Read: Matthew 1:18-2:23

When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nasorean” (Matthew 2:19-23, NRSV).

I’m one of those people who rarely remembers their dreams. Before I met my wife, Mary, I was always the one who sat silently by while other people recounted their fantastic nocturnal adventures. Even when they told hair-raising stories of nightmares, I often found myself a little jealous. Why was my own dreamscape such a big, boring blank?

My name made this worse. When your name is “Joseph,” people expect you to be both a dreamer and an interpreter of dreams. But alas. I inherited nothing from my famous ancestor. I simply don’t have the knack.

But then I got engaged to Mary. Suddenly the dreams started coming fast and furious. The first one hit me like a two by four on the side of my head. Strange as this may sound, I’m grateful for it. If the angel of the Lord hadn’t shown up in that dream, I would have called off the wedding. But there was no arguing with this dream or the angel that filled every inch of it with blinding light. “Joseph, son of David,” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

Suddenly, I found myself sitting bolt upright in my bed. The angel was gone. All I could hear were the crickets outside of the window. But I remember thinking to myself, “Well, that’s a dream I won’t soon forget!” And I didn’t. As soon as the sun came up, I ran all the way to Mary’s house, and we set the date.

The dreams came at regular intervals after that, and always just in time to avert disaster. When King Herod sought to kill the child, the angel showed up again to warn me to flee with my family to Egypt. It’s a good thing we got out of town when we did—though I do wish an angel had shown up to warn all the other parents who ended up losing their little ones to Herod’s fragile ego.

Then, when we were in Egypt, another dream instructed me to “get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” I did as I was told, but I have to admit, I was nervous about it. Herod’s son had picked up where his father had left off, and I didn’t trust him. Sure enough, the angel showed up to confirm my suspicions. So, we headed north to Nazareth and made our home there.

I’m getting on in years now, but it’s been a joy to watch Jesus grow. Mary worries. But whenever she gets upset, I remind her of my dreams. I haven’t had one in years, but I like to think that angel would show up again if there was anything to worry about.

Mary just pats my hand and goes back to her gardening. She says she’s pondering my words in her heart.

Ponder: Nobody knows if Joseph was or wasn’t a “dreamer” before he was visited with the very specific visions recorded in the Gospel of Matthew. Still, one has to envy the clarity of these communications! How can we make wise decisions when God’s leading is not this clear?

Pray: Give us wisdom in times of uncertainty, gracious God, and help us to trust you even when we are not sure what you want.

Read: Luke 1:5-80

Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah, and wondered at his delay in the sanctuary. When he did come out, he could not speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He kept motioning to them and remained unable to speak. When his time of service was ended, he went to his home. After those days Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she remained in seclusion (Luke 1:21-24, NRSV).

Thank God I’d learned to read. Not every woman gets the chance, you know. But I was from the priestly order of Aaron, and when I nagged my parents as a child, they found a way to make it happen.

Why was it so important that I knew how to read? Well, think about it. The only way my husband and I could communicate during the nine months of my pregnancy was by writing notes.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit and fill you in on the story.

As my husband Zechariah himself said to the angel Gabriel, we were both “getting on in years.” Frankly, we’d given up on having children. There’s only so much disappointment you can bear, after all. But when Zechariah was chosen to offer incense at the sanctuary, the angel Gabriel appeared to him and told him that we would have a son, and we were to name him John. What’s more, he said that this child would be great in the sight of the Lord and would be good news for more than just the two of us.

So far, so wonderful. But my dear husband had to raise questions. That’s when Gabriel decided to strike him mute—at least until the words of the promise came true.

What woman has not, on occasion, wished her husband would be struck mute? But imagine my confusion when he arrived home unable to speak! He was obviously bursting at the seams to tell me something, but he couldn’t so much as whisper a word. Finally, I ran around to all the neighbors and collected as many writing tablets as I could get my hands on. Eventually, I got the whole story out of him.

Now do you understand why I’m so glad I’d learned to read? It would have been a long nine months trying to piece together that story using sign language!

Even when I did understand his words, I could barely believe they were true. But a few months later, I realized I was pregnant. And then my cousin Mary showed up for a visit, and well—let’s just say we had a lot to talk about.

Eventually John was born. (Yes, we named him John, even though everyone expected us to name him Zechariah after his father.) As soon as Zechariah wrote that message on one of our ubiquitous tablets, he was able to speak again—just as Gabriel had promised.

