Timbrel Archives:
Reading the Bible with new eyes

Sample articles 
Fashions change, Christ remains
Comforting darkness and Easter light: following Mary into the tomb
Add Joanna of the royal court to that list of women who followed Jesus
Healing amidst fears of SARS: a retelling of Luke 4:38-40
Seeking God's direction in times of uncertainty

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Fashions change, Christ remains
By Laurie Yoder
Timbrel, May-June 2006

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Comforting darkness and Easter light:
following Mary into the tomb
By Jane Roeschley
Timbrel, March-April 2005

It was a week or so past Easter last spring. I settled at my desk and opened the Bible to the daily reading: the story of Mary at the tomb (John 20:10-18). This is a familiar story. Yet something different happened to me that morning as I read. I suddenly found myself completely caught up in the story. Something about Mary’s feelings when she arrived at the tomb—and found that things were not what she had expected—touched an ache within me, too. That touch turned out to be a pivotal healing experience for me in preparation for my upcoming ordination.

In that gospel story, as I pictured it, Mary was rushing into the garden in the very early morning because she was on an important mission. Perhaps she had spices with her. Perhaps she was planning to tend Jesus’ body. As I saw it she was intent on doing something for him. 

But Mary found that the stone had been rolled away and Jesus’ body was gone. How upsetting! The passage says, “Mary stood outside the tomb crying.” I could see her standing there, utterly grief-stricken. She stood there not only mourning her special friend’s death, but was now trying to adjust to the shock of this second loss as well. 

I was finding out about that kind of deep heartache in a few experiences I was having in preparation for my ordination. What one would expect would be a joyous and heartening experience was both of those things, but it was proving to be painful, too. There were some natural self-doubts and questions that would eventually dissipate as God’s love found its way deep within. But to my surprise, a small handful of longtime friends had found they had objections to this ordination, and they let me know it. 

This was something I simply hadn’t been prepared for —that there would be friends for whom the affirmation of my call and commitment to pastoral ministry could be so wrong. That these objections came from people I loved made the hurt that I let myself experience feel all the worse. It was very confusing for me. It stirred up doubts. I found myself asking, “Am I really qualified for this ordination?” Something in Mary’s tears as she stood there at the tomb was also what I found within me.  

The passage continues, “As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb.” In my imagination I found myself following Mary’s lead. Only instead of just bending over and looking in the tomb, I went on in! I stooped down and crawled in. I sat down inside the tomb, along an inner wall, noticing that it was musty, damp, and dark in there. It felt like a perfect place to be with the feelings I had right then. Inside, enclosed, firm stone all around, a cooling moistness, not very bright. I found I needed to be there. I needed to just be with my sadness in that tomb.

Sometime later, I became aware of God. I also became aware of my collection of painful hurts. I sensed God invite me to “lay them in the tomb.” I was being invited to consider putting those hurts down on that stone where Jesus’ body had lain, and to leave them there.

At first I was reluctant. I wasn’t sure that “laying them in the tomb” was the healthy way to deal with hurts. Wouldn’t that be like just burying them and not dealing with them? Wasn’t it a form of denial or avoidance? Wasn’t it important to engage in further conversations? Wasn’t it wise to try to hear and be heard? Wasn’t it so very tempting to want to try to win over my critics?

But then I noticed some other things about being there in the tomb. I noticed that there was daylight streaming in —lovely, bright, awesome daylight. The tomb wasn’t entirely light, but it wasn’t totally dark, either. The stone was rolled away and the day was streaming in. Anything left in the tomb would not be pushed into a darkness of denial or avoidance. Here there was Easter Light coming in. 

I also noticed that on the stone ledge where Jesus’ body had lain were two heavenly beings on duty: “and [she] saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been.” Wow! Anything I left there in that tomb was going to have ambassadors from Heaven watching over it! This was an incredible new awareness for me. It gave me a sense of release. Knowing that God was providing heavenly beings to watch over whatever I might leave in the tomb gave me a sense of deep reassurance. Whatever I left behind was going to have the best kind of care given to it. 

I decided I could lay my collection of hurts in the tomb. I decided that my preparation for ordination would proceed. I would leave my hurts there—in the Light with those heavenly beings on guard. I would go on. 

At this point I want to be clear. Christian women have long been trained to be nice, give in, not make a fuss, ignore their own truth, and generally steer away from conflict. We may be encouraged to believe that “letting go” of a hurt or injustice is always the most faithful choice.

