Dear Trailhead family, Eli was having a hard time hearing. Something about Jonah had been said. Now, that was an interesting story. A prophet, but not a role model. A preacher who did not want his message to be heard. A preacher who definitely did not want his audience to respond. A preacher whose best sermon was halfhearted, angry, and delivered with an acute scent of fish intestines. And then the ending. Not good. Jonah finds a place to observe the destruction of his enemies, but it turns out that Jonah’s enemies were not God’s enemies. Whereas Jonah has contempt, God has mercy. Where Jonah looks for vengeance, God grants grace. To Jonah, this was all too much. Jonah sits under a curiously fast-growing plant, shielded from the sun, sulking. He sits and sulks until the curiously fast-growing plant dies and Jonah is crushed. How he longs for the plant to be restored and once again flourish with life and vitality. Jonah loved the plant, and now it is gone, destroyed. Wilted because of a hungry little caterpillar. “Stupid worm, stupid city, stupid everything,” the prophet concluded. Eli was jostled and came out of his daydream. Another family had arrived, presumably to hear the Teacher. Eli moved over a step, allowing the late arrivals a better view and a better chance at hearing the Teacher. “Do you know him?” one of the newcomers, a lady, asked Eli. “Yes, I mean, no, not really,” Eli said almost coherently. “I mean, I’ve been following the Teacher for a few days now, but I don't know him.” “Could you give him a message?” the lady continued, undeterred by the shaky response from Eli. “Could you tell Jesus that his Mother and brothers are here to speak to him?” Eli shook his head no, even as his mouth said yes. Disappointed in himself and nervous to disrupt the Teacher in the middle of his discourse, Eli slowly made his way inside. Standing this close to the Teacher, hearing his slow, steady speech, caused Eli to pause. The language was clear and precise, but also the language of the streets, of the commoners. And yet his words felt heavy, ripe with purpose and meaning. Simple language, but words that felt like they had been formed millennia ago and were now, finally, being shared. This close to the Teacher, this close to his disciples, made Eli reconsider his mission. To interrupt the Teacher felt blasphemous, akin to desecration. With his mind made up, Eli turned to leave, only to catch the eye of the woman who had commissioned him. “Tell him,” she mouthed. Eli slowly turned around and, before what little remained of his courage could fail him, he blurted out, “Teacher, your mother and brothers are outside; they wish to talk to you!” Eli tried to hide behind the people pressing up against him from all sides, but suddenly, he was alone. Like the Red Sea opening up before Moses, the crowd had parted around Eli, and he stood there with no one between him and the Teacher. The room was utterly quiet, but Eli couldn’t tell for the sound of blood rushing in his head. His stomach hurt, and his legs felt weak. The Teacher was seated on a low stool, and he swiveled his body around to face Eli. Eli gulped and took a step back. The Teacher slowly stood up and locked eyes with Eli. And then one of his eyebrows twitched before lifting into a quizzical look. The questioning eyebrow was followed by a grin spreading across the Teacher’s face, but still he did not speak. “Please, Teacher,” Eli managed through his dry mouth, “your mother and brothers are just outside.” The grin on the Teacher’s face turned into a full smile. Eli’s mind spun. Why was the Teacher only smiling and not moving? Yes, he was significantly younger than the Teacher, but still, he knew when his family asked for him, he was quick to respond. The Teacher finally broke the silence, but kept the smile. “Who is my mother?” Eli nearly gasped, but he was sure his face betrayed the shock he felt. Jesus seemed delighted by the response. “And who are my brothers?” This question seemed directed right at Eli. Eli’s mind spun faster and faster. What was the Teacher saying? Surely this didn’t fulfill the law of Moses and of Yahweh when all of Israel was commanded to “honor your father and honor your mother.” And what about all the other implications? Family was everything. Even when Eli disagreed or had an issue with a member of his family, family was everything. Family was the lifeline in a dangerous and unpredictable world. Family was his source of identity, comfort, shelter, income, community, joy, and refuge. Had the Teacher really just asked who his mother and brothers were, within possible earshot of his mother and brothers? The hush remained as even the disciples appeared to be uncomfortable with the teacher’s question. And then Jesus raised his hand and pointed at one disciple and then another, continuing this as he turned in a circle. “Right here you have my mother.” The crowd craned their necks and stood on tiptoes to see who Jesus was gesturing towards. “And here you have my brothers,” the Teacher continued, turning and pointing. “You see,” the Teacher continued, now pointing at Eli. “Everyone who does the will of my Father is family. Every woman who lives attentive towards God is my mother, and every young girl who is alert to God is my sister, and every man and boy who lives heeding God is my brother. All of us family, all of us looking towards our Father.” While Jesus was still talking to the crowd, his mother and