John is a teenager now and spends a worrying amount of time hiking in the wilderness eating goodness knows what. Zechariah and I are pretty old for dealing with a teen, but my friends tell me it’s not a picnic at any age. At least we can talk to each other about it. I really do appreciate Zechariah having his speech back. Among other things, we’d have gone bankrupt by this time buying all those writing tablets!

Ponder: The Bible says nothing about whether Elizabeth knew how to read, but it does reference Zechariah’s writing on a tablet to confirm John’s name. No matter how they communicated, how do you imagine their faith was tested during those nine months of waiting? What about after John was born? How has God tested your faith? What would you tell someone who is being tested?

Pray: Give us the resources we need to meet times of testing. Remind us that our faithfulness may have consequences beyond just ourselves.

Read: Isaiah 7:1-17

Again the LORD spoke to Ahaz, saying, “Ask a sign of the LORD your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” But Ahaz said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the LORD to the test.” Then Isaiah said, “Here then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel” (Isaiah 7:10-14, NRSV).

I was thinking about this incident just the other day. My son and I were taking our usual walk along the conduit of the upper pool on the highway to the Fuller’s Field. We’ve been walking there regularly for years. Though it takes me longer than it used to, I still like to get out there whenever I can—both for the exercise and the memories.

We always pause at the spot where we had that encounter with King Ahaz all those years ago. It’s not my happiest memory, although I do take some satisfaction in knowing I did the right thing. I followed God’s orders to the letter, after all. It’s not my fault Ahaz acted like the arrogant young idiot that he was.

I ask you. Have you ever begged God for a sign? Well, I have. And even though I’m a prophet, God doesn’t always serve up signs just to suit me. But that day, God offered Ahaz a sign on a platter—just to reassure him that if he trusted in God, the political storm would soon pass. “Let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven,” God told him. Talk about a blank check!

But would Ahaz ask for a sign? No. He muttered some mumbo-jumbo about not putting the LORD to the test, as if he were Mr. Piety personified. Well, that’s where I lost my patience, and I told him that God was going to give him the sign whether he wanted it or not. “Look!” I said. “The young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel (God With Us).”

I have to say, that got his attention! Every king wants an heir, after all, but to receive the news that the heir will be a son—and that the birth of that child will be a sign of God’s favor and blessing! Well, that’s more than any monarch could hope for.

Did the sign make a difference in Ahaz’ politics? No, sadly. He was so skittish about the two kings who were threatening him that he ran right out and made an alliance with Tiglath-Pileser III of Assyria. I don’t need to tell you what a bad idea that was. Sure, we survived the immediate threat, but we ended up as an Assyrian vassal.

Still, given what I know now about Ahaz’s son, Hezekiah, I can see why God said he would be called “Immanuel.” His reforms were a beacon or light that led us through some very dark days. I had high hopes for him, frankly, but even he disappointed me in the end. At the very end of his reign he made an alliance with the new international bully on the block—the Babylonians. I guess the unwise alliance thing must have run in the family, but honestly—I can’t believe he was so stupid as to give the Babylonians a tour of the treasury! I gave him an earful about that on God’s behalf. But all he could say when confronted with the prophecy that it would all be carted off to Babylon someday was: “Why not, if there will be peace and security in my days?”

In short, even Hezekiah fell short of my prophetic expectations. So, these days, I spend my time with my disciples “binding up the testimonies.” We’re writing down the prophecies I’ve delivered over the years, you see, because I’ve come to realize that God sometimes uses prophetic words to say more than we know. Sure, we deliver our prophecies as instructed, and they speak a powerful word for the present and the near future. But the whole Ahaz/Hezekiah incident taught me that God can—how do you say it—recycle such prophecies for another day.

So, that’s what I think about on our regular walk. My son assumes I’m thinking about the past. But I’m thinking about the future. I’m still waiting for that promised “anointed one,” whose name will be Immanuel.

Ponder: How do you feel about the suggestion that Isaiah’s words originally may have referred to the great reforming king, Hezekiah? Consider that the Hebrew word used in Isaiah 7:14 means “young woman” and not specifically “virgin.” As one Old Testament commentator puts it, “The sign is the child itself, and not the manner of its birth.” What do you think of the suggestion that the Holy Spirit can recycle ancient words for new situations?

Pray: Keep us faithful as we wait for the coming of Immanuel.

Read: John 4:1-42

Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.” (John 4:28-29; 39-42, NRSV).

I’d like to tell you that everything was different for me after that day at the well. In truth, only a few things have changed, but they have made all the difference. Does that make sense? Maybe it will if I tell you a little bit more about what happened after that day at the well.

