and listening for God. Second is the call to give my best to God, giving that is a communal action, not something I do on my own. And third, faith must be active: I don’t always know what it might mean, but I’m called to keep my sandals on, my cloak tucked, and my staff in my hand.

                                                                                 —Lois Maassen

Hebrews 5:5-10

Melchizedek appears briefly in Genesis 14 as a priest-king who blesses Abraham. Psalm 110, source of the second quotation here, takes him as the prototype of a priesthood that Hebrews 7 will explain is greater than that of Aaron.

Who is this figure of blessing and reconciliation prior to and greater than the line of Abraham? What does Melchizedek represent about how God acts in history?

What was utterly mysterious in Genesis is fulfilled and made known in Christ. Jesus, true God and also true man, comes to us as the perfect model of how to receive blessing from God and become a blessing to others. His prayers, fully human in their passion, open for us the way to follow him in faith through the acceptance of unjust suffering and death to the revelation of life that transforms suffering and death into salvation.

May we learn and receive in him an obedience that turns our suffering into blessing.

—Curtis Gruenler

Mark 8:31-38

“Conundrums”

Back in my youth ministry leadership days at Maplewood Reformed Church, there was one particular high school student who loved to play a game called “Conundrums.” It was sort of a verbal CSI (crime scene investigation) attempt at figuring out how an individual had died. Questions were asked until the crime was solved. Only questions that could be answered with a “yes” or a “no” response were allowed. Our youth group played this game for hours on every Cran-Hill Ranch retreat for four years! “Conundrums” provided us with intellectual mystery and wonder.

This passage reminded me of my “Conundrum retreat days” as a youth leader. Jesus provided some very puzzling clues as to how he would die in the near future, and yet his disciples were confused, perplexed, and outright chastised (namely Peter). They could not figure Jesus out.

If we also read the entire chapter 8, in which our verses are found, we see many conundrums:

• the desire of the crowd for miracles or signs and Jesus’ refusal to perform any
• the frustration (and deep sigh!) of Jesus over the disciples’ lack of understanding
• Jesus’ words “don’t tell anyone about me” (that’s my favorite!)
• and finally, the paradoxical conundrum of saying “if you want to save your life, lose it by following me.”

Opposites are a conundrum to me. Our Lenten season (and life’s journey too) sometimes raises more questions for me than answers: Why is following Jesus so unclear at times? Why am I so unwilling to make changes in my life? Why don’t the changes last longer? Sometimes my life seems like one unending youth group game of “Conundrums.” Life goes on and on with constant questions. Sometimes there is a “yes” (Good, we are making progress here!). Other times there is a “no” (Great, another conundrum. Keep asking!).

Prayer: Jesus, as I follow you, be patient with my questions and my lack of understanding the conundrums of life.

—Keith A. Derrick