brothers stood outside, wanting to speak to him. Someone told him, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.” He replied to him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” Pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” (Matthew 12:46-50) Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, “Finally,” Jake sighed as he stepped off the ladder and unclipped his tool belt, letting it sag to the ground. With the last piece of trim in place, the house was done. Jake looked around. The house was nice. Very nice. It appeared that no expense had been spared. The best countertops, highest-rated appliances, top-of-the-line fixtures. Brick on the front of the house and on the sides, and on the back. Jake was proud of how the house and property had turned out, and he knew his neighbors in the small lake community were impressed. Walking around the side of the house, he almost bumped into Molly. “It’s done, Honey,” he said while sweeping his hand towards the new home and the fresh landscaping. “It’s better than I even imagined,” Molly said, her eyes suddenly growing moist. Wiping away a tear, she hooked an arm around Jake and gazed at their new place. “Just think of all the memories we will make here,” she murmured. “Kids, maybe even grandkids, will know this house. Birthday parties and holidays and late nights around the fire pit out back. Basketball in the driveway and playing catch in the yard. A glass of wine on the porch at dusk, watching the sun set over the lake.” And then so quiet that Jake almost missed it, Molly whispered, “I love it.” “Me, too,” Jake said, pulling her into a tight hug. A few months later and spring was in full bloom. Molly had planted some daffodils in the flowerbeds, and tulips were blooming in the planters on the porch. Jake and Molly were fully moved in, with not a box to be seen and new art on the walls. Several housewarming parties had taken place, and Molly was constantly burning candles since they had been gifted at least a dozen at those parties. Fresh flowers also dotted the countertops, and the wine cabinet was full. Their friends had been every bit as excited for the new house as they were. One evening in early April, as rain beat against the south-facing windows and the lake was impossible to see through the sheets of rain, Jake, sitting in his favorite recliner and watching his hometown Braves lose to the Cubs in the 9th inning, noticed a small crack in the drywall. Jake had built enough houses to know that drywall oftentimes did crack for various reasons, but this hairline crack was different. Rather than originating from a doorway or window frame, this one ran right down a solid wall. A chill hit Jake as he jumped to his feet to inspect the crack with his thumbnail. A conversation came involuntarily and unwelcome to his mind. “There’s a reason no one had built on this beautiful property before,” the oldtimer had said. “The cost of the piers has scared everyone away.” Jake had wanted the old man to leave at that moment, but since he would be a neighbor before long, Jake also wanted to appear civil. “We’ll work it out.” Jake had replied as a way to end the conversation. And the conversation had ended with the old man getting the hint and shuffling off. But Jake had not worked it out. He had designed the house from the ground up and from the ground down, but he hadn’t gone down very far with the foundation. In fact, he had lied during inspections and had even created fake soil reports to save the expense of sinking deep piers. “After all, sand is rock,” Jake reasoned to himself, “just really small rocks. And rocks make good foundations.” But Jake knew that his cost-cutting measure had caught up to him much faster than he had anticipated as he looked at the crack grow before his eyes and the rain pounded down even harder. “Molly!” Jake yelled up the staircase, a hint of panic in his voice. “Molly, pack some clothes! We have to go!” Thirty minutes later, Jake backed his new heavy-duty work truck down the driveway as he squinted through the rain to see the edges of the concrete. Molly sat next to him, looking deathly pale even with her newly applied spray tan. Lightning flashes revealed a murky picture, but it was all too clear: the rain had eroded large, deep patches of their yard, and the new sod seemed to be crawling away from the house. Before leaving the house, Jake had noticed that the sliver of a crack in the drywall had grown to a quarter of an inch wide and now had a matching crack on the opposite side of the house. “H-h-how could this happen?” Molly stammered, peering towards her home. She shivered even in the warmth of the truck. “The house is new,” she continued, shocked at the impossibility of the nightmare playing out before them. Jake turned the truck around and slowly picked up speed on the winding driveway that partially encircled their home. The next bolt of lightning was accompanied by an instantaneous explosion of thunder, and as both Jake and Molly jumped, a wing of their dream home slumped away from the rest of the house and slowly crumbled like soggy cardboard. Molly screamed, and Jake felt sick at the sight. A quarter mile down the road, he was. “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” - Jesus (Matthew 7:24-27) Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, “It s-sure is d-d-dark,” Amos managed to get out, once again reminded of why he hated to speak. Micah didn’t do anything