I’m used to being notorious, but after that day, I was notorious for a different reason. I was the one who had brought back the good news, after all. Suddenly I was a celebrity! Women who hadn’t talked to me in years were suddenly all chummy. To tell you the truth, it was a little disconcerting. And of course, it didn’t last. Does that sound cynical? Well, let’s just say I’m realistic about human nature. I suppose you could say I have trust issues.

Who wouldn’t? As Jesus pointed out during our famous conversation, I had had rather more husbands than most women. He didn’t put it exactly that way, but from what he said, I knew there was no use prevaricating. What struck me at that moment, however, was not just the fact that he seemed to know everything about me. It was the gentleness of his tone. He even smiled a little as he said it—as if he was teasing me.

I love a man with a good sense of irony.

That was the moment when our conversation moved past the usual platitudes. We started talking theology. I had always been interested in such things, but until Jesus came along, no one seemed to take my questions seriously. I drank up that conversation like someone who was dying of thirst…which I suppose I was.

Well, you know what happened next. I was so excited about the encounter—and so certain that Jesus was none other than the Messiah—that I threw caution to the wind and ran back to tell everyone about him. You should have seen the look on my neighbors’ faces! They were used to me going out of my way to avoid them (a preemptive strike on my part), but I rushed right up to the very people who had shunned me for so long. At first I saw revulsion—then wariness—then incredulity—then curiosity—then excitement. Finally, they had to run and see for themselves.

I guess you could say I had my fifteen minutes of fame after that. But I didn’t really mind when it passed. Fame is overrated. What hasn’t faded is my new-found self-esteem. Jesus gave that to me, and it’s growing every day—just like my relationship with God.

I’m pretty sure that’s why I no longer wait until the middle of the day to draw water from the well. Now I go when it’s cooler, like everyone else. Sure, some of them still shun me. (Old habits die hard.) But I no longer rely on their approval for my sense of self.

Oh, one more thing. I’m no longer living with that last guy who was “not my husband.” The only reason I’d been living with him before was because our society has no place for women who are—for whatever reason—on their own. It was that or starve if you know what I mean. But now one of my neighbors has taken me in. She’s a widow, but we get by with a little help from our friends. Thank goodness there are still a few people around who remember what Jesus taught us. I, for one, am very grateful.

Ponder: How has this imagined “update” from the woman at the well changed your attitude toward her?

Pray: Make us thirsty for living water, O God, and make our lives a reliable source of that water for others.

Read: Ruth 1-4

Then [Naomi]started to return with her daughters-in-law from the country of Moab, for she had heard in the country of Moab that the LORD had considered his people and given them food. So she set out from the place where she had been living, she and her two daughters-in-law, and they went on their way to go back to the land of Judah. But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back each of you to your mother’s house. May the LORD deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me. The LORD grant that you may find security, each of you in the house of your husband. Then she kissed them, and they wept aloud. They said to her, “No, we will return with you to your people.” …Then they wept aloud again. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clung to her (Ruth 1:6-10, 14 NRSV).

Dear Ruth,

I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me after all these years. How long has it been? A decade? Still, I think about you every day, and I wonder if you and Naomi have found security back home in Bethlehem.

Of course, Bethlehem was not home for you, was it? That’s precisely why Naomi tried to convince us to return to Moab. I think about that day often, and I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d made a different decision.

Things have turned out well for me here in Moab. I married a good, kind man, and we have four healthy children. Two girls and two boys. I named the girls after you and Naomi! I thought about naming the boys after our first husbands, Mahlon and Chilion, but my new husband said that that was “a bridge too far.” I think he was secretly worried that the names would bring bad luck, and I can’t say as I blame him.

Do you remember how long we waited for children with Mahlon and Chilion? It was a decade of disappointment. And then, disappointment turned to tragedy. There for a while it felt like everyone was dying. If it hadn’t been for you and Naomi, I think I’d have died, too. I’m not sure I’ve ever loved anyone as much as I loved—and still love—the two of you. Which is precisely why it was so hard to obey Naomi’s command that I return to Moab! Turning my back on the two of you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I walked for miles that day. My feet were pointed toward Moab, but my heart was headed straight for Bethlehem. To be honest, I almost changed mind several times. I admired your courage and your loyalty, but I hope I get some credit for being obedient. Not that anyone is keeping score. At least, I hope they’re not.