I believe God wants more for women than that we become experts at swallowing our pain and anger. We are just too precious to God for that. Premature forgiveness benefits no one. For the sake of our own well-being but also for the health of our communities, women are called to honor our wisdom, to speak the truth as we understand it, to seek justice, to engage in debate and discernment. 

Returning to that moment in the tomb, I don’t believe there was one “right” response to the invitation I heard to leave my hurts. I sensed that if I chose to exit the tomb intent on engaging my critics, God would be with me. That was a viable choice.

But what I experienced as a gentle invitation—not a command—to do otherwise came as an enormous relief.   I was ready to let go. It was a way to go forward and reclaim some of the joy I had hoped would be part of this ordination process.

In Mary’s story, as she turns to leave the tomb, she encounters Jesus. When Jesus speaks Mary’s name, he also tells her, “Go . . . to my brothers and tell them. . . .” Jesus sends Mary on a mission! Jesus empowers Mary to speak! Jesus chose a woman as the first Easter evangelist!

I chose to conclude my imaginative reflection on Mary’s story the same way. In the spirit of Mary, I chose to proceed toward my ordination looking for similar things from Jesus: that I would hear my name, that I am chosen for ministry, that I would be empowered to speak and am sent forth as part of God’s mission to love the world. 

I could imagine that because I was leaving behind old hurts. Those hurts would no longer be stumbling blocks. They were in the tomb. They were where God’s Light was shining and angels were keeping watch. I was moving on—on toward the living Jesus!

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

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Add Joanna of the royal court to
that list of women who followed Jesus
By Ferne Burkhardt
Timbrel, July-August 1999

Joanna is not a name that springs quickly from our memory’s short list of significant biblical women. She’s mentioned only twice, by Luke. Who was she?

Luke identifies Joanna as one of the women who went to Jesus’ tomb on the resurrection morning and encountered “two men in dazzling clothes” (24:4), who told them that Jesus had been brought back to life.

The other story, in chapter 8, tells of women who had been healed of evil spirits and diseases accompanying Jesus and the disciples as they traveled and told about the kingdom of God. Among them is named Joanna, whose husband, Chuza, was an officer in Herod’s court.

According to Jörg Zink (Sag mir wohin, Stuttgart, 1977), one day Joanna saw Jesus, listened to him, left her husband, her home at court, and her slaves, and went with Jesus. With the motley throng of followers, wandering through the countryside, the villages, and ports, she spent the night with the foxes and  ravens. But for the first time, she was not just someone’s daughter or wife; she was a woman, an authentic person.

Imagine! A woman from court society, the wife of a senior royal official (probably the minister of finance), following Jesus! The throng suddenly takes on an air of splendor. Imagine the tabloids of the day: “Socialite abandons royal court for migratory life with revolutionary sect.”

Of course, life at court also had its risks. Herod, after all, was the king who ordered the killing of the children of Bethlehem; his son, who inherited part of his kingdom, had John the Baptist beheaded. Was Joanna present at the party at the court of Tiberius when Salome danced?

For a woman of that society to leave her husband was scandalous. Some theologians, concerned with the integrity of the family, assume that Chuza was dead and portray Joanna as a widow who poured her energy into service of the church, the model Christian woman of all times.

Whether widow or wife, she had lived “in an atmosphere of lust, caprice, wealth and whim, indifference and open curiosity,” writes Elisabeth Moltmann-Wendel in The Women Around Jesus (SCM Press Ltd., 1982). “Joanna’s encounter with Jesus and her healing introduced her for the first time to something else: an independent life . . . with a purpose; a community of men and women from different levels of society . . . a new life of her own.”

Moltmann-Wendel suggests that Joanna brought with her wealth and respectability. Joanna has been credited with providing Jesus’ valuable garment, woven in one piece, for which the soldiers gambled (did we really think the soldiers would quarrel over a tattered tunic?). She may have provided the spices for embalming Jesus’ body, a luxury not likely to be found in the cupboards of fishermen’s wives.

In his book Les mémoires de Jesus (Paris, 1978), the French priest Jean Claude Barreau makes Joanna the leading light among the group of women, the representative of emancipation. For Barreau, Joanna is a well-to-do, independent woman who gives Judas money each month for the treasury. She has good connections as well as her own views, and she is not afraid to join in the discussions with the Pharisees. According to Barreau, she is the leader of the women as Peter is the leader of the group of men.