to help. “It’s night, dummy. It’s supposed to be d-d-dark!” he taunted Amos’s attempt at conversation and his speech impediment. Amos withdrew back into his own thoughts, thoughts that were always articulate and where his speech came quick and sure. The silence grew between the two shepherds as they gazed into the small fire that provided a little warmth and a safety beacon for anyone who wandered a little too far off when they went to relieve themselves or to check on the sheep. Micah studied his fingernails and used a sharp twig to clean the dirt out from under them. “H-h-h-hoping to impress a w-w-w-women?” Amos said and immediately regretted it. “Naw,” Micah said sadly, his voice betraying that maybe he had been thinking about being in town instead of stuck out in the wilderness for another week or two. A stirring just outside the ring of fire light caused both boys to start and look in the direction of the noise. Two white eyes appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Micah let out a small screech before the eyes appeared again, only this time the face was visible too. “Simeon,” Micah muttered, half in relief and half in annoyance. “What are you doing awake already?” “Can’t sleep,” Simeon stated while rubbing his eyes and stretching. “It’s so dark,” he added, looking at the cloud-covered skies. Amos threw a smug look towards Micah before slowly getting to his feet and making his way a few feet away to pee. And that’s when the angel appeared. Amos screamed. Light was everywhere. Micah appeared paralyzed, his body and mind unable to decide on fighting or fleeing, and so he did neither and froze. Simeon had no such issue and could be heard crashing through the scrub brush. Amos closed his eyes, but the light was there too. “Don’t be afraid,” the angel said with a hearty laugh and an enormous smile. “My news is good!” Micah began to move and slowly edged away from the angel, not looking the messenger in the eye. The light was so strange, as if it was emanating from the ground and sky and the grass and rocks. “My news is for you and everyone!” the angel continued unfazed. “Just today, a rescuer, The Savior, has been born in David’s town. This baby is the Anointed One, the One who all of Israel has been waiting for! David’s throne will once again be occupied, only this time by the Eternal King!” The angel had an uncanny ability to smile widely while speaking loudly. He also didn’t blink, Amos thought to himself, and quickly realized that none of this made any sense. Like, how the light was so bright, and yet there were no shadows because it seemed to be coming from every direction. “Go find this baby,” the angel encouraged, “and you’ll know it's him because he’s wrapped in cloths and sleeping in an animal trough.” “What?” Why?” Simeon had crept back and had caught the final instructions. “Why, what?” Amos wanted to counter his friend, but his mind was still too taken with the light. He was pretty sure he could feel the light over his entire body. Before he could wonder at the light anymore, the entire hillside erupted in angels, angels singing with a deafening exuberance. “GLORY TO GOD IN THE EXPANSE OF THE HEAVENS!” the hillsides echoed. “PEACE ON EVERYONE WHO HAS PLACED THEMSELVES BEFORE GOD!” A cricket chirped. Amos rocked back on his heels as if he had been leaning into a gust of wind. The angels were gone as suddenly as they had appeared. Micah made a choking sound, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Simeon dabbed at a trickle of blood running down his leg, the scratches from his mad rush starting to sting. “W-we should g-g-g-go,” Amos finally said, a grin growing on his face. Simeon nodded, eyes growing wide. “Heaven just invited us to meet the Messiah. Heaven. Us!” Simeon was usually more articulate than this, but his companions understood. “Bethlehem!” Micah blurted and took off running, his body finally able to function, and the adrenaline hitting hard. Amos laughed and took off in pursuit, Simeon right on his heels. They slowed as they entered the town, eyes peering down every street and alley. Ahead, a man, a stranger, leaned against the wall of a house, breathing deeply. “Friend,” Simeon began at a decibel much too loud, “we are looking for a baby!” Amos expected the stranger to recoil at the news that these filthy boys were running around looking for a baby, but instead, he nodded and smiled. “The baby is right inside.” Joseph said, “Follow me.” * * * * * Amos, Micah, and Simeon eventually made it back to their sheep, but not before telling everyone they knew in town (and quite a few they did not know) about the angels and the baby. As the years passed, Amos kept his ears open for news of the baby. Decades passed with nothing until one day he heard about a rabbi in the north, a rabbi who taught as no one had ever taught before. And the rumor was that this rabbi healed people’s bodies and minds. “That’s him,” Amos mused with certainty. And as he often did, he wondered again why God had chosen him and his friends to share the good news with. And once again, Amos could make no sense of it. No sense, other than to conclude that God had been very good to him. Very good indeed. Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, The marriage had been in the works for some time when the news came out; Mary was pregnant. Not everyone knew, but a lot of people knew. More importantly, Joseph, the husband to be, knew. Joseph’s world was turned upside down. How could this happen to him? How could Mary do this to him? Joseph was embarrassed and felt like a fool. And yet. And yet, Joseph did not hate Mary, nor did he wish to see her punished further. This pregnancy outside of marriage would be plenty for her to deal with. It was almost guaranteed that Mary would never marry now, and she would live with her parents until their death. And then what? Mary’s future was not promising. So Joseph decided not to humiliate Mary further. The proceedings to nullify the engagement would be private. Joseph would move on with his life. So would Mary, with her baby. That was the plan anyways. The plan until last night. You see, last night, an angel invaded Joseph’s sleep with a message. “Joseph, don’t let Mary’s pregnancy derail your marriage to her. Mary has not been unfaithful to you, but rather she has been faithful to God; the baby is God’s! And when the baby is born, you are to give him this name: the Lord Saves! Yes, his name will be Jesus, because this child will save his people.” When Joseph woke up, he tried to dismiss the dream, but he could not. It was a dream, but the dream was real. The dream was as real or more real than the world around Joseph, and so he could not ignore it. Running through Joseph’s mind as his eyes opened that next morning were the words of the revered prophet Isaiah, “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call the child God with Us.” Time seemed to collapse as Joseph considered the words. Those words, memorized by countless Israelites, words of hope and redemption, were happening right here, right now. Joseph didn’t know how he felt about that. But he knew he had to find Mary. And so life went for the next little while. Joseph and Mary kept to themselves to avoid the stares and comments that seemed to follow them anytime they were in public. And they planned to keep this up until their marriage and until the baby was born, but then the ruler of Rome ordered a census. The census required Joseph, a descendant of David, to go to the City of David to be accounted for. And so Joseph and a very pregnant Mary travelled the 90 miles south from Nazareth to Bethlehem to make the ruler of Rome happy. Arriving in Bethlehem, the young couple knew the baby would be coming soon. Because of the influx of travellers, Joseph’s relatives had already given away the guest space to other sojourners, leaving Mary and Joseph the common area of the home, a space also occupied by the homeowners' few animals. And so the baby was born there. The other women in the house cleaned the baby, and Mary wrapped her newborn in strips of cloth, and after feeding him, she placed him in the animals' feed trough. It would have to do. Joseph watched the scene unfold and tried to rectify the angel's words with what was unfolding before his eyes. The messenger had said this child was of Almighty God, and here they were, making do in a space reserved for animals. The words of Isaiah came to Joseph again, words of prophecy about the coming Anointed One. “To us a child is born… a son is given… the government will be on his shoulders.” Joseph looked down on the sleeping newborn. “He’ll be called the most Wonderful Counsellor,” Isaiah continued from long ago, “the Mighty God, the Eternal Father, Prince of Shalom.” The baby yawned and then cried. Joseph looked to Mary before scooping Wonderful Counsellor- Mighty God- Eternal Father- Prince of Shalom into his calloused hands and tenderly placing the boy into Mary’s arms. He kissed Mary and the baby on the forehead and stepped out of the courtyard and into the street. He needed air. None of this made sense. To be continued. Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, The people defined by their relationship with God had not heard from him in quite a while. But they had not forgotten about God, even if it seemed God had forgotten about them. “How long, Lord? How long will you fail to rescue us?” they prayed through tears. The reason they needed rescue was clear. The once proud nation of Israel had been reduced to a vassal state. The Children of God now appeared to be the children of Rome and whoever Rome appointed to rule over them. The local king was Herod. He was not a good man. The local king’s king was Caesar Augustus, whom some thought was divine. He might have thought so, too. At the time of Herod and Augustus, there also lived a man named Zechariah who was married to Elizabeth. Both were old. Zechariah had deep crows' feet around his eyes when we smiled, and Elizabeth had hot flashes at the most inopportune times. They also had no kids, and less we think that was because they were not worthy in some way, that was not the case. Zechariah and Elizabeth loved God, each other, and others. But the people talked and assumed that God had deemed this couple undeserving of children. One day, Zechariah, who was a priest because his daddy was a priest and his daddy’s daddy was a priest and, well, you get the point, Zechariah was serving in the temple. And on that day that Zechariah was serving in the temple, he was chosen to go deeper into the temple, into the part reserved only for God and a carefully prepared priest. The funny thing about it was that in this most sacred place reserved for God, no one expected to encounter God. But Zechariah did. Or rather, he encountered a messenger of God, an angel. Zechariah was doing his duty, burning incense all by himself, when he