One of the hardest things about returning to Moab was the expectation that I would continue to worship Moabite gods. At first, I would chime in when everyone else was praying to Chemosh. But the more I flourished, the more I began to wonder whether my blessings might be the result of Naomi’s prayer that the LORD would deal kindly with me. I suspect they are. So, I’m keeping a very low profile these days with regard to Chemosh.

Please give my love to Naomi. I pray she’s still alive and well. May the LORD (not Chemosh!) bless and keep you both.

Love and prayers,

Orpah

P.S. Find a scribe and write back if you can. I scrimped and saved for ages to pay for one to write this letter, but it will be worth it if it means I can get news from you!

Ponder: How did this imagined glimpse into Orpah’s story change your impressions of her? Why do you think her character often gets “bad press”?

Pray: Thank you for friendships that endure through the decades.

Read: Luke 15:11-32

Then [the elder son] became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him! (Luke 15:28-30, NRSV).

I get it now. I get why Dad killed the fatted calf and welcomed back my bad-news brother. But it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick. In fact, it took my frozen heart at least a decade to thaw. Looking back, I think there were three stages to it.

The first stage happened almost right away. Something inside me began to “give” the moment I  I heard Dad say the words: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”

Talk about the prodigal father! He was throwing forgiveness around like it grew on trees. I, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to squeeze it out for love nor money. But I was struck by the way he said “we” had to celebrate. In my initial complaint I had only talked about celebrating with my friends. It also didn’t hurt to hear him say, “all that is mine is yours.” Maybe you think that’s petty, but let’s be honest—it was reassuring. Fair is fair, after all.

You’re saying to yourself, “He hasn’t really changed at all.” You’re right. I hadn’t changed that much at that point. But stay with me here, OK? I told you it was a slow process.

Another thing that helped in this initial stage was getting more information. As soon as I got back to the house the servants told me what my brother had said when he got back. You know—about how he was no longer worthy to be called Dad’s son. And to be honest, one look at my emaciated brother told me that he wasn’t the arrogant **** he used to be. Frankly, he looked like he could use a few extra helpings of prime rib.

The next “heart-softening” stage was triggered when Dad died. I know that people react to grief in different ways, but that mutual loss actually drew me closer to my brother. Did you notice that I called him “my brother” just now? Before Dad died, I’d persisted in referring to him as “your son”—as if he could be Dad’s son without also being my brother. But standing together at Dad’s funeral revealed that as the adolescent idiocy it was. I think that was also the moment when I decided that I would share the inheritance. Not that that decision did much good. Thus far, my younger brother has refused to take so much as a shekel.

The third stage was when I had sons of my own. I’ll spare you the details, but these apples have not fallen far from the tree. The whole experience has given me a whole new appreciation for what my “prodigal father” when through with the two of us.

“Whatever is mine is yours,” Dad had said to me all those years ago. Now I realize that the greatest inheritance I received from him was what I learned from him about forgiveness. And that—I hope—will always be with me.

Ponder: The word “prodigal” means to be recklessly extravagant. While this story is usually referred to as the story of the prodigal son, there is also a sense in which it’s the story of the prodigal father. How do these imagined musings of the elder son/brother help you to see that? What do you think Jesus was trying to teach us through this story?

Pray: Help us to forgive as prodigally as we have been forgiven.

Read: Esther 1-10 (note especially Esther 2)

Now Esther was admired by all who saw her. When Esther was taken to King Ahasuerus in his royal palace in the tenth month, which is the month of Tebeth, in the seventh year of his reign, the king loved Esther more than all the other women; of all the virgins she won his favor and devotion, so that he set the royal crown on her head and made her queen instead of Vashti (Esther 2:15c-17, NRSV).

I celebrated my 35^th birthday the other day. It was no big deal—just a few close friends in my private rooms at the palace. Well, they’re not completely private. Nothing ever is for a queen. But they’re the best I can do under the circumstances.

You’d be surprised at how circumscribed my life is as queen. For instance, the only men I could invite to the party were eunuchs. Fortunately, the palace eunuchs ARE some of my closest friends, so I don’t much mind that particular restriction.

Toward the end of the party, I found myself sitting out on the balcony enjoying a nightcap with Hegai. He and I go way back. In fact, he’s been watching out for me since my first days at the palace. Anyway, we were sitting out there enjoying the moonlight when Hegai looked me straight in the eye and asked, “So, do you have any regrets?”

Without a moment’s hesitation I said, “Just that I didn’t hide in the pantry of Cousin Mordecai’s house the day of the king’s dragnet.”