For Luke, Joanna is not just one who provides money and influence. She is present at the crucifixion and at the empty tomb, the most significant events of the Christian faith. Joanna shows solidarity with Jesus. She embodies total sympathy which risks everything.

The Joanna of the king’s court is far from our experience, but can we identify with the Joanna who knew she was a person in her own right, a woman who risked everything to stand in solidarity with Jesus and with a diverse community of women and men? Can we also be representatives of emancipation, of freedom from those threadbare traditions, attitudes, and habits that hobble us as women?

Do we Mennonite women have the courage of Joanna to share the gifts God has given to us, to pursue new ideas, and to build new relationships with people from backgrounds different from our own as a new denomination with new structures and visions emerges?

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

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Healing amidst fears of SARS:
a retelling of Luke 4:38-40
By Kelly Muhonen
Timbrel, July-August 2003

In 2003 Timbrel featured a series of articles retelling Bible stories in our present day world. This “Jesus in Our Midst” story is based on Luke 4:38-40, the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law.

A great teacher had come to the Chinese village of Heze at what seemed like an inopportune time. The villagers had heard about him, of course. It was said that he was not only a great teacher but could heal people as well. The villagers wanted to hear him speak, but all were afraid of the crowds and of the disease that might be hiding in the crowds.

Illness had raced across the country but the rumors about it spread even faster. No one knew what to believe, but they were certainly all afraid. Restaurants, theaters, transportation —everything had shut down. Everyone was wearing masks, afraid to go out, afraid to breathe, afraid to get too close.

Lao Gu’s son-in-law, Xi Men, was a village leader. He was going to bring the teacher home for dinner, so Lao Gu and her daughter Wei Mei spent the morning at the market, bargaining for the best prices and searching for the freshest meats and vegetables. Everyone knew the teacher was to be her guest, and while they envied her, many warned her of the danger. After all, he had been traveling in the southern part of China, where the disease was most prevalent. Who knew if he was safe to be around? Lao Gu waved them off, but in her heart she worried. 

Lao Gu and Wei Mei rode home from the market with their bicycle baskets stuffed with food. For such an honored guest, they would cook all day. They filled the kitchen stove with wood and soon the courtyard was filled with the scent of garlic, ginger, and hot chiles.

But then the fever struck. Lao Gu’s head began to ache. It was difficult to breathe, and her body hurt terribly. Wei Mei saw the sweat on her forehead and the paleness around her eyes, and led her to the little bedroom. “Ma, Ma, don’t you worry, I can do the cooking; you must rest.” All afternoon Lao Gu lay in bed, fearful of her illness, afraid that her daughter’s cooking wouldn’t be good enough, worried what the cost of her illness would be. They had no money for a doctor. No one in the village did. 

The rest of the household went to hear the teacher speak, returning with him late in the afternoon. Xi Men scampered to fetch a cup of tea, all the while apologizing for the humbleness of their home. “You must be so tired, Teacher,” Xi Men said. “Please sit and rest before dinner.” To their surprise, however, he courteously declined the tea and chair and came directly to Lao Gu’s room.

He was not so tall, not so handsome a man, but as the teacher entered the room, Lao Gu saw a tenderness in his eyes she had never seen before. Wei Mei came behind him. Bowing her head slightly, she said, “Teacher, this is my mother, Gu Chao. She is very ill. If it pleases you, will you heal her?”

He said nothing at first but simply looked at Lao Gu with such overpowering kindness that she could barely return his glance. She knew that he really saw her, not the scarcity, the lack, or the meagerness of their home. He saw her and he saw her with an abundance of love.

But when he spoke, she was surprised at the fierceness of his tone. In fact, it was not to her he spoke. He spoke to her sickness, commanded it to go—and she felt it leave! A great heaviness lifted, the ache disappeared, and her mind was clear and full of peace. She felt nearly giddy with gratitude. Not only had the teacher healed her body; he had freed her from the fears that had burdened her for so long. She got up, took both his hands in hers, and shook them: “Thank you, thank you, Great Teacher.” 

Lao Gu was so overwhelmed with joy that she didn’t know what to do. She led the teacher to the most comfortable chair, poured a fresh cup of tea, carefully peeled a ripe pear for him, and pulled Wei Mei into the kitchen. In no time at all they had crammed the table full of steaming dishes, with the choicest fish set before the teacher.

Barely had their chopsticks touched the food before the villagers filled the courtyard, bringing the sick and the hurting. Lao Gu tried to shoo them away so the teacher could finish his meal, but then she saw on his face that look of compassion he had for each one of them.