saw the angel. “Don’t be afraid,” the angel said to Zechariah, but it was too late; Zechariah was afraid. Very afraid. But the angel didn’t spend much time soothing Zechariah. He had news. “Your prayers have been heard,” the angel said with obvious delight. “Elizabeth will birth a son, and you will call him John! Zechariah, listen carefully; your son will be like the renowned prophet Elijah and lead the hearts of parents towards their children and the hearts of the foolish towards right living, and he will make the people ready to meet the Lord!” “I haven’t prayed for a baby in a long, long time,” Zechariah thought. Out loud, he said, “I am old, and my wife is old, and this doesn't seem possible.” “I am Gabriel,” the angel replied, “and I stand in the presence of God. I have been sent to deliver this good news, and this good news will happen. You will mark my words by having none of your own until the baby is born.” Zechariah left the temple, unable to speak, and Elizabeth, the woman who could not conceive, conceived. And what did Elizabeth think about all this? “The Lord has placed his goodness on me, and I’ve been given a new lease on life,” she mused as morning sickness came and her body began to change. Six months later, God was at it again. Gabriel, the messenger of good news to the old and barren, has been given a new message, this time to a young girl. The young girl was named Mary, and she lived up north, in a small village, well out of the way of anything big or exciting. And her life appeared to be set for her; Mary was engaged to a decent man named Joseph. Joseph was ordering his life, work, and housing to welcome his bride into his life. And Mary was waiting for the day when the good news would arrive. “Your husband has come for you! The wedding is today! Come, celebrate your new life!” Only, while Mary was waiting for Joseph and the wedding party to arrive, Gabriel, the messenger of God, showed up instead. “Mary! God’s blessing is all over you!” The exuberant greeting alarmed Mary. Gabriel noticed. “Don’t be afraid, Mary,” he said, “God is delighted with you!” If the angel had stopped here, Mary might have calmed down. But Gabriel was only getting started. “You will conceive a son, and his Father has already named him! Jesus! He will be powerful and called the Son of the Most High, and he will rule forever over all of Israel from David’s throne! His kingdom will never end!” “A baby, you say?” Mary managed to get out. “Where’s the baby coming from?” “God’s going to do it,” Gabriel said with conviction. “The Holy Spirit will visit you, and you’ll be enveloped in the power of Almighty God. And that may not make sense, Mary, but know that your cousin Elizabeth, the old one who couldn't have kids, is pregnant and has been for six months. What God says happens.” Heart still racing, Mary replied, “Let it happen. I am the Lord’s servant.” Once the angel had left, Mary also left to visit her cousin. “Shalom, cousin,” Mary said as soon as she saw Elizabeth. “Are you well?” “Am I well?” Elizabeth grinned, then almost shouted, “Look at you! The lavishness of God is overflowing from you! And it's on me too! My baby is jumping for joy inside of me because of the God-child in you!” “I’m pregnant,” Mary said, realising too late that Elizabeth obviously already knew. “What God says happens,” Elizabeth said through tears of joy, alternating between hugging Mary and holding her at arm's length to look at her. And suddenly, the reality of it all hit Mary. She was pregnant. By God. Her child would be the Son of God. The God who created the cosmos had seen her and chosen her. “Oh wow,” Mary said. “Everything in me loves the Lord, and everything in me is full to bursting with joy in God my Rescuer! He has seen me and loved me, and even though my neighbors may look down on me, history will see this for what it is: extravagant generosity from God himself!” Mary stayed with her cousin for three months before returning home. And Elizabeth had her baby just as God had said, and it was a boy, just as God had said. Eight days later, Zechariah, still unable to speak, and Elizabeth, and many of their relatives and neighbors, took their baby to the temple to fulfil the requirements of the law. Part of the proceedings was to name the child, and all those watching made their opinion known; “He will be called Zechariah,” they mused and loved the idea that referring to Zechariah could mean a stooped old man or a newborn baby. “His name is John,” Elizabeth declared to quiet the people. “But why?” those gathered challenged, “That’s not a family name.” And to further their case, they asked the mute father what to name the child. “His name,” Zechariah began to write. “His name,” those nearest read out loud for those who could not see, “Is,” they echoed as Zechariah wrote, “John.” And as soon as Zechariah wrote “John,” he was able to speak and speak he did! “God has not forgotten us!” was the essence of Zechariah’s many words. And all the neighbors and relatives and those living in the area began to wonder at what was happening and just what was in store. God was up to something. Something big. To be continued. Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, The sun was low in the sky as they made their way towards home. The heat from the daytime sun had been absorbed by the rocks and dirt that surrounded them and was now radiating outwards, but the air had a noticeably cool feel, and the breeze was almost chilly. Jonas pulled his cloak a little tighter as he searched for where to begin. “So,” he finally said, “that was interesting.” Miriam glanced his way before turning back to the path they were following through the Judean countryside. “Yes,” she finally said, “that was interesting. And confusing,” she added with emphasis. “Confusing?” Jonas queried. “What was confusing for you? I found it all to be clear. Too clear.” “Well, for starters,” Miriam said slowly as she gazed into the distance, trying to remember what it was that had so startled her about the Teacher’s words. “For starters,” she began again, “when he said that stuff about the good life. I think it was ‘How good is life for the peacemakers, because they will be called children of God.’ That one really startled me. Because, well, we are Abraham’s descendants. We are the children of Israel, the firstborn of God! So why did the Teacher say that it's the peacemakers who are called children of God?” Both Mariam and Jonas walked in silence, considering the implications of what they had just heard. Words about who lived the good or blessed life, words about what it meant to live the Law not just externally but internally as well, words about loving one’s enemies, and that was just the Teacher getting warmed up! The two continued deep in thought, the words they had heard now running through their imaginations. Words that turned their world upside down. Words that made them question reality, and the reality of their faith and God. If the good life, the life that God was inherently attuned to in his humanity, really did revolve around such things as being poor in spirit, unimportant, hungering and thirsting for right living, right relationships, then where did that leave them? Jonas, a potter by trade, overlaid the Teacher’s words onto his life. Daily, while his hands made beautiful bowls and dishes, his thoughts ran wild with plans to sabotage and undermine the cursed Roman occupiers. And now the Teacher had said an attribute of God’s children was that they would be peacemakers? That did not make sense to Jonas. Wasn’t God dedicated to loving and protecting his people at the expense of all others? Or was God up to something else, something bigger? Jonas hated this line of thought, and yet he could not shake the certainty by which the Teacher had delivered his words. Jonas let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Mariam, “If what the Teacher said is true, then this changes everything,” he said with despair. “My purpose in life is to make those who have hurt us pay dearly for the pain and violence they have shown us. And the Teacher says I am to love my enemies? Pray for those who persecute me?!” Jonas was getting worked up as he spoke, and now his voice trembled. “And the Teacher said that if we live that way, his way, then we will be true children of God?” Jonas kicked a small stone, and it skittered down the path. Miriam glanced his way again, only now to see his shoulders slumped and a tear running down the dust on his cheek. “What is the Teacher getting at?” Jonas asked. “Is he saying that God doesn't really love us all that much after all?” The question hung in the cool night air for several minutes before Mariam replied. “I don’t think the Teacher was saying that we are no longer God’s beloved, but that God has infinitely more love and compassion than we ever expected from him. I think the Teacher was saying that we have always viewed God through our needs and desires, and we had sold him short. I think the Teacher was inviting us to see God as up to much more than blessing or rescuing a few people. I think the teacher was helping us see that God loves people, all people, even the rotten ones.” Then, after a moment, Mariam added in a whisper, “I think the Teacher was inviting us to partner with God in rescuing and blessing all of humanity.” Mariam couldn't tell if her words were helping or hurting Jonas, and so she lapsed into silence, only to have more words from the Teacher run through her mind. “Your Father in heaven causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and he sends his rain on those who live right and those who do not,” the Teacher had said. These words exposed a discomforting lack of favoritism from God that Mariam struggled to understand. Mariam let the words and the implications of the words swirl through her mind. If the Teacher was right, her whole thought process, her whole value system would have to change. “Let’s just wait and see what happens,” Jonas suddenly blurted out. “What’s that?” Mariam asked. “Let’s just wait and see what happens,” Jonas repeated. “Either this Teacher will be exposed as a fraud and we can ignore his words, or he will do something that proves he knew what he was talking about.” Mariam considered this, and a part of her wished that the Teacher would be exposed as a charlatan and a con man. But another part of her knew this was not the case. He had spoken with an authority that she could not deny. As much as she dreaded the change that his words required of her, she also sensed something beyond the discomfort and realignment that would be the result of trusting his way. “Was it hope?” she wondered to herself. Yes, but more. “Freedom?” Yes again, but still more. “Life?” Ah, yes, that was it, Mariam thought. Life. The Teacher’s words had felt like coming up out of water and blowing out the old, depleted air and breathing in new, vibrant, life-giving air. Mariam understood why Jonas would want to wait and see what came of the Teacher, but as for her, the Teacher’s radical, challenging, frustrating words had sparked life in her. Life that she wanted, no matter the cost. Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, The day was warm and only getting warmer. But near the water, near the cool breeze blowing off the water, it was almost pleasant. And that was where Jesus was. He had just crossed the lake with his followers, and the whole group was abuzz with what had happened across the water. The man possessed by something truly terrible was now calm, rational, and sharing the story of Jesus in that region (and with clothes on, no less!) But Jesus was back amongst his people, near his home, and with that came a decidedly different feeling. A decidedly different feeling, especially from among the religious leaders. Peter scanned the crowd that was beginning to form. His fingers were tired from pulling an oar, and it felt good to dip his hands into the cool lake water. “Common folk only, so far,” he observed out loud, as he cupped his hands to wash his face, still kneeling on the rocky shore. “What was that?” John asked. “Nothing,” Peter replied, not altogether ready to be in a conversation, and unnerved by John’s uncanny hearing. But John had picked up enough of Peter’s sentiment to also scan the crowd and come to the same conclusion. Peaceful people, hopeful people. Those who would trap Jesus (whether figuratively or literally) were nowhere to be seen. Yet. John produced two small barley loaves from somewhere in the folds of his cloak and offered one to Peter. Peter gladly accepted the food and rocked back from his heels to recline with one elbow propping him up, taking a large bite. “Thank you,” Peter managed around the mouthful. “You’re welcome,” John laughed, “but were you raised by Romans? Half of your bite fell out of your mouth as you said that!” Peter waved John’s comment off at the same moment that Jairus purposefully stepped out of the crowd and moved quickly towards Jesus. “Uh-oh,” Peter and John said in unison, springing to their feet. “What does this synagogue leader want with us?” John wondered aloud as they moved towards Jesus and a now-running Jairus. Peter, John, and Jairus all converged on Jesus at the same time, and Jesus’ eyes grew wide at the sudden appearance of all three men. Even in the hubbub, Peter noted that Jesus was also eating one of John’s barley loaves, and Peter made a mental note to ask John for another as soon as this was all cleared up. “What is it?” Jesus asked, cutting Peter’s thoughts about food short. Peter was about to reply that he didn’t know what the Sheol was going on, but a loud sob erupted out of Jairus, stopping Peter cold. The sound seemed to have taken all the strength out of Jairus’s legs, for with the cry, he crumpled at Jesus’ feet and managed to choke out, “It’s my little girl. She is…” But another body-tormenting sob had robbed Jairus of his speech. At this, Peter and John both visibly relaxed. This was not a confrontation of the religious establishment against Jesus. This was a grieving man, simply grieving. But while the two disciples had both taken a step back in relief, Jesus had dropped his bread (Peter noted) and knelt next to the heartbroken man. “What about your daughter?” Jesus asked. “What is the matter?” “She’s dying.” Jairus managed before a new wave of tears overcame him. “She is dying,” he tried again, “please come and put your hands on her.” “Yes, yes, of course,” Jesus replied while helping Jairus to his feet. “Take me to your little daughter.” We know how the story goes, or at least most of how the story goes. While we are left to forever wonder if Peter managed to get another loaf of bread from John (author's note: never write while hungry), we do know with certainty that Jesus and Jairus were met by Jairus’s household servants and told that the girl was now dead. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” they asked Jairus. What a profound question. Profound, because it reaches into each of us at our most vulnerable place. “Why bother the teacher?” Underlying the question of “Why bother the teacher?” is an assumption that we are a bother. Underlying the assumption is that Jesus has better things, more important things to be doing than helping us, healing us, restoring us. And of course he does. We who are immersed in time management books and TED Talks on prioritization and podcasts galore on efficiency, we of all people know that the Creator has better things to do than attend to the death and illness in me. “Why bother the teacher?” we rationalize. We can take it from here. We may not know how to pick up the pieces of our lives, but we’ve been faking it for this long, so why not a little longer? “Why bother the teacher?” and because that is what we feel we are supposed to say, we say it, while our insides scream at us, “YOUR DAUGHTER IS DEAD! YOU NEED THE TEACHER MORE NOW THAN EVER!” But we don’t act on that; rather, we say the polite thing and give Jesus an easy exit. “Sorry, Jesus, sorry for bothering you. Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll go now.” So we stop bothering the teacher. We dismiss Jesus. Only to find that Jesus has no interest in leaving to do more important things. And that is how the story ends. We pick the story of Jairus (and the story of us) up in Mark’s account of Jesus, chapter 5, verse 35: Some people came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue leader. “Your daughter is dead,” they said. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” Ignoring what they said, Jesus told him, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” He did not let anyone follow him except Peter, James and John the brother of James. When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. He went in and said to them, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him. After he put them all out, he took the child’s father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”). Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around (she was twelve years old). At this they were completely astonished. He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to give her something to eat. Each of us must wrestle with the question of whether we are a bother to God or not. And all too often, we (or at least, I) conclude that we are a bother. We are just so… needy. So helpless. So utterly incapable of rescuing ourselves. This weakness and vulnerability seems like a massive flaw, like an embarrassing defect that we must hide at all costs if God is to take us seriously. And yet, the story of scripture, the story of God and us, is that God delights in rescuing us. Please, please, please do not miss this! God. Delights. In. Rescuing. You. And that is so very good news, but our logical minds are still in effect. Minds telling us that God must surely tire of rescuing us over and over, again and again. But that is a lie. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” Because he delights in you. You are not a bother. Grace and peace be upon you, Grant

Dear Trailhead family, The party was lively. People milled around, laughter rippled across the lawn, and the band played a familiar tune. One couple began to dance, and a few more joined in, grinning at the silliness of it all. The song ended and the impromptu dancers bowed as those around them applauded. The lights strung up overhead twinkled in the dusk, and the guests flowed between the drink table and the tables laden with food before finding a seat next to friends or strangers to enjoy the meal. The food was simple but delicious, the kind of food you know without knowing that this was someone’s grandmother's recipe. The band stuck with well-known songs that people hummed along with, and occasionally, during a popular chorus, tables of people would erupt in singing. The crowd's participation made the musicians smile, and they appeared to be performing just for the joy of sparking joy. A glance around reveals that these are not people of means, and this is not the upper crust of society. Clothing is clean but not fancy, the language is plain, missing any illusions of haughty-ness or self-importance. But it would be wrong to call this group shabby, as nearly every person is wearing the most opulent of accessories- a smile. The dinner party is a weekly affair, a ritual of sorts. Laughter is the liturgy, plates filled with food, the eucharist. Everyone is invited and so many people have shown up on this particular evening that people are taking turns sitting to eat their meal. But this only adds to the jovial nature of the night, and the host doesn’t seem embarrassed, but rather pleased, that so many had responded to his invitation. The night was reaching its zenith when the host began to tap a knife against his glass. The hush spread in a slow ripple until even the kids paused their chatter. In the silence, the host cleared his throat and said in a loud voice, “I am so glad that you joined me tonight.” The crowd responded with a whoop, and one bold fellow in the back yelled, “Only a fool would turn down an invitation to such a party!” The host smiled at this but turned serious. “That has happened more than you know. When I first had the idea of this party, I invited all my closest friends.” The host paused, seemingly surprised that this little admission had caused him to choke up. He took a sip of his drink, swallowed hard, and continued. “I invited friends I had known for years, people who I had gone to school with and worked alongside, and to my great surprise, not one of them came to my party.” “Their loss,” a lady standing close by murmured. “Indeed,” the host agreed, overhearing. “And when I realized that all those I first invited were making excuses not to join me, I couldn’t bear to let the food and preparations go to waste, so I opened up the invitation to you, to everyone.” “Thank you!” a child hollered, and the host smiled, joy returning to his face. Another guest, emboldened by the child, said “thank you,” and soon the sound of thank you was echoing across the lawn. The host looked around at his guests, and those closest to him could detect tears in his eyes. “It is good, he said, his voice wavering with emotion. “It is good for my house to be full.” “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests.” Jesus began. “At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’” “But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’” “Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’” “Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’” “The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’” “Sir,” the servant said, “what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.” “Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’” Grace and peace be upon you, Grant