Even in the moonlight I could see his eyes sparkle. He raised his glass and said, “I can’t say as I blame you, my dear. But in light of everything, aren’t you at least a little glad that things turned out the way they did?”

What a question. Am I glad I didn’t get to marry the nice Jewish boy I had my eye on? Am I glad I was taken from my home and forced into marriage with a heathen king? And not just any heathen king, but Ahasuerus—who is not by any stretch of the imagination the brightest light in the harbor?

No. In a word, I am not glad about any of those things. I said as much and set down my goblet so abruptly that some of the wine sloshed out.

But you can’t pull anything over on Hegai. After this many years in charge of the king’s harem, he knows when a woman has more to say. So, he just sat there in silence and waited me out.

“Ok, fine!” I admitted at last. “I don’t regret the way God used me to save my people from Haman’s genocidal plot.”

“Well, there you go,” he replied gently. “I hope you’ll remember that on the bad days. And I hope the good days outnumber the bad ones in all the years ahead. Happy birthday, dear Esther!” With that, he knocked back the last of the wine in his goblet, bowed deeply, and backed out the door.

It may surprise you that he was so formal in his exit. But that’s the thing. Nobody touches the queen except her closest female attendants. Not even one of her oldest friends.

I sat for a long time in the moonlight after he left. To be honest, I try to avoid moments like these; there’s too much room for self-reflection. And self-reflection can slip into self-pity in an awful hurry.

Not that I’m asking for your pity. I’m a queen, after all. I never go hungry, and I’m surrounded by unimaginable luxury. But designer dresses and sumptuous banquets don’t make me any less lonely.

So, I fill my days doing as much as I can for other people. For instance, I’ve started a school for the king’s concubines. They lead a boring life, after all, and I think women’s intelligence is hugely underrated. It makes me furious when I think of all that untapped potential!

I’m also thinking about opening a counseling center for them. I’d have to do it on the quiet, of course, since Ahasuerus and his ego probably wouldn’t approve. But I’m certain Hegai would support me on it.

Why all the concern for the concubines, you ask? Well, I’ve walked a mile in their sandals, you might say. And, at the risk of “too much information,” I’m also grateful for every time they keep King Ahasuerus away from me.

Ponder: Novelist Susan Dworkin has written a contemporary re-telling of Esther’s story called The Book of Candy (Four Walls Eight Windows, 1996). At the end of the book, the protagonist imagines “poor Esther—doing life for her people.” Have you ever thought about what Esther’s life might have been like after the official end of her story in the Bible? Do you think she lived happily ever after? Why or why not?

Pray: Teach us to be faithful to you even when life doesn’t turn out the way we’d hoped.

Read: Luke 10:38-42 (See also John 11:1-45 and 12:1-7)

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care than my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38-42, NRSV)

Martha wiped the wooden bowl and set it on the shelf with a sigh. It was a sigh of satisfaction—one she often released at the end of the day when her kitchen was set to rights.

Of course, she hadn’t always felt so at ease about her role as “chief cook and bottle washer.” But that was water under the bridge. She’d moved on now. These days she was more at ease with who she was, and the memory of that episode brought no lingering sense of chagrin. On the contrary, she loved to linger over the way Jesus had said her name. “Martha, Martha…” He’d said it twice—and gently, as if it meant a lot to him. Even in the moment, she’d understood it less as a reprimand than as an invitation.

After hanging up her apron, she poured two small cups of wine and carried them outside. Mary looked up from the bench in their courtyard and smiled. This evening ritual was something they both looked forward to. Sometimes they used the time to talk about the past—mining their memories for undiscovered treasures. Other times—like tonight—they were content to sit silently in each other’s company, listening to the hush that fell like a benediction on the day.

Martha smiled and glanced fondly at her sister. Mary had taken longer to get past Jesus’ words than Martha had. For weeks after what they’d come to call “the incident,” Mary had made an absolute pest of herself, constantly inserting herself into every household chore. Honestly, she was harder to shake than a bur. One day, after an awkward tug of war over a dishtowel, Martha had finally lost her patience. “Stop overcompensating!” she’d yelled. It was cathartic, in a way. And in the end, they’d worked out a kind of detente. Mary would offer to help, and when that help was welcome, Martha would accept it. When it wasn’t she’d say so, and Mary would go away with equally good grace. Simple as that. Done and dusted.

Some years later, Lazarus had died—again. With an unsettling sense of déjà vu, they’d returned from the tomb to find the house overflowing with mourners. Some of them—in Martha’s estimation—were there more out of curiosity than grief. It was as if they wanted to be there just in case Lazarus might show up and shout, “Surprise!”