Lao Gu bustled around the courtyard offering hot water and sunflower seeds to her neighbors, telling everyone the story of what the teacher had done for her. And he did it again and again; no matter what hurt the villagers carried, he healed it that evening in Heze.

For the first time in weeks, the villagers gathered together without fear, and left Lao Gu’s home rejoicing. 

Kelly Muhonen worked with China Educational Exchange from 1999-2002, teaching English to college students.  During that time, Chinese Christian friends told her of villagers turning to Jesus because of healings in his name. “Many village women are illiterate and unable to read this story from Luke,” she says, “but they are experiencing its power in their own lives!”

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

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Seeking God's direction in times of uncertainty 
By Ruth Preston Schilk
Timbrel, March-April 2004

When was the last time you had a big decision to make and couldn’t determine which was the right path? Did you ever wish you could get a phone call from God with a little advice?

I had that kind of decision on my mind in the weeks before my graduation from seminary. I had applied for a pastoral position in a church thousands of kilometres across the country. If I was called to that position, how should I respond?

In such a time, the Judges 6 story of Gideon setting out a fleece is one that can either attract or repel. We may be attracted because we too want to recognize and know God’s leading for our lives. We long to experience the obviousness and certainty with which God answered Gideon.

On the other hand, we may not want to identify with Gideon or his “testing” because he continued to doubt— even when he had already been commissioned for God’s work (Judg. 6:14), been reassured of God’s presence with him (6:16), been shown a miraculous sign that it was indeed God who was speaking (6:19-22), and been clothed with the spirit of the Lord (6:34). Surely seeking yet another sign belittles the affirmation already bestowed by God on Gideon. Besides, how dare Gideon prescribe to God exactly what sign to perform!

Yet the writer of the book of Judges does not criticize Gideon for seeking two more signs nor for dictating their specific details. Perhaps we too can accept this more readily and feel less critical of Gideon when we understand that the asking of signs was common in Israelite tradition. King Ahaz was reprimanded by Isaiah for refusing to ask for a sign from God (any sign “as deep as Sheol or high as heaven”) as he had been commanded (Isa. 7:10-25).

While the text doesn’t indicate whether Gideon was alone when the fleece was first sopping wet and then dry, we know from other scriptures that God gave miraculous signs to show God’s power and elicit a response of awe and praise from the people. Surely Gideon knew that many people would see the power of the one true God when his request for a sign was answered. I’m not convinced that Gideon was testing “in order to see whether you would deliver Israel, as you have said,” but “whether you would deliver Israel by my hand, as you have said”(7:36). In other words, I don’t think Gideon doubted God; I think he doubted himself. 

Scriptures tell the story of people aiding in God’s goal of salvation for the world. Gideon was not questioning God’s ability to save but his own ability in aiding the God of salvation. Isn’t that our experience, too? We trust God to lead but wonder how we fit into God’s plan. If we could only have affirmed our inner inkling (or is that indigestion?), some direction, some sense of timing, some sense if we are the one for the job. . . . In other words, as Nancy Reeves puts it in her book title, “I’d say ‘yes,’ God, if I knew what you wanted.”

God’s desire to be in partnership with humanity continues today. Perhaps we experience less dramatic signs of God than in Gideon’s day. Yet people still long to have clarity for living their lives as partners with God. Whether one boldly asks for a “sign” or humbly prays for God’s direction, the desire is the same—for a “word” from the Lord.

Gideon didn’t sit whiling away, wondering about his role. He took action. We also need to take some responsibility for discerning direction or affirmation. By this I mean that we need to go forward to meet God meeting us as we engage in such activities as prayer, scripture reading, or discerning in a clarity group or with a spiritual director.

To return to my experience, I brought my question about accepting the pastoral position to a spiritual retreat called “Praying with the Hymnal.” From a list of hymns the title, “Hear I am, Lord,” caught my attention, and in a room by myself I read it silently. Nothing. I read the hymn aloud. Nothing. I began to sing the hymn, and when I reached the line, “I will go, Lord, if you lead me,” I started to cry. Gradually, I realized that God had allowed me to sing the answer to my question. Eventually God did lead so that I was offered the pastoral position, and I agreed to take it.

While we depend on the Holy Spirit to help us recognize and interpret signs from God, I urge us to be noticing God’s movements in times of certainty so that in uncertain times, we are trained in looking for God’s leading.

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5.20.2006