Mary had been a wreck. Grief was one thing; morbid curiosity was quite another. Rushing back to the kitchen—ostensibly to fetch another platter of stuffed grape leaves—Mary had hidden her face in her hands and tried to stifle a sob.

Martha had taken one look at Mary and handed her the dishtowel. “Stay right where you are,” she’d ordered and marched back into their over-crowded living room.

Conversation—and speculation—had stopped abruptly at Martha’s appearance. “Friends, neighbors, and guests,” she’d said to the sea of upturned faces. “My sister and I can’t thank you enough for your expressions of comfort at this difficult time. Those of you who actually knew our brother Lazarus…” She paused to glance meaningfully around the room, and some of the guests had the grace to look sheepish. “Those of you who knew Lazarus can testify to the fact that he passed his last days in peace. He knew he was close to death—who would know better, after all! But he faced the prospect with hope, knowing that our risen Lord would be there to greet him.”

At that, a murmur had rippled through the crowd. Martha waited until it had died down. Then she’d said, “I will miss our brother, of course. But I am as convinced as he was that one day Jesus will stand outside my tomb. ‘Martha, Martha,’ he’ll say. ‘Come forth!’”

A hush had fallen over the room like a benediction.

Martha had turned on her heel and gone back to the kitchen.

Ponder: What parts of this imagined continuation of Martha’s story seem most convincing to you? Why or why not?

Pray: May we live long enough to learn the lessons you’ve tried to teach us.

Read: Jonah 1-4

When God saw that [the people of Nineveh] did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it. But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the LORD and said, “O LORD! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live” (Jonah 3:10-4:3, NRSV).

I can’t believe I actually said that to God. Seriously! Everyone everywhere celebrates the fact that God is gracious and merciful. Only I had the temerity to complain about it!

Oy. It’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe God didn’t turn me into a cinder for saying it. But God is slow to anger, and so I’m still alive to tell you about what has happened since the official end of my story.

In short, I finally got the point. What point? you ask. The one about grace. The one that God had tried repeatedly to teach me. First, there was the fish. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that being swallowed by a huge fish did not feel like grace at the time. But it saved me from a watery grave, and once I scraped off the fish vomit, I could see it for the reprieve that it was.

Then God gave me a second chance to do what God had ordered me to do in the first place: preach to the people of Nineveh. This time I did as I was told, but I’ll be the first to admit I did it with “ill grace.” Never was there a shorter sermon preached with less enthusiasm. “Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” I hurled it at them like a piece of dried dung.

To my surprise, they repented all over the place. Shoot, even the cattle sported sackcloth and cried “mightily to God.” God was impressed, and—true to form—forgave them!

This was not at all what I’d signed on for. I hated those Ninevites. My people had a history with Ninevites. So, to say that I was angry wouldn’t begin to cover it. I wasn’t angry; I was incandescent. So, I pitched a fit and begged God to kill me.

Fortunately, God ignored that request and gave me something I didn’t ask for: grace. You’d have thought I’d have been more receptive to that message after the fish affair, but what can I say. I’m a slow learner. In fact, it took yet another object lesson to finally get the lesson of grace to sink in. I guess you could say the “worm” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sorry if I’m mixing my metaphors, there, but hey. It’s hard to put into words.

So, what happened next? Well, it was touch and go for a few days. I hung around outside the city of Nineveh weighing my options. But finally, I knew what I had to do.

These days I’ve set up shop smack in the middle of the city of Nineveh. I run a discount fish market. The smell reminds me of God’s grace. I don’t preach much anymore, but I do love to chat with my customers about how God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. I should know, after all!

Ponder: What does it say about us when we’d rather die than to see our enemies find forgiveness? What are some of the things that make forgiveness complicated for you?

Pray: Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.

Introducing a New Series: “Now What?”

Have you ever wondered what might happen next to some of your favorite biblical characters? For instance, what happens to Esther after she saves her people? Does she really live happily ever after with King Ahasuerus?

Or what about Jonah? Does he ever really understand what God has been trying to teach him about grace? If so, what decisions might he make about what to do with the rest of his life?

In this series, we’ll be following up on some of my favorite biblical characters and asking, “Now what?” Of course, such wonderings lead us beyond traditional interpretation and into the imaginative territory of midrash. But I think it might be fun—and I think it might make us look at our own lives and ask the same question.

Enjoy!

Carol M. Bechtel